The Hypocrisy of Justice in the Belle Epoque by Benjamin F. Martin

Author:Benjamin F. Martin [Martin, Benjamin F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Europe, Western
ISBN: 9780807124949
Google: GwjGOB4FhcEC
Publisher: LSU Press
Published: 1999-03-01T02:55:48+00:00

Chapter 3

THE CAILLAUX AFFAIR

Justice as a Political Statement

Justitia fiat, ruat coelum.

William Murray, Earl of Mansfield, Judgment,

Rex v. Wilkes

I

The woman sat alone in the waiting room of Le Figaro on the Rue Drouot. Slender, attractive, and well-dressed, she had arrived at 5 P.M. and asked to speak to Gaston Calmette, the editor in chief. After she was told that he was away from the office but expected back at least briefly within an hour, she sat down to wait, her face composed and resolute, her hands resting in a muff on her lap. No one on the staff recognized her, and with the next morning’s edition to prepare, there was no time to speculate. At nearly 6 P.M., Calmette finally stepped into the office with his friend Paul Bourget, the novelist. They were in a hurry, and Calmette had stopped only to retrieve some papers. Just as he was preparing to leave again, one of his secretaries handed him a sealed envelope from the woman. Idly ripping it open as he moved toward the door, Calmette suddenly stopped as he read the name on the calling card: Madame Joseph Caillaux. The leader of the left-of-center Radical party, champion of an income tax for France, opponent of the defense spending that nationalists claimed was necessary to face up to the armed might of Germany, once premier, now minister of finance, Joseph Caillaux was the object of an extraordinary campaign of vilification by Le Figaro. Calmette showed the card to Bourget, who exclaimed, “You’re not going to see her?” Calmette answered that he would take only a few minutes and that he could not refuse a woman.

With that, Calmette returned to his office and called for Mme Caillaux to be shown in. As soon as the door was closed, she said, “You must know why I am here.” “But I do not,” Calmette replied, rising from his seat behind his desk and indicating a chair. “Please sit down.” He had hardly completed the sentence when she pulled a 32-caliber Browning automatic pistol from her muff and began firing at him. There were six shots in quick succession, four of the bullets striking Calmette, who fell in front of the desk. Figaro staffers raced into the office of their editor and found him lying in a pool of blood. While some of them attempted to loosen his garments or called for the police and medical assistance, a few turned to Mme Caillaux, who stood emotionless, the pistol smoking in her hand. When they approached, she warned, “Do not touch me! I am a lady. I have my car outside to ride in to the police station.” As they looked dumbfounded, she added, “Since there is no justice in France …” and then left her sentence unfinished. Ten feet away from her on the floor, a dying Calmette tried to feel for important papers in his coat pocket, called in confusion for “My friends … my firm …” and then more coherently, “What I did, tell them, I did without hatred.

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