One Day You'll Understand (aka "Later")
Please be seated.
Come to the microphone, state your full name,
age, profession and place of residence please.
Well, at the time I was Léa Katz,
now I'm Mrs Léa Weiss,
born 1st May 1926.
Profession, self-employed but now retired.
I live in Lyon.
Did you know the accused, Klaus Barbie, before this period?
No, sir.
You are in no way related, by birth or marriage?
Nor to the prosecution?
No, Your Honour.
Please rise, madam.
Do you swear to speak without rancour or fear,
to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?
Raise your right hand and say, "I swear".
- I swear. - Thank you. Please be seated.
We'll hear your testimony now.
Well, I'll start...
Your Honour, I'll start at the beginning.
Usher, move the microphone closer to the witness.
I was living in a furnished flat...
at 122 Avenue Thiers, Villeurbanne, at the time.
There were frequent ID checks.
Our papers had been checked the night before,
and I'd heard...
that the police who'd come to check our papers...
would be going to 13 Quai Tilsitt the next day,
where there were a lot of Jewish refugees.
So the next morning I thought,
"I'd better warn the people there,
"so they can scatter and not get caught".
At the time, we had Mr Kaplan living next door...
He was a rabbi.
I went to see him and asked him...
if he would tell people about Quai Tilsitt,
so they wouldn't stay there,
because there was going to be a raid.
He said he wasn't on duty that day...
but that Rabbi Schönberg...
would be at the Federation, 12 Rue Sainte-Catherine,
and that I could warn him and he'd do what was required.
So I went to Rue Sainte-Catherine, to the Federation.
When I got there,
i pushed the door to go in, and it opened very easily.
Facing me, at the end of the room,
I saw, I think,
three or four people, men,
all dressed in black,
in black leather, if my memory serves me right.
And behind the door there was a man who, when I opened the door,
closed it behind me.
I didn't know what was happening.
They said, "Papiere!"
So I said, in French, "I'm sorry, I don't understand.
"I came to get a doctor for my mother, who's sick".
So they said it again.
"ID Cards, Papers".
So of course I had to give them
my identity card which had "Jew" stamped on it.
They then said, in German...
Which I think means
"Another little Jewish pussycat"
They snatched my bag from my hands...
and pushed me into a room to the left,
where there were already lots of people,
who gestured as if to say, "Something's going on Go away".
But I still didn't understand.
So I ended up in this side room with lots of other people.
And more people continued to arrive.
I was very, very afraid,
that my mother would be next.
There were already a lot of us.
As the time passed, more people arrived.
It was already fairly late.
So they started by taking out the gentlemen,
and then moved on to the ladies.
So I seized the opportunity, thinking to myself,
"Either they'll let me go when I ask,
"or they'll deport me".
"The burden of one's parents is hard to bear.
"They said, 'We hope you'll be nice to Mr Weill.
"'He's a decent, well-respected man, who goes to the synagogue.
"'He's pious and charitable. A good catch'. What a nuisance!
"I hope you can come again on Sunday,
"because life is hard without my Sunday walk...
"in the Luxembourg Gardens.
"I miss you so!
"Raymonde".
"My darling"...
As the trial of Klaus Barbie entered its eighth day...
attention focused on one of Lyon's most dramatic episodes,
the Rue Sainte-Catherine roundup...
of 9th February 1943.
Lyon, 20th May 1987.
Another day of the Klaus Barbie trial.
- Are you listening to the radio? - Yes.
- Can I turn it up? - Go ahead.
Usher, move the microphone closer to the witness.
- Are you interested in this? - Sort of.
I was living in a furnished flat
at 122 Avenue Thiers, Villeurbanne, at the time...
OK, so they fall in love.
They're in love, despite their families.
And they succeed.
They succeed and they get married. Where's the photo?
There.
They get married, a big ceremony.
On one side, the Bastiens, French,
and on the other, Russian Jews, the Gornicks.
Dad, mom...
Her father, mother, sisters...
And him? I don't know who he is.
So they get married. It's 1937.
On one side, the Bastiens, on the other, the Gornicks...
Arrived from Odessa in 1913,
took French nationality in 1925...
That's 1925.
Business was booming.
A nice car, they went for picnics...
Mom was studying pharmacy,
met my dad, they got married...
and they had...
Tania. That was in 1939.
Tania was baptised, of course.
There, that's Tania... The Gornicks...
Photos, OK.
Then...
Then the trouble started. 1941.
"The Council of Ministers hereby declares...
"that a person of any confession is considered a Jew...
"if at least three grandparents were of the Jewish race".
She managed to keep the pharmacy, but her father...
Lost everything.
An administrator was appointed...
I came to get a doctor for my mother, who's sick.
So they said it again.
"ID Cards, Papers"...
So of course I had to give them...
my identity card which had "Jew" stamped on it.
They then said, in German...
Which I think means
"Another little Jewish pussycati"
So she was there. But what was she doing?
- She had Tania... - Sir.
Your 6.30 appointment.
- He's here. - No, I don't have time today.
- It's twice now. He'll be furious. - Then he'll be furious.
- He can complain to the minister. - I think he will.
Great!
- Can I go? - Yes. Thanks.
- See you tomorrow. - Yes, tomorrow.
So what did she do in Paris? How did she manage?
She had her baby,
my father was away at the war. What was going on?
Her parents were in Salviac.
How did she manage? What did she do?
Goodnight.
- Yes? - Victor, it's me.
- Will you be home for dinner? - No, I'm going to mom's.
- Are you going to ask her? - Yes, of course I will.
What?
You've been so tense lately. You don't realize.
Since this started, you've been really stressed.
I'm going to the movies with Nicole. See you later.
All right.
The cinema with Nicole...
Some of them went out,
and I noticed a tall gentleman
with a small white beard,
who stood by the door just before going out,
and started to pray...
- Is that you? - Yes.
- Hello. - Hello, mom.
Darling...
Don't go in the kitchen whatever you do.
Go and sit down.
I'll be right with you.
I was expecting you earlier, so...
It's gone a bit cold.
- Roast lamb, is that all right? - Fine.
Pass me your plate.
- Some vegetables? - Yes, please.
Green beans. A bit overcooked, they've ended up like spinach!
- No potatoes, is that right? - No, thanks.
Did you see the news today?
Oh, be quiet! I didn't have time.
If you knew what happened in the kitchen.
I got distracted
and I burned the beans and the potatoes.
I had to do the vegetables all over again.
Luckily, the butcher delivered the meat.
He's a lovely lad.
It was the eighth day of the Barbie trial today.
There, look.
You can tell from the colour that I cooked the meat well.
Don't you think so?
Maybe I should have trimmed the fat.
I want to ask you a question.
It's about your parents' papers, that I took the other day.
Those from Rue de Paradis...
Excuse me just a second.
I forgot the salt.
Here.
- I didn't salt anything. - Thanks.
I'll put this out of the way.
There's an interesting sale at Drouot next week.
Antiques.
Ivory,
Japanese objects...
I've seen two or three in the catalogue that I like.
Where will you put them? There's no room.
I'll sell those two.
Just a second...
There.
Do you remember?
Don't you like them any more?
Yes. That's got nothing to do with it.
I used to love them.
I'd grown used to them.
You're not eating anything.
Your voice is a bit hoarse.
Yes, I noticed. Come here...
You've got a temperature. I'll give you some syrup.
Mom, I asked you a question.
Yes, I heard you, darling.
But I'll forget the syrup unless I get it now.
The bottle's already open.
It has to be finished somehow.
I thought you were in India.
I got back.
Isn't mom in?
She went down to the concierge for a parcel
I have to talk to you.
Me too.
I went to the pharmacy...
Read this.
- What are you getting at? - I'll read it to you.
"I, the undersigned,
"André-Yves Bastien,
confirm by the following
the Aryan character of my family"...
"Aryan" is in capitals.
First generation: Myself, baptised
18th September 1918.
Second generation: My father,
baptised 27th September 1886.
Third generation: My grandfather,
"not baptised, but married in church"...
Tell me later. I went to the pharmacy earlier...
Hang on.
Hang on... Here it is!
Let me read you this.
It's dated 9th July 1941,
and addressed to the Prefect of Police.
"It is my honour to send you
"the declaration demanded by the law of 2nd June 1941,
"as regards my wife of Jewish origin,
"in accordance with the law of 2nd June 1941.
"Mrs Bastien,
"née Raymonde Gornick, 18th January 1914, in Paris,
"daughter of Georges Gornick and Sipa Levitska, his wife,
"and married to me, an Aryan"...
This time it's underlined!
"Yours most sincerely...
"Pharmacist".
Does that seem right to you?
That sort of declaration was compulsory.
Great!
Writing to the Germans to tell them you're Aryan...
Underlined! That's compulsory!
That your wife is Jewish...
You know what these declarations led to?
You're taling nonsense.
They wrote that together. It's obvious.
Together?
While they were drinking tea after mass?
What are you on about? They obeyed the law, like everyone.
They were French, they trusted...
Do you think dad would have done anything against mom?
I didn't say that.
All I'm saying is, he could have acted differently.
Hello.
Well, this is an event!
Amazing!
Both of you here!
Can I have my keys, please?
Thanks.
- Are you all right? - Yes, and you?
Fine.
Coming for a look?
Curious.
- Yes, I am curious. - Too curious.
Don't leave your sister alone. Go to her.
Go on.
Victor.
Haven't you got your inhaler on you?
What about this?
What about this, Tania?
Isn't it odd having a Nazi dagger in the house?
That? That was dad's.
He took it off an SS man when Paris was liberated.
- Are you sure? - Yes, I'm sure!
And there's something you're forgetting about this letter.
If you'd read it right to the end...
"Tania Bastien, baptised a Catholic".
This letter saved my life.
Anyway, the Bastiens were like all the French: Anti-Semitic!
- I have to go, mom. - Not just yet.
Look at all my treasures.
You know this box, don't you?
I won a competition on the television.
Not bad, eh?
- It's not fake, is it? - Do you think so?
We were taling about dad.
Talking about your father?
He was a charming man.
What are you sitting in the dark for?
Switch the television on, please.
It's time for my soap opera.
Push it over and turn it towards me.
A bit more to the right...
- Careful of the rug. - Yes, I saw it.
Louis.
No reading at the table.
Pass the bread, please.
About this concert...
Yes, who are you going with?
With Alexis, Clément...
Yes, I knew that, but isn't one of their parents going with you?
No.
- No adult? - We'll go on the metro.
We'll go on the metro.
Well, they will. With Romain and Marius.
And you?
It's ten minutes from here.
We'll tal to your dad about it.
But I don't think you should go without adults.
It's unthinkable.
It's only a concert!
It's not dangerous.
It's not dangerous? There'll be all sorts of people there...
It's not a party between a few friends.
I don't want you going like that,
on the metro on your own...
- I'm fourteen! - Exactly. That's not old enough.
It is! I'm not a kid.
Don't sulk. We'll discuss it and work something out.
Don't sigh like that.
I hope dad can take me.
He might be too tired.
Hello.
Hello. All right?
Yeah. And you?
- What's that? - Stewed quinces. Want a taste?
No, thanks. I've eaten.
He ate at your grandmother's. I told you.
How is she?
Fine. She sends her love.
- Dad. - Yes?
Can you take me to a concert?
- A concert? - Yeah.
We'll see.
Clear the table.
Did it go badly?
I can't do it.
I just can't.
I've something to show you.
These are photos of pharmacy school
Look, they're having fun.
No, that's not what I wanted to show you.
Yes, this is it.
What do you see?
Your grandparents,
by a nice car...
And where are they?
In front of some building.
They're not in front of some building.
They're in front of their building.
It's their home. Rue de Paradis.
Three years later, they were gone. Never spoken of again.
The Gornicks... Like they'd never existed.
Hang on...
Here.
Open it.
The flyleaf.
"With our best wishes"...
No, after that.
This?
"Satab, public limited company"...
Yes... No... No, it's not that.
It's the lists that are interesting. As always.
"Specialities: Indian sheepskin, grey and black astrakhan,
"fox, seal"...
And the next page.
What do you see? A calendar.
Little Purim, 15th February. Fast of Esther, 16th March. Purim...
They were furriers...
No, not furriers.
Jewish furriers! Do you get it?
All of these papers, all these papers from Rivka...
All this... That's where she was brought up.
They were furriers, they were Jewish,
they were Russian.
They went together to the synagogue,
they kept the Shabbat, they spoke Yiddish...
It was a little village.
That's where she lived.
- She's never taled about it? - Hardly. You see?
I only ever had my Bastien grandparents.
On Sundays we went to mass,
then we'd go for tea and cakes...
Rue de Paradis. There!
In that flat!
The Gornicks' flat!
But they were no longer there. They were murdered at Auschwitz.
For seventeen years,
my mother took me for tea every Sunday afternoon
in that flat, where she'd lived with her parents.
She's never spoken to me about it!
There...
I'd like to know why they chose that spot.
- Why they went to hide there. - There?
Françoise!
Yes?
Have you seen my little black notebook?
Your notebook? I've got it.
Do you know why they went to Salviac? Why there exactly?
Did they know people?
I don't know. Maybe we'll find out.
That's why...
When are we going?
We ought to go now.
That'd be best.
- Dad. - Yes?
Where was granny during the Second World War?
In Paris.
- Why not with her parents? - That's true.
Why wasn't she?
Stop copying everything I say. Parrot!
She was in Paris, with your aunt.
She ran her pharmacy, with her husband...
Why weren't they all together?
That's what war's like.
Because Tania was with her grandparents.
Her father's parents.
Can we get a move on?
Yes, she was
at the Bastiens'.
Come on, we're going!
- Can I take some books? - Yes.
Fetch the picnic and meet me by the door.
Get a move on.
Get a move on!
- Where's the picnic? - Hurry it up a bit!
- We have to go. - Yes.
What are you looking at?
What's Golgotha?
Golgotha? It's where Christ was crucified.
Why is the photo like that?
Where's that picnic?
It looks like a ghost.
What's Louis doing?
Get a move on!
- Where's Louis? - He's not even dressed!
No, look, I... I don't believe this!
Here, take the picnic.
Yes, and give me my briefcase.
I'll wait for you downstairs.
Come on!
Esther! I don't believe these kids!
Come on!
All right?
There he is.
- Is that him? - I think so.
Hello.
- Mr Bastien? - That's right.
You're the one who phoned me?
- Are you the mayor? - Yes.
Yes, I phoned you. This is my wife, Françoise.
Our children, Louis and Esther.
I was 5 when your grandparents came here.
I remember everything.
So I'll explain how it happened.
But first I have to explain a little bit...
of the context in the village at the time.
I lived in the Hôtel de L'Univers, where your grandparents were living...
when they were arrested.
I remember your grandfather,
for the Christmas presents he gave me,
especially the Christmas presents of 1943,
because they were better than my parents'.
It wasn't like this at the time, of course.
The bedrooms were upstairs.
This was the lobby,
where your grandfather played cards every night.
You see the staircase leading upstairs...
It leads to the corridor where all the bedrooms were.
At the end of the corridor there was a service staircase.
Mr Friedman and his daughter had time to escape down there.
On the evening of 29th March 1944,
everyone was in bed,
when, at midnight, there was a huge noise at the door.
They were knocking and shouting,
"Open up! Open up!"
In the street you could hear engines running.
That was unusual at that time of night.
I woke up with a start.
I heard this big bang at the door.
I saw my parents hurrying down.
They'd already smashed the door in.
My father said,
"What do you want?
"We're sleeping. This is a hotel...
"The guests are all asleep".
He was talking loud, stalling them,
trying to give the Friedmans and your grandparents...
the time to get away.
I saw two men go by,
and heard them go into your grandparents' room.
There was...
the sound of breaking glass,
gunshots,
shouting...
I heard your grandmother scream.
Could you leave me alone for five minutes, please.
Yes.
Françoise!
Come here, Françoise.
Open up!
Come on, open up!
Papers!
Come on, your papers!
Hurry up!
Is it them?
Where are the Yids?
Tell us or we'll take you in!
Get up!
Hurry up!
We've got them!
I'm here.
This was their bedroom. This is it.
It was a matter of mere seconds.
They had to dress quickly,
when they heard the noises... They didn't have time.
Maybe if my grandfather had been alone, he might...
But he couldn't leave Sipa.
Or maybe he just couldn't bring himself to go.
He didn't want to run.
They'd been here for two years.
Playing cards downstairs every night.
Maybe they thought...
"If they find us in this remote village"...
Maybe that's why they stayed.
Like that.
There's no point.
You won't find anything here. There's nothing left.
We'll never know.
You have to stop this. You're heading for a breakdown.
You can't change history.
You mustn't forget,
but you can't undo what's done.
Your mother knows that.
That's why she says nothing.
To protect you.
To go on living.
I'd have done the same thing.
We should get out of here. Come on.
Thanks for coming, Françoise.
Sit down.
I know how busy you are.
It's OK.
I'm touched that you found the time to come.
I wanted to have a word with you.
Tea? It's Darjeeling.
Yes, please.
I've got green tea too.
No, I don't like green tea.
How are you?
Fine.
I'm a bit worried about... Victor.
He seems tense, tired...
No, he's all right. He's very busy but he's OK.
- He's sweet. - Very.
You've got your hands full with your children.
Yes, but it's OK. I save a bit of time for myself.
Tell me... What do you do?
It's funny being here with you.
We usually descend on you as a mob.
It's a home full of memories.
Traces of the past.
The day before yesterday I met an old lady...
who'd known my grandmother when she was little.
In about 1910.
It had a really a funny effect on me.
Why?
Well, because I'd never imagined my grandmother as a little girl...
She knew who I was, and she told me,
"Lydie was a real little devil...
"And her poor mother was so strict".
I never knew my great-grandmother had been strict.
She never told you?
She rarely mentioned her parents.
And this old lady smiled, as if she could still see her.
I was moved.
That's normal...
Little details like that.
They set off all sorts of emotions.
When I used to have lunch with Aunt Bella after the war,
she'd say...
And I'd see my parents again.
Did you speak Russian at home?
Yes.
When it was just the family, we'd speak Russian.
Nice tea, isn't it?
Yes, very nice.
I'll pour you a drop more.
Did I tell you about this shop that sells lots of different teas?
From different countries. I'll give you the address.
I'll fetch something from the kitchen...
Shall I go?
No, it's my cigarettes. I hide them.
- Hello, Tania. - Hello, Marcel
Jacquot, get the phone, will you?
Can I have some Ventoline?
Your mother popped in this morning.
She stayed for a while and we had a bit of a chat.
How was she?
She's always imagining the worst.
I mean, just because of a dizzy spell.
She should go for tests...
She did. She did.
You've had the results?
Well?
They're not good.
Meaning?
According to her or the cardiologist?
Why didn't you tell me?
She didn't want me to.
Does Victor know?
I don't think so.
I don't understand.
You know her better than I do. She's a proud, private woman.
She didn't want to worry you.
We're her children!
I know. I know...
I don't understand.
Have a nice day.
See you, Tania.
You've never taken us to a synagogue before.
Yes, I'm going to explain.
Here. I've got something to tell you.
We'll stop here for a moment.
Listen, children.
I want to tell you something...
that I've never told anyone.
Not even your dad.
I'm Jewish.
I was born a Jew.
And my parents were Jews.
And during the war, during the occupation,
they went to the provinces, hoping to hide.
Before that, they'd lived here in Paris.
But down there they were denounced.
They were arrested, taken away...
and they never came back.
That was 40 years ago.
They arrested children, you know. Your age, even younger...
Just because they were Jewish.
Come on.
I'll give you a book.
We're late.
It doesn't matter, sweetheart.
Here, darling.
Go in front,
and walk to the second row.
On your right, the second row.
Thank you.
That's a kippa.
What's the prayer about?
I'll explain...
I nearly sat on your bag!
Listen. Come closer.
Today is Yom Kippur,
when Jews sing in honour of the dead,
those who never came back from the camps.
The reason I brought you today,
because I don't come very often,
is that this is a symbolic place, a sacred place,
where all my people come together.
I've kept something I'm going to show you.
This...
is the Star of David...
that I wore...
during the war, during the occupation.
I'm giving it to you.
You will keep it, to help you remember.
You're a child, even though you're already big.
But when you're grown up,
promise me you'll never forget,
promise me you'll resist intolerance,
promise me you'll fight against discrimination.
Do you promise?
You understand, don't you?
Here, put this in the envelope.
Shall I keep it for you for later?
Put it in your pocket.
Are you OK?
No, I'm not.
The rabbi's fine, but mom believed in reincarnation.
She was convinced she'd come back as a sacred cow!
I'll be cremated, like in Benares.
They use sandalwood.
It's so expensive they have to sell all their buffalos.
Then, after, they place candles, incense, flowers...
Christians put flowers on graves too.
And the Jews put stones.
In memory of the time when they were nomads.
They're a Bedouin culture.
It's more than that. A reference point in the desert.
Yes, you may be right. I hadn't thought of that.
Do you believe?
No, I'm a total atheist.
Some coffee?
I'm also totally... anticlerical.
Being schooled by nuns makes an impact.
It's amazing. Even her beautician's here!
She knew all sorts of people, from different wals of life.
People I didn't know at all.
My condolences.
Remember how she'd steal ashtrays from hotels?
She had this way of slipping them into her bag.
And her dinners. There was always something spoiled or burned,
something not right.
It's funny. She's no longer here but you can still smell burning.
What does "intertextuality" mean?
"Inter"?... Ask your aunt.
Can we see granny?
No. Stay with your mom, please.
I have to get ready.
I must have the wrong flat.
- You wanted? - I'm here for Mrs Rivka.
Yes, it's here. You must be a friend or...
Yes, an old friend. Her pharmacist.
Pleased to meet you.
A shame to see you in these circumstances.
I have a long list waiting for you at the pharmacy.
I was her beautician.
She didn't need one. She was beautiful...
You're from Warsaw?
Well, almost.
Almost?
Yes. My mother was arrested in the ghetto,
put on a train, snatched from the train...
Hello, sir. I'm the rabbi.
Marcel Toubiana.
I see. You're a friend of the family?
Yes, I took over the pharmacy. I'm the local pharmacist.
- There's no emotion on her face. - It's the mask of death.
Hello, madam, I'm the rabbi. My condolences.
Thank you.
Hello. Is this young Louis?
Hello, I'm the rabbi. My condolences.
As I was saying,
this is a critical period for the elevation of your mother's soul...
so we must watch over her,
and to do this we shall proceed by reciting the Tehilim...
What's that?
The psalms. Those who are able to...
can read them in Hebrew.
If not, you can read them in French.
And others, because I see the deceased had many friends,
can join in however they wish.
The important thing is never to leave the body unattended,
and to recite things to help the elevation of her soul...
Where did they find this rabbi?
Orthodoxy? No one does what he's saying!
She wasn't a practising Jew.
I shall hand you a pair of scissors, sir,
to tear your clothes with, as a sign of mourning.
Then, at my side, you will recite the Kaddish.
The Kaddish?
I'm a Catholic.
That doesn't matter. Just repeat what I say.
Although you're a Catholic, your mother was still born a Jew.
Can I recite the Kaddish with my brother?
In Jewish tradition it's read by men,
but she's your mother.
Join in the mourning as you see fit.
I was saying that we shall recite the Kaddish at the burial...
From the moment your mother has been consigned to the earth,
the mourning rules begin.
What are they? There are two periods.
The first lasts for a week. This is Shiva.
During Shiva,
we go every day with your friends,
with your family...
Mom, when I left on Sunday it was almost 8 o'clock.
You wanted the blinds lowered.
It was daylight but you wanted dark.
I said, " Hold my hand tight and take my energy".
And you replied, "You'll need it more than me now".
I need it today, to speak at your grave.
"When things are bad," you'd say to us as children,
when we were upset or worried,
"just give a kick and you'll float back up again".
Well, I'll try,
today, once more, to obey you.
With you I was always a child.
With one's mother one always is, at any age.
At any age... And our life together...
was a long story of love.
Tania and I, so different, never left you.
- Not a day... - Are you ready?
Not a day went by without phone calls between the three of us.
You were an exemplary mother. A Jewish mother.
Tania was born six months before war broke out,
and I, 18 days after it ended.
The most painful period of your life.
Your parents trusted the Republic...
and were arrested by the French militia in 1944...
Deported...
And then engulfed by Auschwitz.
All right.
Your parents incinerated in a camp...
Now that we grieve for you,
I know what it must have meant not to have buried your parents.
You thought of them every day,
even though my birth and Tania helped you overcome that ordeal...
Hang on.
So who were we? Russians, Jews,
French and Catholics.
You wanted to bring us up religiously.
With a name, a social status.
No more war, pogroms, persecution...
To blend into the country that welcomed you,
even though some lacked hospitality.
We became Bastiens, Catholics,
schooled in Paris: Tania, at the ENS,
and I, later, at the ENA.
You wanted us to succeed.
We're proud to have lived up to your expectations.
We did it for you.
I'll no longer hear you say every morning,
"So, what's new?"
And I'll no longer bad-temperedly reply,
"Nothing! What could there be?"
All right?
What's in this little bag?
Her memories.
Whose was it?
Her parents'.
"Don't throw this away after I'm gone".
A pair of Chinese lamps with shades.
2,500.
A coat rack,
19th century... No, 20th century, right?
800.
I knew your mother.
She'd come and see me often.
She came to Drouot.
She never missed a sale.
She was an expert about everything.
Yes, right.
She had one fault, if I may say so.
She'd get a little bit... carried away,
and sometimes buy any old thing.
A samovar...
Nothing special, this samovar.
600.
These little clocks... 10,000.
You mentioned a Boudin?
Yes. Two, even.
They're that way. By the bed...
I'll follow you.
Do you call them marines?
These little landscapes by the sea?
No, it's not a Boudin.
- Sorry? - It's not a Boudin.
They're not by Boudin.
They lack the delicacy,
the light, the details... No, it's not a Boudin.
The colours...
It's very pretty, but it's not a Boudin.
I could get an expert...
- Yes. - But I don't think so.
What's that little one?
Leave the paintings.
Alittle painting of flowers.
500.
Now this is nice. Pretty.
Know what it is?
No. She must have got it from a junk shop...
Know what it is?
One of Fabergé's pupils made it at the end of the 19th century.
It's a scraper. For smokers to use.
It's worth... 50,000.
- 50,000? - Just off the top of my head.
Off the top of my head.
No, but... Keep it if you want.
Alittle watercolour snow scene.
It's charming. 600.
600.
What's that painting?
Oh, that painting
was the base of all the stories she told us...
- Manu, get up here! - When we were little.
Yes, I was saying...
She'd tell us stories about this house...
How did she get it?
It's always been there.
It's by a little Russian painter, who's getting more popular.
You should get it valued, it's good.
I can't say exactly, but it'll be a good price.
- Are you selling that? - She really loved that.
You might as well keep it. It's not worth very much.
It's not plastic, but it's not worth much...
Mr Bastien, I'm so sorry to have to receive you like this.
Our offices were moved this morning, but we won't be disturbed.
I'm your reporter,
and I have to complete your file before it goes to the Commission.
May I remind you of the framework for this procedure?
You know that no French president has accepted...
the French state's responsibility for the deportation of the Jews.
But something has changed...
Yes, something has changed.
The situation changed in 1995, with Jacques Chirac's speech...
to commemorate the Vélodrome d'Hiver roundup.
The idea of responsibility necessarily implies compensation.
This is why the Commission was set up at the end of 1999.
My grandparents left Paris just before the Vélodrome d'Hiver...
Yes, and unfortunately they weren't safe even then.
It's important to make restitution for the crimes of Vichy.
24,000 files have already been examined.
I know that material compensation is insignificant...
when compared to the harm done.
But it's essential symbolically.
It's very important, and this is why we asked you to come today.
I shall have to go into details to calculate your compensation,
as my report will be sent to the Commission, which will decide.
You can testify to them too, of course, if you so wish.
With the documents I had, I did research in France and Germany...
to determine the extent to which your grandparents were despoiled.
Here is the file I drew up.
If you agree, we'll begin with the easiest.
The business.
I got the accounts for the last three years,
including the year 1940,
the last year your grandfather was really able to work.
You'll say that business was already very reduced in 1940,
and you are right.
There were problems getting stock,
fewer customers,
and, most of all, it was a Jewish shop,
and therefore boycotted.
The shop was taken over by one of your grandfather's suppliers...
for the sum of 60,000 francs.
Yes, well, that ridiculous amount...
was calculated by the Commission for Jewish Affairs.
I'd base it on the real turnover of five million.
- Do you agree with that? - Of course.
I'll make a proposition, then, taking these elements into account.
But we need to include the Rue de Paradis flat...
Can you tell me how many rooms it had?
Of course.
It had six rooms.
Very good.
What happened to the furniture?
It was probably all seized.
Is it a freestone building?
Yes. From 1905.
Very good.
Easy to calculate. I'll do it later.
We'll use the forfeit amounts set by the Commission.
It's hard to estimate the worth of goods,
especially 60 years later...
So we've looked at the business and the real estate.
We have to note, also, if there was any jewellery.
Yes, you get compensation for that too.
There are no documents regarding jewellery.
There are!
The German archives sent us photocopies...
regarding your grandfather's effects,
seized when he reached Drancy.
He had some money on him.
I have the receipt, dated 11th April 1944.
It indicates that Mr Georges Gornick deposited...
a sum of 50,000 francs,
a solid-gold bracelet, a gold signet ring...
A penknife.
Gold.
May I keep the photocopy?
Yes, of course.
It's yours.
We understand how you are feeling, sir.
But let us move on to the smugglers.
The smugglers, yes.
Smugglers, sorry?
Your grandparents used them to get into the southern zone.
Of course.
One person comes to 200 euros,
and for two you have to double the amount...
Did your grandparents stay in a private house?
No, they...
They were at the Hôtel de L'Univers.
I suggest we take that into account too.
There are also the works of art.
The Russian paintings and other valuables...
Yes, valuables.
But we only had one lead there...