[Marxism] Moquet and Fontanot
marvgandall at videotron.ca
Wed Oct 31 14:31:05 MDT 2007
Here is Guy Moquet's letter, followed by an equally moving note to his
mother by another heroic young resistance fighter, Spartaco Fontanot, a 22
year old Communist metalworker who was shot by the Nazis in 1944. Fontanot's
letter is from Hobsbawm's "Age of Extremes:the short twentieth century,
My dear, sweet mother, my little baby brother that I adore, my dear father
that I love – I am going to die! What I ask of you, especially my dear
mother, is to be courageous. I am, and I want to be as courageous as those
who went before me.
Sure, I would have liked to have lived. But what I wish for, with all my
heart, is that my death means something. I didn’t have time to hug Jean. I
hugged my two brothers Roger and Rino [his comrades]. As for you, I’m afraid
that I can’t! I hope that all my things will be sent to you – Serge can use
them; I trust he will be proud to wear them one day. To you, dear father, if
I ever gave you or dear mother any trouble, I praise you one last time. Know
that I did the best to follow the path you set out for me.
One last goodbye to all of my friends, to my brother whom I love dearly. He
should study hard so that one day he will become a man. Seventeen and a half
years old – my life was short, I have no regrets, other than leaving you
all. I will die with Tintin, Michels. Mother, what I ask of you, what I want
you to promise me, is to be courageous and to rise above your pain.
I can’t add any more. I’m leaving you all, all of you, mother, Serge, dad –
my child’s heart holds you in its arms. Courage!
Your Guy who loves you.
* * *
Dear Mum. Of all people I know you are the one who will feel it most, so my
very last thoughts go to you. Don't blame anyone else for my death, because
I myself chose my fate.
I don't know what to write to you because, even thogh I have a clear head, I
can't find the right words. I took my place in the Army of Liberation, and I
die as the light of victory is already beginning to shine...I shall be shot
shortly with twenty three other comrades.
After the war you must claim your rights to a pension. They will let you
have my things at the jail, only I am keeping Dad's undervest, because I
don't want the cold to make me shiver...
Once again I say goodbye. Courage!
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