L'Humanité headlines: “Towards Popular Power.” The expression is clear: the Communist Party has decided to take the reins.
The press is buzzing with news: the Prime Minister is reportedly preparing to appoint a “mediator” to take charge of the affairs of National Education.
This far-fetched story of a mediator must be clarified. I scribble in red, on a page and a half, the outline of what I will say to Pompidou if he receives me, or, if not, what I will write to him. The State cannot renounce its duties, nor, which would be even more foolish, its assets, which remain enormous despite the failures suffered over the past fifteen days. And I can no longer accept being stifled like a pigeon.
Stubbornly, I have prepared a new telex to the rectors, even though the two projects from Sunday were blocked. In the debates that spontaneously arise in university general assemblies, two words stand out: co-management and autonomy. These two principles “are accepted by the public authorities.” Autonomy in its two aspects, financial and pedagogical. And co-management, which concerns not only teachers and students, but also representatives of society. I indicate that the framework of the faculties is too narrow and that we must conceive of reconstruction at the level of the University. On these bases, we can aim for “the rallying of all supporters of a profound and orderly reform, the isolation of revolutionaries, and thus the holding of exams.”
In the late morning, Mrs Dupuy asks me on the inter-ministerial line to come see the Prime Minister urgently. No, she does not know if it is in response to my request, repeated several times last night.
Pompidou indicates a chair near his round, draped table, and comes to sit next to me. He begins by talking to me about the general situation, detailing what he said yesterday before the Council of Ministers more briefly. He is more in control of himself than ever.
Pompidou: “The Grenelle agreements worked out unexpectedly well, even if the employers had given away much more than was necessary. There was a euphoria that no one could hide. Unfortunately, at Billancourt, Séguy and Frachon forgot to do the groundwork. They went to bring the good news to the Renault workers. They did not doubt that they would be welcomed as triumphant heroes. But some Trotskyist leaders (yes, they were there) had wound up the base, and Séguy was greeted with jeers. So, we will have to start all over again and give them a little more. In any case, a devaluation will wipe all that out.”
“But already, all the signs are converging. Everywhere, weariness is growing. The people are about to turn around. The prefects feel it in all four corners of the country. Look at that gas station attendant near you who smashed Geismar's car and whom everyone is talking about.”
Pompidou: "We have the upper hand. The turnaround is inevitable. It's written on the wall” (he uses one of the General's favorite expressions).
“And you, how do you see it?’”
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AP: “For eight days now, my initiatives have been paralyzed, whether it's about starting discussions with university or student personalities, or simply giving instructions to the rectors.”
“How can I not lend an ear to the rumors that have been circulating for two days about the fate you have in store for me, since my telexes are being blocked by Matignon, since my command post is disconnected from those I am supposed to command? We must get out of this situation where I am supposed to exercise responsibilities that your entourage is actually preventing me from exercising.”
Pompidou: “You know, there are times when you have to let go. The social matter will be settled with two or three additions to the Grenelle agreements. Now, we will be able to turn our attention to what was at the origin of the crisis, that is, the University, which I have not yet had the time to deal with.”
He stops, takes a deep breath, clenches his jaw more tightly: “I am in favor, and so is the General, of the idea of a mediator who would re-establish ties with the university world, ties that have been broken since the police entered the Sorbonne.”
“This mediator, whom I have not yet chosen, we will find. We need a great academic who is not rejected by the professors, and who, on the other hand, has a sense of the State.”
“We proceeded in the same way for the miners' strike. I had chosen Massé when the matter became ripe, and he had resolved the problem in a few days.”
“I had left Bokanowski in his ministry during this time. Such arbitration can only succeed on the condition that the ministry is completely bypassed. I know well that you are too willing and too proud to accept this situation. I am therefore forced to ask for your resignation.”
While he speaks to me, he takes a drag on his cigarette, planted at the left corner of his lip, which makes him close one eye; the other follows the swirls of smoke in the air. For the last sentence, he puts out his cigarette and fixes his gaze straight into my eyes. I listen to him without flinching. He listens without interrupting the reflections that this resignation inspires in me — offered on May 12 and refused, when it had meaning, imposed on May 28 when it becomes useless and unjust.
AP: “It will serve no purpose, since this crisis has become social and political. This departure will be unjust, because if anyone warned you against the contagion that would inevitably follow the unconditional acceptance of the demands of the revolutionary students, it was indeed I, and I even believe I alone.”
“But the fate of one man should not weigh heavily in such a grave moment.”
“Just let me tell you that it is an illusion to believe that a great academic who is very engaged on the Left, like Laurent Schwartz, or Kastler, or Jacques Monod, whom Debré made you aware of — I hope you were informed of it —, could be this mediator. None of them will agree to come and report to you on their meetings as Massé did for the miners. At least not as long as the General is there. They are asking for his departure as a precondition. I would rather advise you to consider great professors who have friends in all camps, but who also have a sense of the State, like Rector Antoine, or Bataillon, or dean Vedel.”
Pompidou only responds with an evasive “I will see” and, as if to smooth it out, proposes that I stay with my collaborators in our offices until further notice, since he will be acting in the interim. So, I will keep the house both present and absent. In truth, this will not be a great change compared to the past two weeks, during which Matignon had concentrated all powers and deprived me of mine.
Only humor allows me to overcome the emotion that grips my throat. When Pompidou accompanies me to his door, I slip him a comment: “Marshal Villeroi said that one should hold the pot for ministers in office, to pour it over their heads on the day of their disgrace. That's probably what will happen to me.”
Pompidou laughs, louder than usual, as if this melancholic joke liberated him as much as it did me. Did it stay in his mind for a few minutes? Perhaps it is because of this that, descending the grand staircase of Matignon after me to speak to the journalists, he tells them: “Alain Peyrefitte has always been an open, valuable, and reformist collaborator for me.” Pompidou did not pour the pot over my head.
The news passes instantly on the radios and televisions, before I have had the time to return to my office and inform my wife, my children, or my cabinet, who knew nothing of my resignation on May 12.
All that remains for me to do is to draft a final “message to teachers, students, and high school students.” I want to evoke, even if in veiled terms, the paradox of my situation:
“The new University, we see it taking shape today in somewhat disorderly discussions. It is not very different from the one that, after numerous contacts and in-depth preparatory work, we were trying to organize progressively. For we ourselves had denounced these ills and abuses. But we noted that it would take years to achieve our objectives in a domain where it was only possible to advance slowly, since it was protected by university franchises and almost nothing could be done without the agreement of those concerned. Alas, we often had the impression of getting bogged down in inertia, indifference, and skepticism.”
“Today, the explosion we are witnessing has the effect of tearing away the veils that hid the state of things. May it also shatter the obstacles that stood in the way of reforms! However, nothing constructive can be done unless calm returns. My departure from the National Education should contribute to this.”
Peyrefitte receives a letter from General De Gaulle
In the early afternoon, Tricot informs me that the General will receive me tomorrow, Wednesday, May 29, at 4 P.M.: after the calls of compassion, the audience of compassion.
Around 8:30 P.M., Tricot calls me on the inter-ministerial line, which has hardly stopped ringing: “Are you still there? It was always busy. The General apologizes for not being able to receive you tomorrow afternoon at the appointed time. But he has asked me to inform you that he will receive you at the end of the week. He is in the process of writing you a letter that I will have delivered to you by motorcycle. Can you wait for it at your office?”
Half an hour later, I open the envelope:
“May 28, 1968. My dear Minister,
Your departure from the Government is in no way a sign that my trusting friendship for you and the certainty that you have ‘served’ as well as possible in your position as Minister of National Education are in any way diminished.
I ask you to be assured of this and to believe in my faithful and devoted sentiments.
C. de Gaulle”
“My trusting friendship”: the General has not poured the pot over my head either.
At the moment, I wonder: is this kind word not meant to replace an audience? Yet, Tricot was clear: the General will receive me “at the end of the week.” Even through an intermediary, the General does not commit without intending to follow through. But why postpone to Friday or Saturday what he had planned for Wednesday? This delay intrigues me. What could prevent him from receiving me tomorrow?
I will have the answer to this question tomorrow.
But already, rereading this letter, written in his firmest hand, on an evening when everything is wavering, when the departure of a minister is for him an almost trivial incident, I find the de Gaulle I know. “He is no longer the same,” he “is losing his grip”: this is what I have been hearing for the past few days. But if he were no longer himself, if he were losing his grip, would he have taken the trouble and even the time to take up his pen for such a minor matter — an apology for a delayed meeting, a viaticum to soothe a sorrow?
Wednesday, May 29, afternoon, when I learn that the General has disappeared and that his Prime Minister knows nothing of his destination, I have no doubt that he is in the process of playing out a scenario planned in its smallest details.
As early as Tuesday evening, he had therefore planned to “pull a stunt” that would keep him absent for a day, perhaps two; to postpone the Council of Ministers; to tell no one about it, neither Pompidou nor Tricot. For me, this is a sign that de Gaulle has taken the reins.
I had no merit in deciphering it: I held a key that others did not have.
Mitterand makes his move
Tuesday, May 28, 1968.
The first phone call I receive, once back in the office that will soon cease to be mine, is from Pierre-Charles Krieg: “So, you're free now? I'm requisitioning you as a militant.”
He explains that he is organizing a demonstration for the day after tomorrow on the Place de la Concorde: “Since you are no longer a minister but are still in your ministerial office, you could make phone calls to places where the strike is preventing us. The only way to block the leftists is to make a massive appeal to the people! Make calls, have your collaborators make calls to everyone they know, in the Paris region or even in the provinces, why not, so they can figure out how to come on Thursday! Tell everyone that the Republic is in danger!”
“Make sure the demonstration in support of de Gaulle is at least as strong as the leftist demonstrations against him! And have each of your contacts call ten comrades, who will then each call ten others, and so on. You're going to see Pompidou, since he is the one who must replace you: try to persuade him that this counter-demonstration is essential! He must stop opposing it! And also give Grimaud a call. Try to convince him that this is the only way to end it, even though he's telling everyone it's a stupid idea!… No, don't worry about Foccart. It's true he was thinking of organizing a demonstration for Friday. But he understands that the hours count, he's rallying to ours, we're combining our efforts.”
Second phone call from Krieg, after the explosion of the bomb that blew up the offices of La Nation. He is enraged: “Our demonstration tomorrow must turn the situation around! It's either that, or the end of France!”
Mitterrand declared at noon, in a press conference: “It is up to our imagination and our will that France be the first among the great industrialized nations to tackle the very structures of a society that it has endured until now, like the others.”
(There is the pledge given to the communists.)
“…The departure of General de Gaulle… will naturally lead to the disappearance of the Prime Minister and his government.”
(There is the pledge given to the Fourth Republic, that is, to the political class.)
He wants to entrust a provisional government with the practical conditions of the presidential election.
“Who will form the provisional government? If necessary, I will assume this responsibility. But others besides me can legitimately aspire to it. I think first of Mr. Mendès France…”
(There is the pledge given to the non-communist left, to the academics, to the intellectuals.)
“And who will be the President of the Republic? Universal suffrage will decide. But as of now, I announce it to you… I am a candidate.”
There is the mistake. He has come out of the woods. He can be shot on sight. A candidate for a position that is not vacant, he is constructing a transition that is contrary to the Constitution: it provides that in case of the withdrawal or incapacitation of the President, the government remains in place until the election of his successor, with the President of the Senate assuming the interim.
Robert Poujade is the first to shoot and he aims well. He immediately found the deadly formulas: “Mr. Mitterrand wants to settle without delay into the national furniture… He is giving France the gift of his person.”
“The gift of his person”: like Pétain! It is good work. The General cannot lower himself to polemicize: but the leader of his companions is taking on the leader of the parliamentary opposition. As I congratulate him on the phone, he modestly replies: “I went at it all the stronger because the General asked me to.”
Yet, it must be recognized that this government that is wavering, the vacuum of power, the vertigo that is seizing the entire political class, do not give much credence to the idea that the Prime Minister and the government, which emanate from the head of state, would remain in place if he were to leave…
Mitterrand knows it. But de Gaulle knows it too. Pompidou is not unaware of it; he can hold on if the General holds on. Will he hold on?
Wednesday, May 29, 1968.
L'Humanité headlines, across the entire front page: “Popular and Democratic Union Government with Communist Participation.” Mendès France declares himself ready to lead the provisional government proposed by Mitterrand. As one man, Jean Lecanuet, Antoine Pinay, Félix Gaillard, Max Lejeune, Jacques Isorni indicate that they are ready to rally behind this initiative.
The rumor spreads through Paris: “There is only one solution: the departure of the General.” It spreads among the left-wing opposition; it spreads among the “chattering class.” It also begins to infiltrate the ranks of the Gaullists. Hasn't Pompidou made a brilliant demonstration, over the course of these three weeks, that he is the strong man? At Matignon, some members of the cabinet whisper: “Our problem is knowing how we can get rid of the General.” One of them sums up these sentiments in a joyful phrase: “The Old Man to the closet!”
Without daring to go that far, most of the faithful are disheartened: “The proof is there that it is enough to resort to violence to obtain satisfaction. We are going from capitulation to capitulation,” says one. “Everything comes at a price,” says another. “For ten years, de Gaulle has been giving lessons to the world, but he has made too many enemies. The supporters of French Algeria, the repatriates, the trade unionists, the farmers, the bosses, the notables, the army, the pro-Americans, the pro-Israelis, the Europeanists, it's too much.”
Others counterattack, and all the more vigorously because they have, like Capitant, old scores to settle with Pompidou.
“The one who preserved the soul of France still holds, in case of tragedy, a decisive credit with the people,” the General once told me. Some Gaullists are betting everything on this credit and want the Prime Minister's departure. More numerous seem to be those who believe this credit is exhausted; they are pushing for the General's departure. It seems to me that they are all wrong: in crossing the ford, both must remain.
The inter-ministerial phone rings this morning more than ever: a strange situation to find myself at the end of the minister's line, while being relieved of his functions.
Dannaud kindly tends to my sadness by informing me as if nothing had happened. He mentions alarming rumors, according to which the CGT militants, mobilized for this afternoon's demonstration, have received weapons with the mission to seize the Élysée.In which case, it would be impossible to avoid calling on a regiment of paratroopers to prevent access. In any case, the armored units of the gendarmerie, having completed their training time at Larzac, have returned to their base at Satory. Some see this as confirmation of the rumors that the government is preparing to combat the riot with tanks.
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We learn successively, around 9 A.M., that the Council of Ministers scheduled for this morning at 10 a.m. has been postponed to tomorrow afternoon; then that the General, exhausted by so many sleepless nights and wanting to sleep in the countryside, left for Colombey late in the morning.
This is exactly what will happen: after a good night's sleep in Colombey, he will preside over the Council on Thursday at 3 p.m. But in the meantime!
Around 2 P.M., as I return from the ministry's dining room, where they continue to serve us cold plates as if nothing had happened, we learn the astonishing news. Having left for Colombey, the General did not arrive there. Where is he then?
The inter-ministerial line is buzzing. Our questions cross each other in vain.
Tricot will tell me: “Pompidou called me. He was convinced that I knew where the General had gone. He said to me: ‘I understand very well that you do not want to tell me anything if you have promised secrecy to the General. But you see the situation France is in, you must at least tell me that you know where he is.’ But I had to reply that I knew nothing about it.”
Speculations abound. For some, the General wanted to give his departure a theatrical form. He wanted to anticipate the fall, to avoid fleeing miserably, like Charles X, like Louis-Philippe. For others, he has gone to bury himself in the underground command post at Taverny, to direct the retaking of the territory. Or he has joined his son-in-law with his division in Mulhouse, to reconquer France from the East.
Is he preparing “a coup?” I cannot imagine any other hypothesis than that. That he wanted to “take a step back,” to escape the overcharged atmosphere of Paris, that is like him. That he wants to sow panic by making people believe in his withdrawal, that is even more like him. That he wants to throw in the towel definitively, that is not like him at all.
Around Pompidou, this afternoon — fear or secret desire? — people are convinced that the General has left, disgusted with the general cowardice; he will not return; that it is now up to Pompidou to assert himself as the leader, to stand against subversion. A television truck is set up in the courtyard of Matignon in anticipation of a speech that the Prime Minister could deliver at any moment.
But who can truly know what the General has in mind, wherever he is?
I do not know any more than anyone else, and this disappearance worries me like everyone else. But I recognize in it two behavioral traits so characteristic that they reassure me.
The first is silence: “Keep a terrifying silence.” How many times have I heard this advice! Seeing the fear that grips the ministerial cabinets, then the radios, then the people on the street, I see the mark of this method, and once again, it proves effective.
“Deterrence,” he once told me, “cannot consist of proclaiming: ‘Our atomic force is made not to be used.’ Deterrence requires creating doubt, and even persuading the potential aggressor of the probability that we will not let the national territory be invaded without resorting to the ultimate weapon.”
We all wanted — I first among them — to reassure the insurgents of our peaceful intentions. “The police will never be ordered to shoot! The army will never intervene!” What the General would have wanted is for us, instead of reassuring, to employ intimidation. We turned our backs on one of his fundamental principles. And what if, once again, he was right?
The second principle of his crisis behavior, he also put into action: “Do not let yourself be caught off guard.” Preserve, in every situation, the means of free decision. This obsession, the members of his entourage have as much as he does, even without his knowledge. Degrées du Lou has taken measures so that a helicopter can land on the lawn of the Élysée and depart with the presidential couple, in case the insurrection threatens the presidential palace.
Already, in June 1940, the General had diplomatic passports sent to his wife in Brittany, so that she could join him with their children. Already, during the putsch of April 1961, he had given instructions to Admiral Cabanier to have the ship commanded by Philippe de Gaulle leave the harbor of Mers-el-Kébir, to prevent mutinous officers from taking him hostage.
It was Philippe de Gaulle who refused to set sail, estimating that his duty was to remain among his comrades and comfort them with his presence.
Around 6 P.M., we learn that the General has reached Colombey. He had previously made a detour via Baden.
Pompidou hastens to make it known that the bond that ties him to the General is intact. The General called him from Colombey to tell him that everything was fine; his voice was calm and reassuring. Pompidou did not reproach him for the hours of anguish he had just experienced, but told him: “You won.” He strives to be a good sport and makes sure that it is known.
Baden! The General, in organizing his escape to Baden, knew that the French would be plunged into anxiety for a few hours, and then learn that he had gone to meet Massu. If he had merely gone to spend the night in Colombey to find sleep, the effect would have been nil. For the electroshock to occur, it was necessary that his trace be lost for a moment, that people anxiously wonder what could have happened to him. It was necessary that his entourage and his government know nothing of his destination and that the public be made aware of their ignorance. In short, it was necessary to create mystery to produce a dramatic effect.
But did he seek only to produce an effect on public opinion? In Baden, with Massu, did he not go to seek something for himself?
Did he want to draw strength from a soldier who was among the first to join him in 1940, and one of those who called upon him in May 1958? He once told me: “The supporters of French Algeria, after all, are patriots. They are so much so that they have been stubborn. They did not understand that the chance for the country was to withdraw in time. As for Massu, he did not get involved with the OAS. He remained on the right side of the forbidden line.”
Yet, how destinies are intertwined! If Massu had not been sent to metropolitan France at the end of 1959, he would undoubtedly have become entangled, like his successor Gracieux, in the affair of the barricades of January 1960. I remember the General's amusement during a Council in 1963, when he awarded Massu his fourth star and put Gracieux into early retirement: “What a service we rendered to Massu by making him leave Algiers!” A service that Massu did not appreciate much at the time. But his bitterness did not prevail over his loyalty.
We learn that Mme de Gaulle accompanied the General on this journey. I imagine what she must be thinking, she who, in 1964, begged me not to push him to run; she who, in 1965, hoped until the last moment that the General would choose to leave with dignity, rather than plunging into the uncertainties of a campaign and a second term; she who, just yesterday, was insulted in the street… How she must be suffering, and how she must wish that her husband would retire!
Has the General returned to Colombey to resign? Or to rebound?
De Gaulle rebounds
Thursday, May 30, 1968, at noon.
At Matignon, it is said that the Prime Minister is deeply affected by the mistrust shown by the General in hiding the trip to Baden from him. But his determination and analytical ability remain intact. He is now convinced that the referendum cannot be won, nor even organized. The legislative elections, on the other hand, are easy to set up: anyone who opposes them would exclude themselves from the Republic. And there is a good chance of winning them, thanks to the anxiety caused by the General's mysterious trip and the visible shift in public opinion.
For the entire day, we will have had from the General only a voice — his thunderous speech — and an image: that of the photographer who by chance captured the scene of his return to Issy-les-Moulineaux, with Mme de Gaulle and the aide-de-camp accompanying the General like his shadow.
How many times has he descended from a helicopter with the same discreet entourage? How many times has a car waited for him to take him back to the Élysée? The photo would be banal if we did not know its date, May 30, 1968; if we had not learned that the photographer, by chance driving on the périphérique around noon, had recognized the driver and the empty DS heading to Issy-les-Moulineaux; and if we did not know with what vigilance the General avoided being surprised in the wings of his own representation.
The photographer managed, by hiding, to steal this moment with a telephoto lens, on that day, under those circumstances. The most simply anecdotal photo thus carries all our emotions and the weight of History.
The DS in the corner reminds us of the DS riddled with bullets at Petit-Clamart. The helicopters evoke the peaceful trips to and from Colombey, when this mode of transport replaced car journeys for security reasons.
De Gaulle is alone. In a few hours, a million demonstrators will march up the Champs-Élysées chanting “De Gaulle is not alone!” But at the time of the photo, neither they nor he know this yet. For the moment, he bears his solitude, the one he is familiar with, the one of dramatic decisions.
De Gaulle is in civilian clothes. He could have returned in military uniform if he had needed to impress his fellow citizens on television with a show of force. But he will speak only on the radio, as he did from London in the dark nights of jamming. He has regained enough confidence to attempt to turn the situation around, with the sole weapon of his naked voice.
The helicopter, a guarantee of secrecy, a guarantee of rapid connections that create surprise, played a great role in his reconquest of himself. It restored his sense of freedom, gave him air, allowed him to fly over peaceful France, restored his sense of movement, and allowed him to go and test the solidity of the army on the spot. Now, the old leader turns his back on the “mechanical civilization”; he advances towards us.
He is already ruminating on the formulas of his speech, as when he walks under the foliage of the forest of Dhuits, or paces back and forth in his office. The photo freezes his stride. He is facing us. He calls to us silently.
Yet, we also know that the call of May 1968 is not that of June 1940. How can we not read in this photo the image of a departure, equally solitary, equally resolved? Arriving, departing, they are the same gestures. The photo is ambiguous: there is a sense of departure in this return; something somber.
But, whether it is departure or return, victory or defeat, crowds or desert, it is the same man: intensity made man. It was de Gaulle.
Giscard d’Estaing calls for Pompidou’s removal
Thursday, May 30, 1968, 1 P.M.
The radios announce that Valéry Giscard d'Estaing has just called for the departure of Pompidou, while wishing for the General to remain: “The government has been unable to resolve the crisis. It must go; on the other hand, the President of the Republic, who embodies national and republican legitimacy, must stay, and it is around him that the State must be reestablished.”
Certainly, I regretted with all my heart the choice made by the Prime Minister on May 11, which he immediately had the General accept, thus leading him to disavow himself. Certainly, I found that he was slow to understand that the engine of the rebellion was not the University, but revolutionary groups. Certainly, I resented him for keeping my resignation secret when it had meaning, only to make it public when it no longer did.
But during these eighteen days that followed his return, only one image of the State emerged: his. His mastery, his common sense, his closeness to public opinion, were the only elements that reassured the French. The ministers and their ministries seemed struck by impotence. The prefects, the rectors, the prosecutors of the Republic doubted themselves and the State. Everywhere, the fear of acting gradually turned into a refusal to obey.
The man who gave this reassuring example, with a tenacity full of moderation, was he to be replaced in the midst of battle, under the pressure of candidates for this succession? Only the head of state had the power to freely make this decision. If he did so under duress, he would abandon what authority he had left. The revolutionary groups would bring him down under their blows. Cohn-Bendit, the new David, would have felled the Goliath de Gaulle!
How could the most gifted man of his generation not see that this blow to Pompidou was a blow to de Gaulle? That, as long as the crisis was not overcome, they absolutely had to remain united, so that the keystone they formed together would not collapse, and the State with them?
Despite the bonds of esteem and cordiality that have been woven between Giscard and myself over the years, my blood boiled. I hastily wrote a letter to Pompidou:
“9, rue Le Tasse This Thursday, May 30, at 3 P.M.
Monsieur le Premier ministre,
Whatever my sadness at no longer sharing your responsibilities at the hour when the first Council of Ministers, which I do not attend, begins in drama, let me tell you the fidelity of the memory that, whatever happens, I will keep of these six years of continuous work by your side, and the indignation that I felt upon hearing, just now, a man who was our colleague and work companion stab you in the back.
Please believe me, Monsieur le Premier ministre, your faithfully devoted,
Alain Peyrefitte.”
May this little note at least bring him some comfort! I have it delivered by the motorcyclist whose services I curiously still have at my disposal.
Indeed, as if this letter soothed him, he quickly shares it with those around him. He even published it in his posthumous book Pour rétablir une vérité.
In hindsight, one can be struck that Giscard, six years before ascending to the highest office, already obeys a legitimist reflex toward the function. He protects it in advance, showing the preeminence of the President over the Prime Minister, a fuse that must be blown when circumstances demand it. He defends the office that he will one day occupy.
The Gaullists take over the Champs-Elysées
New phone call with Krieg: “I am unable to say how many we will be: 10,000, 30,000? I hope for 100,000. The RG (Renseignements Généraux) estimate 20,000, while specifying that this is to not discourage anyone from participating.”
I am sure that Krieg has done the maximum, but the practical arrangements —banners, orders, slogans, songs, flags — no matter how meticulously planned, are not much: everything depends on the climate in which the parade will take place. What will the General announce at the Council of Ministers? What will he say to the nation? After a failed speech, the one on May 24, will he finally find the magic words?
At 4:30 P.M., we gather, my collaborators and I, anxious and uncertain, around the transistor radio. Four minutes later, we know that de Gaulle is still de Gaulle — the leader of a fight. From the intensity of our renewed confidence, we sense that he has won the game.
In one sentence, he said everything: “The means that could prevent the people from expressing themselves are intimidation, intoxication, and tyranny, exercised by organized groups that have been long in the making.”
He saw perfectly, and knew how to make others understand, what almost no one wanted to understand… and which seemed to elude him until now.
The salvos that the General fired were superb in their precision and effectiveness. Against the "politicians in the sidelines." Against "those who prevent students from studying, teachers from teaching, and workers from working." And especially against the communists, deliberately portrayed as the main adversaries.
Yet, haven't they shown restraint, even timidity? Haven't they kept the leftists at arm's length, forbidden joint demonstrations of students and workers, directed demands towards categorical claims? But the time for nuances and arrangements is over. De Gaulle abandons Pompidou's strategy, for whom France stood thanks to an implicit agreement between Séguy and himself — the “two Georges.”
I can't help but feel a pang of regret thinking about his speech on May 24, where he expressed the need to reform both this society that was rising against the State and this State that was liquefying. Last Friday, he delivered a just word that rang false, because it did not correspond to the situation of the day nor to the expectations of the French.
Today, he formulated accusations that may be false, but ring true and hit their target.
May it be that, once the turnaround is achieved and the elections won, “the great fear of the right-thinking people” does not become the great revenge and does not oppose the essential: what the General had announced on May 24…
We are about a dozen people leaving the Ministry of Education on foot, under the mocking gaze of its few inhabitants, to cross the Seine. What will we find on the other side? Judging by the deserted streets of Faubourg Saint-Germain, we are going to look ridiculous. So, what a surprise, what a joyful emotion, when we discover a Place de la Concorde teeming with people and bustling with flags — which is beginning to overflow onto the Champs-Élysées…
I am authoritatively placed in the front row of a forming wave, among a few deputies wearing their sashes.
At the height of the Rond-Point, we see the journalists from Le Figaro, massed at the windows. They look even more astonished than we are to see our numbers. On the first floor, where I recognize Louis-Gabriel Robinet, they observe us without revealing themselves; on the second floor, probably journalists, there are a few applauses; on the third floor, which I imagine is the “petit personnel,” cheers accompany us.
My five children, including Benoît, who is seven, begged me to let them accompany me. How I regret now having deprived them of this moment of warmth, after having made them share so much anxiety! But how could I have excluded the possibility of a severe counterattack in the street, from the PC and the leftists, this time united? This is what Debré feared and what one could reasonably fear with him.
On the esplanade of the Arc de Triomphe, each wave that arrives sings its Marseillaise; but as the preceding one, in the process of dispersing, continues to sing its own, and the one following sings another, the cacophony is complete. It doesn't matter: this disorder contributes to the enthusiasm.
“The Republic will not abdicate. The people will regain control,” said the General. And Krieg's bold move worked, beyond all hope. The sequence could not have been better: the dramatic disappearance, the country's anxiety, the General's triumphant return, a call in the form of a thunderous speech, a parade almost immediately afterward, while the General consults to form his new government…
Some of those who marched up the Champs-Élysées had descended them on August 25, 1944, and said that nothing like this had ever been seen between the two events. For the General, it was indeed a second Liberation.
It was also the revenge of the simple soldiers of Gaullism over its chiefs. In these trials, loyalty was not measured by diplomas, affiliations, or career advancements. The most loyal were those who owed nothing to de Gaulle except the pride of having recognized and loved his greatness.
A frenzied revolution, without purpose, without drama, and without victims, begun on May 3 in the streets, vanished on May 30 in the streets.
Pompidou, Fouchet, Messmer, Grimaud, could be proud of having prevented de Gaulle's foot from slipping into the blood of young French people. But it was still de Gaulle who, ultimately, drew the strength to turn the situation around in his rediscovered certainty of being accountable for the soul of France.
AP: “My faithful elector, Maurice Demange, a gas station owner in Sancy-lès-Provins, recognized Geismar one evening in May in the driver of a pretty red sports convertible that stopped at his station to ask for gas. An altercation ensued, and, chased by popular anger, the revolutionary had to flee.”
