Jacques Foccart on May 1968 - Part IV

From the Elysée audio diary of Jacques Foccart

Jacques Foccart was the only person to have spoken with General de Gaulle on a daily basis during the ten years and four months of his presidential tenure. He was officially General Secretary of the Elysée for African and Malagasy affairs. He also was, unofficially, his advisor on domestic policies and in charge of relations with the Gaullist movement, and its leaders. From January 1965 until the death of Georges Pompidou in 1974, he maintained an audio diary.

Every entry was dictated by Foccart on a recorder. At the beginning of each reel, he repeated or paraphrased the following:

“I ask from those who will have the opportunity to make use of these documents later on to do it in the spirit that animates me, that is to say for historical purposes. It is possible that certain opinions on this or that man may be difficult to admit, may even be difficult, for their relatives; I will have reported them out of a duty of sincerity, and I ask that these elements never be used in a spirit of controversy or disparagement.”

All of General de Gaulle’s quotes will be rendered in italic.

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Saturday, May 25, 1968

Pompidou: “I, too, have my limits... If the General wants to impose certain ministers on me, I'd rather leave.” Debré wants to resign. The police are exhausted.

A difficult, trying day, during which I spent my time shuttling between Matignon and the Élysée. At Matignon, I’m increasingly forced to enter through the small back door and cross the garden, because journalists are on the lookout for everything. When they see me arrive, dispatches go out, and articles appear — like those in Combat — saying: “We are heading toward a tougher stance, because we saw Foccart going to Matignon.”

I had lunch again that day with Pompidou. I must say that, during this whole period, we lived very close to one another. I was particularly close to Pompidou, spending hours and hours with him.

I told him — I can’t recall whether it was the day before or the same day he had led the Grenelle negotiations through the night¹ — how disconcerted and bitter Michel Debré was, irritated, unhappy to see it all happening without him. He was then Minister of the Economy and Finance, and everything being discussed on rue de Grenelle was highly significant for the economy. Pompidou told me:

“I know, Jacques, I know all the consequences. I know it’s unfair because Michel should be there. But what can I say? I’m also absolutely sure that, around one or two in the morning, faced with a new demand or necessity, Michel — because that’s his nature — would blow up, pound the table, and send the strikers packing.
And right now, with this student affair, with the prevailing climate, we cannot afford to botch these negotiations.”

I found Pompidou absolutely firm and resolute about what he was willing to give. This phrase came up often in his mouth: “We can go this far: obviously, it’s a blow to the French economy, but it’s a blow it can recover from — it will recover in time. But we can’t go beyond that, because that would be dishonorable. It would truly mean sacrificing the French economy, and that, I will not do — I cannot do.”

I don’t know if, when speaking of Pompidou’s psychology, I mentioned that before the vote of no confidence — on the 21st or 22nd — I saw him to tell him things were not going well, that we were bogged down. It was awful for me to say all this while he was battling the no-confidence motion in the Assembly. I saw a very tired Pompidou, running his hand over his face and saying: “Listen, Jacques, I know, I know, but say no more. What do you want? I have my limits too; sometimes I’m at my wits' end. There are things, just things… I can't take it anymore! I’ve had enough, and I too sometimes feel like walking away.” Then I realized I might have gone too far, that Pompidou was unhappy and exhausted. I cut it short and didn’t say everything I had intended to.

It must have been on the 22nd, because on the 21st I saw Sanguinetti at 5 p.m. That meeting had been scheduled for several days. Sanguinetti explained that the General had asked him to come in through the grille du Coq — not the official Élysée courtyard — at 3 p.m. He told him he wanted to take some tough action and needed him. Among other things, he said he would soon be a minister, more specifically that he was considering him for Information. Sanguinetti told me: “The General told me not to tell anyone, but I know I can trust you. This is what he said.”

That reminded me that the night before, on May 20, I told the General that we couldn’t continue with radio and television entirely in the hands of the opposition, and that we needed reliable people. He replied: “What do you want me to do? It’s not my fault if my ministers have nothing in their guts — if they have no balls” (an expression he used quite frequently at the time), “if they have no courage.”

I retorted: “Yes, you do have courageous people, but you don’t use them — like Sanguinetti.” It was certainly after this remark that he summoned him. On the evening of the 21st, when I saw the General again, we returned to these issues:
”Right! So, concerning my government, I’m going to make a change. I saw Sanguinetti at 3 p.m. — don’t repeat it — but I’m going to give him Information, and with him, things will be under control.”

Back to Pompidou. I am now very precise: it was on Wednesday the 22nd that I had this painful moment — with him, painful because of my affection for him. That’s when he told me: “Listen, understand me, I’ve had enough.”

Yes, it was exactly on the 22nd at 1 p.m. Pompidou was lunching alone, rehearsing to himself and finalizing the very important speech he was to give at the Assembly that afternoon. And before lunch, I — unintentionally, because I believed it was my duty — delivered these cruel blows in the form of reproaches, saying: “We’re not doing what’s necessary.” He reacted, saying in essence: “Have mercy! I have limits too, I’m only human!”

That evening I saw him again — it was the day of the Solferino attack. I hinted that, among the reforms and government changes being considered, Sanguinetti’s appointment had been discussed, and that I didn’t want to bring it up before the no-confidence motion was rejected. Pompidou said:

“But this is insane! The General is doing this without informing me, it’s not proper. I assure you it’s not right to treat me like this. Sanguinetti is a fine man, a tough man we’ll use, but he’s not the man we need right now.”

“Georges, I think the opposite.”

“No, it’s not possible! It would seem like a provocation. I can’t accept that, and if that’s how it is — if the General wants to impose ministers on me whom I consider unfit in the current situation — then I’d rather step down. I’ll tell him that directly.”

I saw many people that day, and in the evening, Michel Debré asked to see me. So I went at 8:30 p.m. to rue Spontini, where I found him in a state of indescribable rage, mixed with sorrow. He confirmed unequivocally that he was going to resign, because he could not accept the affront of being excluded from the negotiations — it was intolerable. Pompidou had betrayed him not only politically but also in friendship; it was broken, over, finished, and he would never forgive him. He was livid, bitter, and of course very sad. So I begged him, I said:

“Michel, you have no right to do this, it’s desertion.”

“Don’t worry, no one will know.”

“Come on! You say no one will know, but you just told me that you’ve already briefed your staff, passed your files to Dupont-Fauville². If ten people are in on it, by tonight twenty will know, and by tomorrow morning all of Paris will be aware. You don’t have the right to do this — you’re deserting, abandoning us in the fight. It’s not right! It’s not possible! It’s beneath you!”

It was an extremely painful, difficult, harsh conversation, though the feelings we had for one another were not in question — those feelings were built on mutual respect and, on my part, let’s say the word, a certain admiration for Michel. But here, I felt he had no right to act that way. In the end, there was no resolution, except that he maintained his desire to leave Finance, saying: “I’ve lost face. How do you expect me to negotiate with these people — my regular counterparts — when I wasn’t even involved in the government’s discussions? It’s not possible. Georges, by making this decision, is preventing me from continuing to function as a minister.” We agreed that, given the grave circumstances and the country’s risk of tipping over, he couldn’t officially resign, and everything would be done to conceal the reality. I told him: “We’ll see what happens afterward.”

I returned to my office, where Sanguinetti came to see me too, bitter himself. My God, so many people to comfort, to reassure, to lift up! He was disappointed and somewhat aggressive: “Clearly, they’re making a fool of me. Every time they call me, it’s to say: ‘You’ll soon be a minister,’ and then nothing happens. But you want to know something? It’s Pompidou who’s blocking it, who doesn’t want me as a minister.” I calmed him as best I could.

The atmosphere remained grim, a kind of paralysis continued to spread, and I was increasingly worried. I felt that Mitterrand — even Mendès³, despite his positions — was out of touch, that Waldeck Rochet⁴ himself was overwhelmed, and that we were caught in a dynamic coming from Germany. I don’t mean the German government was behind it, but this kind of international revolutionary movement, whose roots in Germany are strong, is going to shake Europe. It’s astonishing how, in just one month, a country like France — so sure of itself, with seemingly stable power and well-established finances — can teeter. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I project a calm, unwavering certainty to everyone.

In any case, I’m determined to fight to the end. But I feel anxiety creeping in because I don’t see much reaction — except from a few individuals. With my experience, I deeply fear how men behave, especially those who should lead, when the situation is tough, or worse, when they think all is lost. Men are not, by and large, courageous. Morally, and even more so physically, they are often quite cowardly. So, if we don’t act, we risk seeing some truly tragic events.

I also feel we’re not safe from some kind of assault on the Élysée. Our security forces are tired, worn out because they are constantly deployed, and they tire more quickly than the protesters. When a company of CRS or a platoon of mobile guards takes up position in a corner of Paris, even if there’s no fighting, they don’t sleep in their own beds. They’re out all night, waiting, and then when they go home, military obligations continue — and then it’s back on alert again. The protesters, on the other hand, return to the Sorbonne, lie down, and get to sleep soundly. I sense the situation is going to become increasingly difficult.

The General had let it be known that he would not grant any audiences on Saturday. However, since he was told I would be glad to see him, he told me to come the next morning at 11 a.m.

Sunday, May 26, 1968

The University. Debré. Preparing a Gaullist demonstration. A helicopter to “extricate” de Gaulle if needed.

At this meeting, I don't find the General in a very good state. He asks me what I think of the effect of his television address. “General, I will speak to you more at length about it tomorrow, but at first glance, it seems too short, too impersonal.” Naturally, he reacts badly. “In a word, you need to know, I don't feel that it had any effect. We must also say that everyone was expecting this address to be the ultimate cure, capable of fixing everything, of winning everything, and clearly, people, having believed in this miracle for a long time and waited for it for a long time, reacted with disappointment.

“And then there were all those people who drooled."

“Yes, that’s true. I don’t want to blame the ORTF, but you barely spoke when there was a systematic bombardment on all the channels. Everyone, except for our friends — who are in the minority — rushed to give their opinion, naturally hostile. The night before last, on television, after your address, I noted that of the seventeen statements broadcast, thirteen were hostile, coming from either unionists or politicians. There was a genuine call to insurrection from Mendès, and overall, there were four favorable positions — well, three favorable and one neutral. So, of course, people are becoming indoctrinated. I'm worried to see that while we are paralyzing ourselves by not reacting enough, the public is being intoxicated and gripped by a certain panic. What I fear is that apathy, a certain fatalism, is taking hold of public opinion, making people say: ‘Nothing can be done, we're not being defended! General, we must be very careful. The State, the government, is being blamed a lot for not doing what it should.”

“But what do you want me to do about it? I don’t have ministers, I’ve told you this time and time again.”

The General returned at length to the fact that he had long given instructions about the University. That's true, and no one was able to apply them — whether it was ministers with academic backgrounds like Lucien Paye or Alain Peyrefitte, or political figures like Jean-Marie Berthoin, Louis Joxe, and Christian Fouchet⁵.

“Everyone wanted to compromise, everyone surrounded themselves with professors, rectors, advisors of all kinds who, in reality, didn’t want things to change. The result, as you can see, is that all of a sudden, everything blows up — because I don’t have statesmen, because I don’t have a government.”

I found the General rather pessimistic.

“You know, I assure you, it’s just a matter of showing willpower. Maybe not in the way you did: the referendum doesn’t seem to be the best approach, especially since this matter was leaked a long time ago, and people already condemned it before hearing the announcement. The shock effect didn’t happen. But we need to restart things, show the will to resist, to defend the nation.”

“What do you expect me to do? I don’t have the means to handle this.”

I found the General once again rather shaken. I spoke to him instead about the positive side — the CDR, all those people who want to do something, who are signing up with us, about this movement that exists. I told him about the demonstration he agreed to: “It’s not that holding a demonstration guarantees results, but there is a public will to get through this. The mass of the nation is in the process of being lulled, being indoctrinated, but there are people reacting — and wherever our young people distribute leaflets, they’re well received. As I already told you, they go to the Sorbonne, they engage in discussions, they even place their leaflets on the bookstalls at the Sorbonne bookstore. They go to the Odéon, from where they’ve brought back the black flag⁶ of the Odéon several times. It doesn’t take much, I assure you, General! You have the overwhelming majority of the French people behind you. In any case, you have a core of solid and determined French people, and that’s enough to begin — and to rally the great mass that does not approve of what’s happening, that is anxious.” In short, I said everything I could in that direction.

A certain weariness is showing among workers, especially among women. In Lorraine, it is said that the picket lines have disappeared. In some sectors, there is hope of a resumption, a near-unanimous hope for a reshuffle affecting a few posts, but signaling the will to act: “Yes, I’m going to do a reshuffling of ministers, but I’ll see when.” He still hasn’t made a firm decision.

In Dijon, elections are proceeding normally despite threats, and all polling stations are open. About the CDR, I specify that there are thirty-five groups established in the Paris region (in districts and suburban towns), that we have 1,465 registrations at Solferino and more than 7,000 in the provinces in recent days, that we have CDRs in high schools: at Janson-de-Sailly, Buffon, Pasteur, and that we are organized in fifty-seven departments.

I bring up the referendum and suggest that perhaps university autonomy should be included. There, I get a reaction: “I don’t want to include everything, all the details. I’m fine with us achieving that autonomy, but I don’t want to put all the details in the referendum — that’s ridiculous.”

Then I speak to him about Michel Debré’s crisis, about the conversation we had the evening before. It’s extremely serious: “Yes, I understand it, actually; I can imagine his reaction and I understand it. But what can I say? Would you have taken the risk of involving him in these negotiations?” He returns to Pompidou’s view that Debré, in a fit of anger, would have slammed his fist on the table and broken off negotiations when it was necessary to reach an agreement.

I make arrangements with the Service d’Action Civique and the CDR to organize the large demonstration, which will go from the Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe and is scheduled for Friday, May 31.

I will spend an hour in Luzarches. Before that, I saw Desgrées du Loû⁷ to make arrangements to land a helicopter in case the General needs to be potentially extricated if a generalized riot were to choke the Élysée. We took the necessary steps so the aircraft can land on the lawn. Just like in 1961, I take this measure without telling the General.

Monday, May 27, 1968

The hardest part is being on the defensive. Charléty. “There’s hardly anyone but Pompidou.” By-elections. The referendum.

The day is difficult. At noon, I have lunch with Bernard Lefort, Georges Altschuler, Jean-Louis Guillaud, etc. I didn’t want to cancel on them despite everything I have to do, and I host them at the Bristol. Naturally, I sense how disturbed they are too — let’s say anxious — about this situation that is both explosive and paralyzing; it’s a rather curious phenomenon.

One realizes here how much easier it is to take action against something than to defend oneself. Ten years ago, when we were on the path to power — by the most legal, most conventional means — we could steer our course of action. Now, we're on the defensive, and that is much more difficult. Ten years ago, the misinformation worked against our opponents. This time, it is working — and very powerfully — against us. I don’t know if I’ve already said this, but throughout this period, the most extraordinary rumors have reached me: “They’ve decided to attack the Élysée tonight,” “They’re going to seize the Interior Ministry,” or — and this was repeated several times, I believe it was even genuinely planned — “They’re going to take over City Hall and the police headquarters, and raise the black flag over the police prefecture.”

There is a share of misinformation in all of this. There’s also the fact that students at the Sorbonne are saying all sorts of nonsense, and people who hear them repeat it to us in good faith — often with embellishment. All this creates a rather extraordinary sense of unease. I must say that, with one or two exceptions, all my colleagues at rue de Grenelle are reacting very well. Those who aren’t reacting well aren’t necessarily of a different opinion, but, like many in the administration, they are completely paralyzed and wondering how things will turn out.

During all this time, the evening demonstrations are violent, harsh. One senses that the police forces are tired, a bit disillusioned. One gets the feeling they felt disavowed when Pompidou, returning from Afghanistan, took lenient measures. He was right to do so, but the police viewed it as a rebuke of their actions. It is necessary — and I’ve said so several times — to pay tribute to the security forces, to say that we support the way they have carried out their duties. Because, in good conscience, they have only defended themselves — often remaining impassive for hours, under insults and barrages of all kinds of projectiles. When they charged, obviously some acts of brutality occurred, but they were very limited compared to what could have been feared.

I inform the General that the protest underway includes about twelve thousand people, few of whom are workers, and that the question now is what they will do after dispersing. This protest is Charléty. Those twelve thousand at the start became thirty thousand according to the police prefecture, and fifty thousand according to the organizers. But it’s always the same: there’s a systematic large gap in the numbers, which is normal, and the figures easily double or triple. It was at this famous Charléty stadium protest that Mendès France was to compromise himself — there’s no better word — with his PSU, alongside people who are not for reform but for the destruction of society.

The General, for his part, does not at all seem concerned about what might happen after the dispersal. On the contrary, he seems to think that the protests are dying down. There are also gatherings of workers, organized by the CGT and the Communist Party, who, moreover, were booed at Charléty by the PSU and the youth.

I express a sense of widespread misinformation: “It’s high time to set the record straight, and it’s essential to speak to the people clearly and firmly. It’s crucial to keep them informed: there should be a new minister speaking every day, and every third day the Prime Minister.”

“Whom do you want? I have no one. Who do you think should speak? It can’t be Fouchet, that’s obvious! It can’t be Gorse, certainly not! So, whom do you want? I have no one as a spokesperson. You’re right: we should be making far more frequent communications, but there’s hardly anyone besides Pompidou, who is already handling all the affairs and doing it well. I see no one else…”

He confirms his instructions regarding the major demonstration I spoke of:

“See when you can organize it. It should be held at Place de la Concorde. But shouldn’t there be a meeting first?”

“No, in my view, that’s not possible. We need to begin with a major march, and then we’ll see about a meeting afterward.”

Regarding the upcoming by-elections in the 5th arrondissement and in Maine-et-Loire, I tell him: “They should happen immediately so people can vote before the holidays. It’s not too important for Maine-et-Loire, but it is for Paris; otherwise, we risk having elections right in the middle of the holidays, which would not be good.”

“Of course, look into it, we must organize the elections in those two constituencies, I agree.”

“As for Capitant, I don’t think he’ll run again. If he does, shall we put someone up against him?”

“Naturally! He showed himself in a very unpleasant light. He knew exactly what I wanted, what I thought, and the positions he took were unacceptable. In that case, he should have someone against him.”

I review the declaration from the national office of the Committees for the Defense of the Republic, which the General approved. It’s a text I gave him and that he must have seen before the vote of no confidence — around the 20th, I believe. I didn’t publish it right away, as Pompidou asked me to wait for the outcome of the vote so as not to provide ammunition to our opponents. I file it away along with a document titled “Questions the People are asking”, drafted — not always very skillfully — by my staff, to help me tell the General what the referendum should cover. I’ve already made some suggestions to him on this, though I didn’t hand him this document, which in many respects is quite excessive.

I also have the draft text of the referendum, supplemented by suggestions from various people, almost all of whom are my collaborators. Most of these amendments will be accepted, either literally or in spirit — except for the proposal to increase the purchasing power of families and the elderly, which we deeply regret.

Tuesday, May 28, 1968

Tricot's Note. Mitterrand Sidelined. The Votes from the Overseas Territories. “React how? I can’t see myself launching the country into a civil war… I cannot substitute myself for an entire people.” Visit to Madame de Gaulle.

A kind of increasingly intense anxiety grips everyone — it’s truly extraordinary. At 9 a.m., Tricot gathers all members of the General's household — that is, the technical advisers and special envoys of his general secretariat, a few of mine (I hadn’t summoned many), the envoys of the cabinet directorate, and the main officers of the special military staff. Tricot takes a very firm position and outlines the main points of the referendum.

During the morning, I’m harassed by Mauricheau-Beaupré, asking what we are doing, and by Barberot, who bursts into my office like a volcano saying: “It’s insane, I have neither gasoline nor resources. I have men but can’t do anything.” I wrestle with Messmer to obtain fuel vouchers for the Service d’Action Civique people, for Mauricheau, Barberot, and others. I do my best to meet everyone’s needs, to support some and calm others. It’s very difficult.

Tricot has written a memo after our discussion. Here is the text:

In the very grave situation the State currently faces, there remain at least three major instruments at its disposal: legality, speech, and public force. Confronted with very powerful movements that are often contradictory in their intent and aims, it should still be possible for the State to avoid the catastrophe of a government where the Communists would be dominant. The State’s means could be more effectively employed if the following steps were taken:
a) Confirm the government’s existence and mission, at least until the referendum, to avoid hesitation among ministers⁸.
b) As General de Gaulle envisioned, convene a daily restricted council chaired by him, composed of the Prime Minister and the most relevant ministers⁹.
c) During the first of these meetings, establish an information strategy to prepare for the referendum and remind the country of key facts, especially economic ones, that all the rhetoric threatens to obscure.
d) With the help of non-striking administration personnel, finalize decisions in preparation that may be well received by public opinion (development of Brittany, Lorraine, Provence, etc.).
e) Invite certain ministers to quickly tour the provinces to reassure prefects and local notables who are not staunch opponents.

We’re told that there is systematic infiltration of the Israelite organizations by the CIA — which I don’t believe. Reports mention a large explosives cache at the Sorbonne and weapons at the science faculty and Censier — which I believe only partially. It’s exaggerated, part of a disinformation campaign.

On the evening of May 28, I find the General quite tired, disillusioned, and worried. I tell him that, although things are evolving badly, the revolutionary front is now more clearly defined: Waldeck Rochet is distancing himself more and more from Mitterrand and also from the leftists, whom he calls provocateurs.

The municipal election in Dijon is on Friday, and Poujade has little chance: “Then he shouldn’t run.” I must say, when the General said that, he was certainly thinking about something else. I add that, because of this, Poujade won't be able to hold a press conference against Mitterrand. In any case, all of this is largely irrelevant — Mitterrand’s influence has diminished. He has truly vanished from public opinion, but now he wants to issue a strong press statement.

In Senegal, Dakar students occupied Van Vollenhoven high school and caused damage. The General is more interested in this and asks if the unrest is limited to the high school and who is involved. I answer, unfortunately, that some of our nationals are among them.

Meanwhile, calm reigns in the Antilles, and the big Fort-de-France demonstration drew only 500 people.

For the referendum, the question arises of the overseas territories’ votes, and I speak to the General about the vote count. “It is evident,” he replies, “that if we were to barely win a majority — anyway, in that case, I would not remain — it would not be votes from the Comoros or elsewhere that would be taken into account in in deciding the Republic’s future.”

At that point, the General asks me: “But what do you think of the situation?”

“General, I think what I have thought all along, we are witnessing a slow paralysis, even though I am sure, sure, please believe me, that most of the French people do not want this.”

“They don’t want it, you say that constantly. They don’t want it, and yet work doesn’t resume. They don’t want it, yet nothing can get done. You tell me workers support returning to work.”

“Yes they are, but a hard core of 10% prevents it. The Communist Party also wants a return to work but cannot impose its will. I see this creeping paralysis with great concern. I now understand how a state can suddenly fall into the hands of a determined group. We must react, General, it’s the only way.”

“But react how? With whom? And why?”

I try to explain again that he must speak out, address the nation on television, with strength and clarity.

“Yes, I know, I know.”

“It’s time to take charge again. We must appeal to all those who…”

“Yes, but I don’t want to throw the country into civil war.”

“No, but just call on people to show determination and will…”

“Ah yes! There is none! No determination! No will! In truth, the French people are dying and letting themselves die. They had a few surges — they followed me in 1940, though only a small minority. They followed me in 1958 when in danger, but with many reservations. Always, endlessly, the opponents return and undo it all. This is a country dissolving, I can’t do anything about it. How do you want to fight for a country that is dissolving, vanishing, surrendering? You cannot hold up a country against its will. You can’t stop it from dissolving when that’s what it wants. It’s impossible.”

“General, I understand how grave and painful this is. But you don’t have the right to let things go on. You needed to change some ministers, you didn’t. Maybe it’s not too late. And the rest should be confirmed.”

I reiterate points we had agreed on with Tricot. I add: “Above all, the country is waiting for leadership. It’s gripped with anxiety, wondering: ‘What is the government doing?’”

“What do you want me to do? I have no government. I have no ministers. They’re incapable. I tell them what to do, they don’t do it. I told the police prefect to retake the Odéon, and then I’m told, and you tell me, that it’s not possible.”

“It wasn’t possible then; it should be now.”

“There’s always a thousand reasons not to act. I told Gorse what to do: he left my office in full agreement, seemingly enthusiastic, and three-quarters of an hour later, he backed down because some aide told him: ‘Minister, this would be catastrophic.’ No one has the courage to decide or do what’s needed. So what do you want? I cannot substitute myself for an entire people, it’s not possible.”

Then came a truly poignant, extraordinary moment of silence. The General looked at me deeply:

“Foccart, Foccart, I ask you, what can I do? Can anything still be done?”

“General, of course! We must…”

“Yes, of course! You’re always repeating me the same thing. But again I tell you, I cannot fight against apathy, against a people’s will to dissolve. It’s not possible. One cannot endlessly prop it up. What can I say, we’ll have done what we could.”

I was shaken, I sensed a decision was forming in his mind: to give up the fight, disgusted and wounded by the country’s lack of response. Personally, I remain convinced, deeply, that the people can be roused, simply by galvanizing them, reigniting the spirit of those who refuse to surrender, and allowing them to rally. The General has many reasons to cite the people’s lethargy, no doubt. I tried to say one last thing:

“You don’t have the right to leave things like this. This is about France. Everything that’s been done for her cannot be abandoned.”

“What can I say! I can’t do anything about it!”

The General stood up and said: “Goodnight, Foccart. Goodbye.”

I wen out, deeply shaken.

After leaving the General, I wanted to see how Madame de Gaulle was doing. I had a kind message to deliver to her from the Basses-Pyrénées. I found her very sad, visibly affected, and I realized she couldn’t comfort the General in her current state. In a moment of confidence, she said:

“You know, this cannot go on. I was right when I asked the General not to run again. He should have listened. Then he would have left with dignity and could have appointed someone before leaving.”

“Madame, he might not have been able to then. In any case, things are different now. What matters is to react.”

“But react how? It’s awful, everything I see. There are a few gestures, like the little nuns who crossed all of Paris to bring me a letter. But beyond that, so many horrible things. Look at this Marty¹⁰, the cardinal, stirring things up, preaching rebellion. With dreadful demagogy, he too attacks established authority. It’s becoming truly infernal. Today, for the first time in my life, I was insulted in the street.”

I realized how serious this was, how deeply it had affected her.

“I was in the 17th arrondissement in a car when a man in a DS, Mr. Foccart, a DS! So not just anyone, recognized me, rolled down his window, to tell me insults of all sorts you can’t imagine. What I heard was horrible, absolutely appalling.”

And again, I understood just how deeply it had marked her. I thought that this incident, that the General does not know about, on top of the rest, would terribly darken the mood.

Wednesday, May 29, 1968

The Council of Ministers is postponed. The General goes to Colombey. Confidences from Alain de Boissieu. “Pompidou, I embrace you.” The helicopter has vanished. “Do not undertake any search.” An emissary for Pompidou.

I decide to go to rue de Grenelle to preside, as I do every Wednesday, over my cabinet meeting, where I gather all my collaborators. In fact, I hadn’t been to rue de Grenelle for ten days, and I had missed the previous Wednesday's meeting. I don’t want my collaborators to imagine I’m abandoning them and begin to think that all is lost just because I no longer show up. So I go, and this will have fairly serious consequences.

Indeed, as I’m about to leave for this meeting, around 9:30 a.m., I call the chief of staff of Messmer to ask for the fuel vouchers he was supposed to give me but which never arrived: “I’m calling because the minister is about to leave for the Council of Ministers.” Biros replies: “Ah no! I’ve just been informed that the Council is canceled, likely postponed until tomorrow.” Worried by this decision, I wonder what could have happened. I immediately think the General is unwell — I had noticed the day before that he was tired — or that he just wants to rest, take a day off. I call the aides-de-camp. It’s d’Escrienne who answers: “Yes, the General has decided to postpone the Council.”

“What’s going on?”

D’Escrienne, clearly tortured — probably because he’s under strict orders not to say anything — tells me: “Listen, for you there are no secrets; the General is leaving for Colombey to rest.”

“That’s not possible. What’s really going on?”

I call La Chevalerie, who tells me: “Well, yes, the General is going to Colombey to rest. But, you know, he’ll be back tomorrow.” I find La Chevalerie deeply anxious. Then I call Tricot, who says the same thing. I ask: “You’re not hiding anything from me?”

“No, absolutely nothing. The General made his decision known this morning, and no one has seen him yet.”

Meanwhile, my collaborators have gathered, so I go ahead with the meeting, which is interrupted several times by phone calls. I felt there was a drama unfolding at the Élysée, but since I had come to reassure everyone, I didn’t want to suddenly say, “Gentlemen, excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.” So I carried on with the meeting, which felt incredibly long, as everyone kept asking questions, clearly worried. I waited a while before ending the meeting so that no one would notice how tormented I was — it must have been around 10:30 or 11:00 — and I headed for the Élysée. I must also mention that the night had been tumultuous on the student front: harassment, clashes with the police, and the atmosphere was dreadful.

When I arrive at the Élysée, I run into Alain de Boissieu, the General’s son-in-law. “I’ve come,” he tells me, “because the General invited me to lunch.”

“You know, Alain…”

“He wants to see me. He called and asked me to come and stay for lunch.”

“You know, Alain, I feel this is much more serious. Since nothing is hidden from you and you’re about to see the General anyway, I’ll tell you — he’s going to Colombey. I confess I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Boissieu seems stunned. I tell him I’ll try to find out more: “I no longer have time to see the General myself now, but I’d be very surprised if you actually have lunch here.”

“Oh yes, I’m certain of it. The General won’t leave until after lunch; he invited me personally.”

“I fear those are just polite words, and he’ll leave earlier. Go to the aides-de-camp. I’ll see what’s going on and come back.”

I inquire with Tricot and La Chevalerie, who are devastated. When I say “devastated,” I don’t mean it as criticism — they are just as shaken as I am, learning all this so suddenly. I ask: “But surely, there must be something we can do?” Tricot replies: “No, absolutely nothing. We tried every argument, but he insists on leaving.”

“But that’s not possible. If he leaves, it’s not just for 24 hours of rest. This will cause a dreadful impression and a terrible shock. We don’t need that right now.”

“My poor Jacques, we faced a man who had made up his mind and wouldn’t listen to anything.”

I return to Alain de Boissieu and tell him: “Alain, you’re about to see the General, and I’m certain he’ll tell you he’s leaving. I know him well. I was deeply struck by my conversation with him last night, and I think this is serious. I wonder if he’s leaving for good.”

“That’s not possible!”

“Listen, you must use every argument. Tell him he must take control again; tell him that the majority of the French people are with him; tell him everything can be won back; tell him that a strong speech, a decisive action, the General regaining control — this could flip everything in an instant: not only crush this sort of revolution, but even pave the way for general elections or something similar. That’s what I’ve believed for a long time. He could even give us an overwhelming majority. Everything can still be regained. I assure you, we don’t have the right to give up. No one would understand, and you wouldn’t be able to explain it to anyone. Either the General is tired — and then it’s not by taking a helicopter or a car that he’ll rest in 24 hours. He should rest in Paris and call his doctor. Or else he’s leaving.”

“No, Jacques, I don’t believe he’s leaving. I am, like Philippe de Gaulle, the custodian of some of his last wishes, and it’s likely he wants to see me to change a few of them, perhaps to arrange other measures.”

“I beg you, if measures are being taken, they must concern Pompidou, but now is not the time…”

“No, it’s not about that, but maybe…”

“Listen, fight for it, because this is simply not acceptable — it would be an abandonment of the country! It’s intolerable, it goes against his nature, against his historical role. I beg you, fight for it.”

At that moment, Boissieu is called in. I could have asked to be received as well, but sensing the matter was already settled, I didn’t. Boissieu comes back a few moments later, and I see him again in the Council room. “Jacques,” he tells me, “it’s decided: he’s leaving. He’s leaving immediately. We’re going in separate helicopters and will meet at Colombey. As I mentioned, there are papers to take, things to change.”

“But did you make him understand how this will look to public opinion?”

“Yes, I tried, but I couldn’t shake him. He’s firmly decided and in very poor spirits. He’s overwhelmed by so much cowardice and weakness.”

“Yes, but we have to react, to do something — it’s just not possible.”

“In any case, it’s decided, my poor Jacques, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Please, go with him, don’t leave him. Tell him he must come back as soon as possible, and everything can start again — I’m certain of it.”

Boissieu confirms nothing has changed in the General’s intentions, and that, as always understood, Pompidou is to take over. With that, he quickly leaves, and the General departs to take his helicopter, without my being able to see him.

I go to Matignon, where Pompidou is devastated. He had a phone call with the General, who informed him of his decision and refused to listen to reason on anything. Pompidou is quite shaken, because the General — something he had never done before — ended the conversation with: “Good luck, Pompidou! I embrace you.”

Pompidou is having lunch with his wife and a young woman whom I later learn is his son’s fiancée — the wedding was to take place a few days later. So I can’t join them, and I go instead to have lunch with Juillet, Lefranc, Rey, and Frey in another dining room at Matignon.

Before sitting down, we call to check whether the helicopter has arrived. The answer is no. La Chevalerie tells me — it's 1:30 p.m. — “We are very worried. The General should have arrived 45 minutes to an hour ago, and he still isn’t here. Should I trigger alerts?”

“No, don’t trigger any alerts, because there were two accompanying helicopters — if something had happened, we would know from them. Wait, and above all, let me know as soon as you have news.”

We go to the dining room, not very eager to eat. Calls keep coming in, and I have the line blocked so I can be informed. Every time I speak to La Chevalerie, he answers with the same anxiety: “No, he hasn’t arrived; no, I don’t know what’s going on—it’s dreadful.” I then recall what the General told me in 1961, when he feared the paratroopers might land — he wanted to leave either for Toulon, near the navy, or abroad if necessary, to continue the fight. I think something similar may be happening now.

Around 2:00–2:15 p.m., I get a call from Alain de Boissieu: “Jacques, I’m at Colombey, I can’t tell you more. The General isn’t here, but I’m calling to tell you not to worry at all. Tell Pompidou that it’s up to him now. Do you hear me? Tell him it’s up to him. An emissary is on the way to him with instructions. I can’t say more. The General is not at Colombey. He told me he doesn’t know when he’ll be back — with a tone that seemed to mean he didn’t know if he’d be back. But above all, don’t worry, don’t start any search, do nothing.”

All of this unfolds in the small dining room where Juillet, Rey, Frey, and Lefranc are gathered. I think no one really understands what’s happening, but everyone is on edge. After the call, I don’t return to the table and instead go quickly to the main dining room, where Pompidou is having his family lunch. I signal for him to come out and tell him, “Well, here it is…” and explain everything. He replies: “But this is awful. So he’s left for abroad — but where? What’s going on?”

We speculate: either he has gone abroad, but the helicopter won’t get him very far, and in any case, it will become known; or he’s gone to his son-in-law’s. I say: “No, because his son-in-law was in Colombey.”

And so begin hours and hours of anguish for us. Suddenly, someone tells me Madame de Gaulle is in Colombey. I call, and someone answers me: “Here is Madame de Gaulle.” I start: “My respects, Madame, I’m glad to hear you…” Then the voice of the housekeeper says: “It’s not Madame de Gaulle, she’s not here.”

“Then connect me to General de Boissieu, who called me earlier.”

“He’s gone; no one is home.”

We start speculating again. Georges asks: “But this emissary—didn’t they tell you who it was? Or when he would arrive?”

“No, they simply told me to wait.”

Later, suddenly, we learn that the General is in Colombey. In the meantime, I’ve returned to the Élysée, and it must have been then that he phoned Pompidou.

That was the dreadful, harrowing, heart-wrenching day — a personal drama for the old Gaullist that I am, shaken in all the affection I feel for the General, broken to see this man brought to the point of such self-doubt. It was truly awful.

Thursday, May 30th, 1968

The General has returned. Pompidou: “By force of circumstance… I’m going to leave.” De Gaulle reappears transformed, resolute. His radio address. A fantastic demonstration. An extraordinary stroke of luck.

The night of the 30th, of course, we barely sleep. I must say that during all those nights, I hardly sleep at all — the phone rings nonstop. There are protests, too. In the distance, you hear grenades going off with a terrible noise. It really feels like a civil war is starting.

In the morning, around 10:00–10:30 a.m., I receive General Lalande, who tells me, “The General took me with him.” Indeed, Lalande had also vanished, so to speak. He continues: “You must know he was leaving to go abroad. In reality, we landed in Saint-Dizier. From there, he went to Baden-Baden, where he had a long conversation with General Massu, but initially, the General was leaving with no intention of returning.”

I go to see Pompidou, who says he’s spoken to the General on the phone. I tell him what Lalande just told me. Pompidou replies: “I think I’m resigning. I can’t go on working like this.”

“Georges, this isn’t the time for that.”

“Yes, and in any case, I believe the General must have plans. He also called Couve de Murville, which is quite surprising. And now Messmer wants to see me urgently.”

“Messmer likely wants to understand the General’s route — he must know from the military.”

Pompidou, very bitter, adds: “You see, it’s unacceptable that we’re presented with faits accomplis like this. Things are hidden from us that others are told. By force of circumstance, my decision is made. I’m going.”

Around 12:30 p.m., the General arrives. I return to the Élysée and immediately request to see him. As always, I have a small agenda. I practically launch myself into his office. I’ve never been like this before — electrified, my voice choked with deep emotion and at the same time a kind of anger, a fierce resolve:

"General, the country thirsts for order and authority,” I had this written on my paper, “It wants to be led, that’s all. If you tell them that, it’s won. It’s won! We can’t go on like this, it’s just not possible…”

“Well, yes! Foccart, it will be done. We’re going to do it. I am decided.”

I find a completely different man — transformed, determined, scribbling down what I’m telling him. He keeps taking notes.

“The movement is shifting back toward recovery,” I tell him, “we’re more and more active in the CDRs, and we’re organizing a massive demonstration tonight. I don’t know how it will turn out, but I sense immense support from all sides.”

“Well then! You’ll have your satisfaction. I am decided, there’s no problem.”

At last, I find the General of great moments again, fully determined. Regarding the demonstration, I ask if I should be present:

“Yes, you must be there and lead it all.”

“For that, I need resources.”

“How much?”

“I need… well, 100,000 francs.”

He immediately writes the order to release the money. Then he confides:
“You see, Foccart, I left because I wanted to step back and I have considered all possibilities. I considered leaving for good. I thought about everything”

Here, I think it was a bit of disguising the truth in front of a guy like me — I don’t know.

“Even Free France. Starting the fight again from outside, because I thought it was no longer possible here.”

“General, if you speak out clearly and firmly, it is possible. But then, you mustn’t wait until tonight to speak — it has to be this afternoon. It’s vital! You can’t act otherwise.”

“Alright. Listen, right after the Council, I’ll record.”

“We need the television.”

“No, no television. It’ll be a radio recording, and I’ll speak exactly as you would wish.”

Then the General stands. The handshake is incredibly moving. I feel a surge of emotion, an urge to embrace him — and I think he felt it too. But we stop at the handshake. That afternoon, right after the Council — it was very short, from around 3:00 to 4:00 p.m. — the General records his address. Without asking anyone, I enter. Astoux, Gorse, and the aide-de-camp are there, and I join them. The recording is fantastic¹¹!

Afterward, naturally, the General wants to hear it. We’re waiting, and he asks, “So, what are they doing?” We chat about the ORTF, and both Astoux and Gorse say, “Well, it’s improving.” I must say I lash out a bit — not very elegantly: “No, it’s not improving. Just yesterday, here’s what was said…” Of course, the General entirely shares my view. Gorse and Astoux feel I’m destroying them. I’m not, but I’m outraged to see how objectivity is lacking, to the point of spreading lies — or at best, a very partial version. We finally hear the recording — it’s excellent. You can hear noises when the General bangs the table for emphasis. That’s not visible, since it’s not on TV, but you hear it.

As always, the General asks: “Well then?”

“It’s fantastic, General! And now, it’s won. I’m heading to the protest shortly, which will certainly be very beautiful.”

Then I go down, and at 4:30 p.m., I hear the radio broadcast of the same address. The atmosphere changes greatly at that moment.

Around 5:45 p.m., Maurice Schumann and François Mauriac come to pick me up. Mr. and Mrs. Mauriac, Jean Mauriac, and I are in one car; Schumann follows in another. We were to go together to Place de la Concorde. Near the Crillon Hotel, we realize it’s already packed. With difficulty, we push through to the front of the march, which begins around 6:10 p.m.

It’s absolutely fantastic. No need to dwell much here — many accounts will describe it — but the atmosphere is extraordinary. In my row are deputies with their sashes, and ministers: Malraux, Debré, Schumann; Billotte joins mid-march. Poujade holds my arm, Pierre Lefranc is on the other side. Of course, all the Gaullist deputies are there, but also Poniatowski, Bernard Lafay, and others¹². We start the slow walk toward the Arc de Triomphe, with alternating chants, slogans, and La Marseillaise.

The slogans include:

“Mitterrand, you’ve failed! De Gaulle is not alone!”

“Long live de Gaulle!”

“Long live France!”

“Long live the Republic!”

“Out with the politicos!”

Anyway, all sorts of slogans echoed elsewhere — there’s no use in me repeating them all.

At the Élysée’s grille du Coq, I let François Mauriac go ahead — I had told his driver to wait there, as the strain is too much for him. What’s striking in the crowd is the determination and resolve. Among us, Malraux trembles with emotion, trembling with enthusiasm, so pale he’s almost frightening.

As we advance, tricolor flags appear in windows, cheers come not just from the sidewalks but from upper floors. At Le Figaro, no applause on the ground floor (management, no doubt); tepid applause on the first floor; thunderous applause on the second.

We reach the Arc de Triomphe around 7:30 p.m. and sing La Marseillaise. Then we give the order to disband. I remain on the plaza where the crowd arrives to organize security — I’m responsible. Beside me, a young man with a walkie-talkie gives orders to all the groups. I issue strict calls for general dispersion, as some — either agitators or overexcited supporters — shout dangerous slogans:

“To the Sorbonne!”

“To the ORTF!”

“To the Champ-de-Mars!”

I have the call repeated over and over: “Disperse! Disperse!” as the mass of people arrives, thousands of flags waving. I split the crowd right and left of the Arc. Only the flags go through. When flag-bearers reach us, we group them by fifties. They go to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, observe a minute’s silence, sing La Marseillaise, and then leave. Then fifty more, and so on. It’s fantastic! The last Marseillaise rings out around 10:30 p.m. in the dark, as the CGT had cut the power. It’s wildly exhilarating. I leave around 9:50 p.m., just as a kind of corrida starts on the Champs-Élysées that doesn’t please me much, but a genuine release of tension.

The following days will bring other protests — young people, more frenzied — but tonight, the people are resolute. There are youth, elders, all social groups. Little old men and women who have had enough. On every face: willpower, determination, and a calm born of certainty that the worst won’t happen. And a kind of joy — even surprise — at being so many. People who thought they were alone realize they are strong in numbers.

A truly extraordinary Gaullist fervor bursts forth. The General, who just two days before was being challenged — let’s say it — is again the man of the hour, the one who saved France. His call was heard by all those present — and it’s extraordinary.

One detail: I send a messenger with a card signed by me to request that the giant flame usually lit under the Arc for major ceremonies be hoisted. I’m told, when I see it’s missing, that it’s under repair — torn recently by Cohn-Bendit’s protesters.

I have my little radio and pass it to a few of the Service d’Action boys nearby. Three hundred thousand, five hundred, eight hundred thousand — over a million, eventually. The enthusiasm is delirious. It’s a relief.

I see many familiar faces, people embrace me. Suddenly, I feel someone grab my arm — it’s Bernard Tricot, deeply moved, embracing me. I realize how great his emotion is, how sincere his conviction that we’ve just played — and won — a decisive hand.

I return to the Élysée at 10:00 p.m. I ask if the General is in. They say he just returned to his apartments. I hesitate to report in immediately. I figure he needs rest — and I don’t go.

Thus ends this incredibly intense, deeply emotional day of May 30, 1968 — for me, one of the most extraordinary days. In the morning, we didn’t know how the game would play out. I showed determination like never before with the General — rushing into his office at 11:00. By noon, I felt I had found the great de Gaulle again. Then, the powerful call, and the moving, overwhelming demonstration, prepared with such intense passion and faith.

I gave the instruction: everyone should call someone who can call ten others. A kind of underground radio had to bring everyone in. The deputies gave it their all.

I should also say how the demonstration was organized. At the General’s request, I decided to hold it on Friday the 31st. Early in the week, around Monday, I learned that Paris deputies — led by Pierre Krieg — planned one for the 30th. I knew we couldn’t risk a failure. So I moved ours up by 24 hours — not for strategy, but to align it with what the deputies had already initiated. We combined everything.

I must say — it was truly an extraordinary success. No other day could have worked as well. On the 31st, it wouldn’t have been the same. But the 30th — everything aligned perfectly: the General’s disappearance causes shock and emotion; his return brings hope; his call at 4:30 ignites action; the demonstration follows at 6:00.

We must have seemed like master strategists — and I’ll honestly admit: it was a stroke of luck. Once again, luck was on our side, focusing everything into one historic day.

That very evening, the General began consultations to form his new government. He wanted things settled quickly. He met Capitant and others.

Friday, May 31st, 1968

“Thank you. It was very good!” Who will lead the CDR? Preparing for the elections: “We must not take just any kind of half-hearted people!” The referendum is postponed.
How to make a minister. “What is not reviewed is not done.”

Around 9:30 AM, I go to the aides-de-camp. When the General arrives at his office, I ask to see him. He receives me immediately, of course. Clearly very happy, he stands up and comes toward me: “So, it was good! Thank you, it was very good!”

“You see! The demonstration was extraordinary. There was a large, determined crowd, with people from all walks of life — workers; and all this was under the banner of the Committees for the Defense of the Republic. They were everywhere. There was also, which impressed me greatly, a sea of flags.”

I must say that I had decided to obtain all the flag reserves from City Hall, and there were at least fifteen hundred. I was able to get them thanks to the goodwill of the prefect and the efforts of Fouchet, who also helped me a lot.

I continue: “There were all the deputies, the independent Republicans were very visible, especially Poniatowski. Most of the ministers were there: Debré, Malraux, Schumann, Boulin, etc.” I tell the story of how I went to Concorde with Mauriac, his desire to participate in the demonstration, and how I still made him stop at the grille du Coq, thinking that he wouldn't be able to complete the whole route.

“In a way, General, the country responded to your call. I saw in people's eyes a second liberation. This lasted until 9:45 PM, and I have never sung the Marseillaise so much in my life. So now, something must be done.”

“Yes, it was absolutely extraordinary! It was very good, and this demonstration needed to be organized. Now, the matter must be won, and we need to quickly change the government. Men like Gorse, and I would even say Fouchet — who unfortunately hasn't been as good as I thought, not at all because of bad will or bad intentions, but because he's not a great minister, doesn't have the determination, is too changeable — guys like Missoffe of course, and also Jeanneney, who is absolutely not suited for his position, all of this needs to be reshuffled. So, we're going to take a few new ones. I saw Capitant, I will bring him in.”

With a little smile, I say: “He's very nice, but he's also a bit unstable and, although deeply Gaullist, he often does us harm.”

“I know, I know, but still, he's a quality guy. We must take him. And also Billotte, he needs to be replaced. Some have done their time, and others haven't worked out.”

I note that new, very reassuring messages have arrived from everywhere. Then I talk about the CDR: “Now, General, there's a problem: what to do with the CDRs? They number around seventy, organized by department in the provinces, and others organized on a professional basis: CDRs of teachers, students, workers, bosses. Who should lead this group?”

“Look, choose. I would imagine Roger Frey.”

“General, that seems hard to reconcile with his role as a minister.”

“Of course, but Roger Frey will no longer be a minister.”

And the General says to me in an absolutely convinced tone: “Besides, there is no longer any reason for him to remain, since he's the Minister for Relations with Parliament. Since there is no more Parliament, it makes perfect sense that he is no longer a minister.”

“You know, Roger Frey is a completely loyal and faithful guy, no problem. He's certainly quite capable of handling the elections, but I don't see him managing a movement that's essentially a militant one. To put it plainly, he doesn't connect very well with militants, especially with members of the Service d’Action Civique.”

Well! Then see about it.”

“I don't know, maybe Lefranc?”

“Lefranc, that's a bit insufficient."

I insist a lot on Lefranc: “Well! See about it and talk to me tonight. We absolutely must prepare for the elections now, and we must win them. We need to have candidates as soon as possible.”

“These immediate elections, as they are now, should not be prepared the same way as regular elections.”

“Certainly!”

“So, it would be, but it will be very difficult, to take advantage of the situation to introduce new candidates, to get them into the current. Lists will be proposed to you starting tomorrow.”

“That's the most important thing, follow this closely, you must take care of it yourself. You must not let things slide. We need to have men who are absolutely reliable and determined. We must not take just any kind of half-hearted people who don't mean anything. In other words, we must avoid those who would betray us and those who wouldn't bring anything.”

“So, have you abandoned the idea of a referendum?”

“No, I haven't abandoned it, but it's not possible to organize it now.”

“I regret a bit that it's being postponed.”

“Yes, I've already told you, but we can't help it. I'll still do it, I'll do it later, in the fall. Then, it will be much broader, much more specific, it will focus on institutions, on creating a second assembly that would include the Senate as well as the Economic Council, and where the various social categories would be represented.”

“Yes, you're taking up the idea of Bayeux.¹³”

“Yes, exactly. That's what needs to be done. We'll do it in the fall.”

“Tonight, there's the election for the mayor of Dijon. Poujade will not be a candidate because he would lose, and it would really be a shame to record a failure in the current situation.” The General agrees with that.

Then we talked again about what should be done with the ORTF, which still isn't functioning well: “The new minister will look into that. We absolutely must establish minimum service, as they say, and then have a radio that works, even if it works poorly, but that works in the national interest and doesn't work against us all day, doesn't smear us.”

“As for the RATP, we should try to find someone who will take charge, who will immediately lead a strong action in line with the current trend.”

“I know, but it's difficult to find the people that would be suitable.”

“General, we should rely a bit on the CDRs; a little pressure needs to be applied because we can't question what has been decided for the workers.”

“Certainly not!”

“There's no need to use force either, but it is quite clear that a majority would support the resumption of work, and it is a small minority that is blocking. We need to start by making sure things function, which will set the tone for the rest.”

“I know, but for that, our ministers need to have character.”

“Can't we consider having the army deliver the mail?”

“I think that would be very difficult.”

“For gasoline, we absolutely need to take action against the strike pickets, which, after all, are preventing the country from getting supplies, which is not acceptable."

In the end, the General has a phrase that pleases me above all: “You did well, because it was you who stood firm against everyone and even sometimes against my own wishes. You did well to keep Rue de Solferino, just as you didn't let our militants get involved in an unequal battle. All of this was necessary, and all of it is very good, I thank you for it.” There is a lot of emotion in these words from the General, who is categorical and touching.

This day is full of events. I have a lunch scheduled — one that had been set for three weeks — with the Prime Minister. When Pompidou comes to see the General at around 11:15 AM, I ask him if the lunch is still on: “Yes, of course. It may be a little delayed because I need to form the government. In fact, come along, we’ll talk about it.”

I have various appointments, and then I head to Matignon. The government is already largely formed. In fact, the General intends to choose his ministers from those on the left of Gaullism, such as Morandat or Dechartre¹⁴; therefore, a few cases need to be resolved. Notably, towards the end — it’s amusing to see how a political career is made! — no one can be found for the Ministry of Equipment. There’s hesitation about reinstating Fouchet. I tell Pompidou: “I like Christian, but it might be a bit ridiculous to move him from the Interior to Equipment. Either we consider that he succeeded at the Interior and therefore shouldn’t be moved, or we consider that he didn’t succeed… And then, it won’t be understood, as it will be the case with the other switch between Couve and Debré. People still hold the old idea that ministers aren’t versatile. They’re wrong, of course, but that’s how it is.”

It’s about 1:45 PM, Pompidou is sitting at his desk, with Juillet, Poujade, and me present. I pace back and forth in the room and suddenly say: “Listen, I have someone who you might find too young, but apart from that, he is solid and at least brave, it’s Galley.” Pompidou’s first reaction is: “He does seem, indeed, very young.” And then, immediately, he adds: “But why not? It’s true he’s not bad. And at least we can be sure of him, because he had the courage, when things were tough, to come to Solferino. He was ready to fight, and these are the types of ministers we need.” He immediately calls Tricot: “Would you propose Galley to the General?” Soon, Tricot confirms that it’s settled for Galley.

Around 2:15 PM, Pompidou heads to the Élysée with his list, warning me that some ministers, like Le Theule, Morandat, and Galley¹⁵, haven’t been reached yet. For Galley, we’ve called his office, and they’ve replied: “Mr. Galley has gone to lunch in the city, we don’t know where, and we won’t be able to reach him before 3 PM.” Then Pompidou tells me: “Well, Jacques, I’ll leave you in my office, and I’ll ask my secretariat to pass the communications to you. You’ll announce to these people, if they call, that they are ministers and that I’ve put them on the list by authority.” I settle in, amusingly, in the chair facing the desk. Pompidou says: “No, no, Jacques, sit in my chair, I assure you it’ll make me happy.” That’s kind of him to say.

Around 3 PM, Galley calls. “Dear friend,” I say to him, “I’m in the Prime Minister’s office, who has gone to the Élysée to present the list to the General, and on that list, you are the Minister of Equipment. I think I can tell you that we’ve wanted to mark both your competence and the fact that your positions were extremely clear during the difficult period, and that, in addition to the competence we know you have, you’ve also shown the will to serve Gaullism.” Galley is quite surprised.
I add: “Luckily I was able to reach you by phone, otherwise, you would have heard it on the radio in about half an hour…”

Pompidou returns, and we have lunch. I believe we sit down at the table around 4 p.m. During the meal, he calls Morandat and Le Theule, who is on the road. He tells them they are ministers. He had just reached them a quarter of an hour before the radio announced the composition of the government.

In the evening, I see the General and tell him that I’ve thought a lot about the CDR and looked hard. We’re thinking of people like Cabanier¹⁶: “No, he’s too old, and I’m reserving him for something else."

“Then, General, we’re left with Lefranc.”

“He’s not really suitable.”

“Of course he is. He’s a guy who understands organization, is loyal, is faithful, and is dynamic.”

“Alright, fine.”

“I just want to point out that vigilance committees are being formed in some ministries, hostile committees. I think we need to be firm and decide to send all their contract workers away and transfer the civil servants. It’s unacceptable for them to organize vigilance committees against the government in the ministries.”

I then bring up the issue of the CDR march in Marseille. When I speak to the General, the demonstration has just started:

“According to what Comiti just told me on the phone, there’s already a gathering of twenty thousand people, and the march is shaping up to be quite grand. Right now, spirits have calmed a bit, fuel deliveries have been unlocked, and it’s now relatively easy to find gas at stations. The French, often preoccupied with their well-being, will be able to leave for the Pentecost weekend. Now, we need to score points with the unionists, who have taken a complete turn.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They initially claimed that the strike was just about wage demands, which is entirely normal, but then, as they saw the paralysis spreading, and the students, with their violence, dealing blows to the regime, they politicized the strike.”

“That’s entirely obvious.”

“That’s when Séguy¹⁷, like the others, said: ‘Now, we want De Gaulle to leave, we want to overthrow the government, and we want to establish a popular regime.’ Then, as soon as they noticed the shift yesterday, they declared: ‘Our demands are strictly professional; we don’t want to get involved in politics.’”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right.”

The General made some comments about these types who are quick to seize an opportunity and change direction according to circumstances, and he concluded: “That’s all true, but action isn’t easy to carry out.”

Then I talk about Senegal. Strikes are happening in Dakar: violence in the streets and a demonstration of four to five thousand people. The French army occupies the Yoff airfield and protects the Bel Air power plant. And a “Guépard” is on alert, because, of course, we must support Senghor. The General gives his approval.

Finally, I mention that Bokassa is no longer coming¹⁸, since the situation has been restored, which makes the General laugh. I hand him a paper, and I don’t remember if it’s for Bokassa, I think it is, but it contains a rather significant spelling mistake. With kindness but firmness, he tells me: “No, listen, this isn’t serious, it’s not reasonable, reread it or have someone else read it, because, believe me, what’s not reread is not done. Really, you need to take this to heart, you need to understand this well. You need to be very careful.”

I forgot to mention that, since I couldn’t, of course, be at the evening audience on the 30th due to the demonstration, it was Journiac who went.

1. The Grenelle negotiations began on Saturday, May 25 at 3 p.m., and ended on Monday the 27th at 7 a.m.

2. Antoine Dupont-Fauville was Michel Debré's chief of staff.

3. Pierre Mendès France, by then a PSU deputy, was participating in so-called leftist demonstrations.

4. Waldeck Rochet succeeded Maurice Thorez as General Secretary of the French Communist Party in 1964.

5. Member of the Radical Party, Jean-Marie Berthoin was Minister of National Education in de Gaulle’s 1958 government. Louis Joxe held the same portfolio in 1960, and Lucien Paye in 1961.

6. The black flag is the emblem of the anarchist movement.

7. Lieutenant Colonel Emmanuel Desgrées du Loû is attached to General de Gaulle's personal military staff.

8. Indeed, Georges Gorse, Minister of Information, was calling various people, quite hesitantly, I must say, constantly questioning things — not about the substance, poor man, he was perfectly loyal — but saying: “It’s quite difficult because, if I listen to the rumors, I don’t know whether I’ll remain a minister. I’m on the verge of being dismissed, and it’s unbearable, it strips me of all authority,” etc. It was somewhat the same for Fouchet, the Minister of the Interior, and that is why we considered that the General either needed to carry out a cabinet reshuffle — which now seemed difficult, although I had practically been urging him to do it every day — or confirm that the government would remain in place until the referendum.

9. Indeed, we had the impression that Pompidou, who was fighting remarkably, was insufficiently coordinating the actions of the ministers, hindered as he was by his inability to convene cabinet meetings. Meetings concerning the maintenance of public order were held around him, but there was a lack of coordination — and, again, this was not his fault.

10. François Marty is archbishop of Paris

11. It is in this speech that de Gaulle announces the dissolution of the National Assembly.

12. Michel Poniatowski is an independent Republican, Bernard Lafay is a non-affiliated deputy.

13. The Bayeux speech by General de Gaulle, on June 16, 1946, was dedicated to presenting the institutional project of the former leader of Free France and president of the provisional government, who was going to found the RPF.

14. Yvon Morandat, president of the Houillères de Provence, and Philippe Dechartre, producer at the ORTF, are left-wing Gaullists.

15. Joël Le Theule is appointed Minister of Overseas Departments and Territories, Yvon Morandat Secretary of State for Social Affairs in charge of Employment, and Robert Galley Minister of Equipment and Housing.

16. One of the few sailors of Free France, Jean Cabanier ended his career as Chief of Staff of the Navy.

17. Georges Séguy is the General Secretary of the CGT.

18. Bokassa wanted to come to France to save the regime.