Home Is the Hero

The French people were bursting with pride over the succes formidable of their little, black-browed Premier in the U.S. In six days, Pierre Mendes-France had dispelled most of U.S. officialdom's lingering suspicions that he was a neutralist at heart and all too willing to flirt with Russia. U.S. negotiators learned to respect his tough-minded realism, and ordinary bystanders compulsively burst into applause as he passed. "The American people took M. Mendes-France to their hearts,'' said U.S. Ambassador to France Douglas Dillon, "and I can fairly state that . . . Franco-American relations have never been better." Said the Gaullist Aurore, trying its hand at a U.S. idiom: "France got back into the big league, and by the main entrance."

After doggedly gulping innumerable glasses of milk for photographers, Mendes finished up his U.S. visit with a typical flourish. Addressing the U.N. General Assembly, he prophesied that Western European nations will ratify the Paris accords by March or April. "Why then should we not decide that a four-power conference be held, in May, for instance?" he asked. In the meantime, as evidence of good faith, perhaps Russia could help create "a climate of confidence" by giving Austria its long delayed sovereignty.

Gloomy Welcome. Then Mendes gave some advice to Eastern Europe. "At the risk of surprising our colleagues representing [the satellites]," he said, "I affirm that, for my part, I would be quite happy to see the creation of an Eastern European defense association, as long as it adopts the modalities provided for by the West for the publication, limitation and control of armaments." Eventually, suggested Mendes, arrangements between this Communist club and the new Western European Union might lead to a "system of collective security applicable to the whole of Europe."

Next day he was off for home. Acting Premier Edgar Faure, meeting him at Orly Airport, started right off, "The atmosphere in Parliament is bad," and began enumerating. Listening, Mendes looked out over the crowd of gathered well-wishers and snapped: "Eh bien, I seem to have plenty of friends but few supporters."

Fact was that, though his Washington trip had stirred the people, it had miffed the Assembly. Old EDC supporters and "good Europeans" had been counting on U.S. antipathy to help bring Mendes down, and were dismayed when Dulles pronounced him a "superman." Deputies, jealous of their prerogatives, did not like Mendes' advance assurance that France would make it "a point of honor ... to be among the first to ratify" the Paris agreements.

Small Slap. The Assembly had expected Mendes to bring back pledges of new U.S. help in Viet Nam, U.S. endorsement of French policy in troubled North Africa, U.S. support of the French position on the Saar. Mendes apparently got none of these. At home, the Gaullists were chafing at his policy of concessions in North Africa. Winegrowers and plain tipplers were balking at his edicts on alcoholism. The discontented Assemblymen took a small revenge. Demanding a vote deploring Mendes' newly imposed tax on operators of home stills (of which there are some 3,000,000 in France), Communist Deputy Robert Manceau cried: "Our workers would no longer have the right to pour a small glass of alcohol in the cold mornings, while loungers in the nightclubs continue to saturate themselves freely." Manceau's maneuver, meaningful chiefly as a slap at Mendes, carried by 264 to 220.

Mendes, who had promised himself a three-day vacation, canceled it. He had work to do.

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