How It Was Done

Though the atmosphere was full of the alarms of civil war, France last week brought General Charles de Gaulle to power without one life spent in the process.

This remarkably peaceful transfer of power was a tribute to an entire nation's controlled anxieties, to the sophistication of politicians skilled at maneuvering to the danger point but not beyond it, and to the correctness of the difficult man who asked France for vast powers.

Out the Back Door. Reporters, trying to reflect the drama of a tense week, were driven to recording the comings and goings of black limousines--the visible external evidence of fateful activities. Shortly after 10:30 one night early last week, an official car, preceded by a noisy motorcycle escort, shot out of the courtyard of the Hotel Matignon, official Parisian residence of France's Premiers. Instantly, the shoal of reporters who were keeping a round-the-clock watch on the final agonies of the Fourth Republic set off in hot pursuit. As they left (in chase after a decoy), a slim, white-haired man whose features were drawn with fatigue slipped quietly out the back door of the Hotel Matignon and got into another car. Half an hour later Pierre Pflimlin, who was completing his 13th day as Premier of France, walked into the Chateau de La Celle-Saint-Cloud, a government-owned residence in the Paris suburbs. Waiting for Pflimlin in the chateau was the looming, angular figure of General Charles de Gaulle.

Though it was at his own suggestion that De Gaulle had driven up from his country home, 150 miles southeast of Paris, it was Pflimlin who came to the meeting as a petitioner. Only that morning the National Assembly had given Pflimlin a majority of 428 to 119 (on a vote against a Deputy who took part in the Corsican uprising -- TIME, June 2). But Pflimlin had also heard the bellow of Right-Wing Deputy Jean-Louis Tixier-Vignancour: "I repeat to the government what the whole country tells it. Get out! Get out!"

Nobody knew better than Pierre Pflimlin, in that moment of surface parliamentary victory, that the time had come to get out. From Algiers General Raoul Salan had flashed an urgent warning that he was losing control over Brigadier General Jacques Massu's paratroopers, could not be responsible for their actions if De Gaulle was not called to power soon. In France itself, pro-Gaullist "Committees of Public Safety" had sprung up in more than 100 towns, and when Interior Minister Jules Moch telephoned provincial prefects to find out what they were doing to suppress the committees, many a prefect was inexplicably unavailable. Most shattering of all had been the upshot of Moch's efforts to put down the Corsican uprising. In defiance of a direct order, France's air force failed to provide transport to Corsica for 125 of France's "most reliable" cops, the black-helmeted troopers of the Compagnie Republicaine de Securite. And when the C.R.S. men finally did reach the island (aboard a chartered Air France plane), their first act was to surrender to a handful of Massu's paratroopers. Cried tough Jules Moch: "I'm not sure of anyone any more."

Fact was that the loudly proclaimed "republican front" against De Gaulle was rapidly collapsing. From the start, its chief source of strength had been the Socialists, France's largest non-Communist party. Yet, shortly before Pflimlin's meeting with De Gaulle, Vice Premier Guy Mollet, the Socialist leader, confessed to the Premier that he had secretly sent a letter to De Gaulle saying that if the ultimate choice lay between the Communists and De Gaulle, Mollet would support De Gaulle.

Time to Attack. Even though the ship he captained was clearly sinking, strong-willed Pierre Pflimlin was not yet ready to strike his colors unconditionally. Pflimlin went to the rendezvous in Celle-Saint-Cloud prepared to arrange the fall of his own government. But, in return, he demanded that De Gaulle disavow the Corsican coup. This De Gaulle flatly refused to do, arguing that no statement would pacify the Algerian and Corsican insurgents unless accompanied by news that he had returned to power.

After talking for 2 1/2 hours, Pflimlin and De Gaulle parted with nothing settled. But to an old armored force commander like De Gaulle, it was apparent that his adversaries were on the run and that this was the time to attack. Reinforcing this instinct was De Gaulle's worry over reports that army units in France were about to revolt. Accordingly, early the next afternoon De Gaulle coolly announced: "Yesterday I embarked on the regular procedure necessary for establishment of a republican government . . . I expect the land, sea and air forces stationed in Algeria to remain obedient to the orders of their commanders."

A Question of Honor. In the National Assembly, De Gaulle's unexpected statement provoked cries of betrayal. Socialist deputies refused to accept their leader's assurances that he had not struck a deal with De Gaulle. "Either you or the general is lying," one of them snapped at Mollet. "And we have confidence in the general's word of honor." In a stunning repudiation of Mollet, the party's parliamentary caucus resolved by a vote of 112 to 3 that "we will not rally under any circumstances to the candidature of General de Gaulle."

With equal fury the Assembly's anti-Gaullists lambasted hapless Pierre Pflimlin, scoffed at his plea that De Gaulle's statement had surprised him as much as it had them. Then, purely to bar De Gaulle's road to power, the Deputies voted confidence in the Pflimlin government by another massive majority, 408 to 165, and he was told that he had no right to quit unless the Assembly withdrew its favor. Nonetheless Pflimlin, wan and unshaven, drove over to the Elysee Palace at 4:15 in the morning and presented his resignation.

Deadly Gamble. President Rene Coty refused to accept it. But though the hour was late, the parliamentarians still did not meekly surrender to the onrush of events. Led by three ex-Premiers of France--Edouard Daladier, Paul Ramadier and Pierre Mendes-France--nearly a quarter of a million Parisians, summoned by the non-Communist left and center parties, marched down the Boulevard Voltaire behind a giant white banner bearing the legend, Vive la Republique. Soon great bodies of disciplined Communists (led by tubby Party Leader Jacques Duclos) injected themselves into the procession and set up the cry, "Popular Front! Popular Front!" Socialists set up an answering chant of "Hun-ga-rie, Hun-ga-rie," and in this counterpoint the parade rolled on to peaceful dispersal.

From Algiers, Insurgent Leader Leon Delbecque (see below) bluntly warned that "the army cannot remain static," and word spread through Paris that unless the Socialists gave way to De Gaulle immediately, Massu's paratroopers would come fluttering down on Paris, "perhaps within hours."

To many observers--Frenchmen and foreigners alike--the Socialists seemed to be indulging in nightmarish irresponsibility. "Unable to live decently, the Fourth Republic doesn't even know how to die gracefully," wrote influential Editor Hubert Beuve-Mery of Le Monde. Foredoomed to defeat, the Socialists were nonetheless maneuvering skillfully to ensure that De Gaulle's regime would be bound to as many democratic strings as possible. And weak as their position might appear, they had some strong cards to play. With their 96 Assembly votes, they could deny De Gaulle the solid legal investiture upon which he insisted. And against the threat of a coup by an army wearied of De Gaulle's devotion to constitutionality stood the danger of Socialists being thrown into unwilling partnership with the Communists--a danger to deter even impetuous paratroopers.

A Roll of Drums. Risky as it was, the Socialist gamble came off. It did so largely thanks to a letter to De Gaulle from forthright ex-President Vincent Auriol setting forth Socialist conditions. In his reply, De Gaulle implicitly accepted most of the conditions, and publicly denied complicity in the Algerian and Corsican revolts (see box).

While the Socialists mulled over De Gaulle's reply, President Rene Coty made a decisive move. Shortly after 3 p.m. on Thursday, Speaker Andre Le Troquer, resplendent in white tie and tails, entered the National Assembly amid a roll of drums and asked the Deputies to stand in deference to Coty. Then he read off a presidential ultimatum: unless the National Assembly accepted De Gaulle as Premier, Coty himself would resign. That evening De Gaulle's black Citroen made one more 80 m.p.h. trip in from rural Colombey-les-Deux-Eglises, and the general issued a characteristic communique from the Elysee Palace: "At the request of the President of the Republic, I indicated to him under what conditions I could assume the responsibility of government . . ."

In two more days De Gaulle was once again Premier of France.

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