A Savage War of Peace: Algeria 1954-1962 (60 page)

In Paris tension was mounting; seventy American tourists refused to leave their plane at Orly for fear of being caught up in a revolution. Then, on the afternoon of the 19th, de Gaulle summoned a Press conference at the Palais d’Orsay. On his way there he noted derisively how Pflimlin’s newly appointed left-wing Minister of the Interior, Jules Moch, had deployed massive police forces round the building, “as if it were conceivable that de Gaulle was about to appear at the head of a brigade of shocktroops”. Inside, the hall was packed with six hundred journalists of the world Press, Graham Greene, François Mauriac, Clostermann the Second World War air ace, and all the stars of the Gaullist firmament, such as Michel Debré and Chaban-Delmas. The attentive journalists noted that the figure of the great man had thickened, the hair was whiter and the face unhealthier; the voice sounded thinner, but still he could speak without recourse to notes, and, above all, that unique tone of authority was undiminished.

Events in Algeria, he declared, had indeed led to “an extremely grave national crisis… but this could also prove to be the beginning of a kind of resurrection”. Almost with modesty he added that that was why “the moment seemed to me to have come when it would be possible for me once again to be directly useful to France”. Letting it be clearly known, once more, that he did not intend to come back as the instrument of any single faction, he spelled out that “when someone assumes the powers of the republic, it can be only because the republic will itself have delegated them”. He was, as if it needed stating, “a solitary man … who belongs to no one, and who belongs to the entire world”. In answer to questions about authoritarian intent should he return, de Gaulle retorted scathingly: “Is it credible that I am going to begin a career as a dictator at the age of sixty-seven?” Though he praised the army in Algeria, he pointedly omitted any reference to an Algerian solution as such; an omission which was only to attain full significance in later years. All that was made crystal clear was that his price for returning was, as it always had been, the sweeping away of the whole political system of the Fourth Republic as it stood. Everything else had to be inferred. He ended: “Now I shall return home to my village and there I shall hold myself at the disposition of the country.” The precise formula for his return was to be left for lesser mortals to work out.

The growth of Salan: “Résurrection”

In Algiers de Gaulle’s Press conference was greeted with a mixture of satisfaction and impatience. Time was clearly against the “revolt” in its increasing isolation, and the unhurried stance of de Gaulle was more than vexing. Salan now despatched similar messages of menacing urgency both to him and Pflimlin, warning that if de Gaulle did not take over power as soon as possible the high command in Algeria might be unable to prevent a “military incursion” into metropolitan France. These were indeed threatening words. Having now committed himself irrevocably to de Gaulle and broken with Pflimlin, Salan’s real power was growing in leaps and bounds; his chin, remarked one of his officers, “protrudes an additional centimetre over the balcony with each day”. It was patently within his capacity either to bring down the Pflimlin regime, or to provoke a military putsch in Paris. On 21st Salan made his shortest speech from the “G—G” balcony to a crowd wildly chanting “
L’armée au pouvoir!
”, thanking them “for these complimentary words” but adding: “you must know that we are all now united and that thus we shall march together up the Champs-Elysées, and we shall be covered with flowers!” On the 23rd a new Committee of Public Safety was formed to preside over the whole of Algeria and the Sahara, and expanded to embrace a fair smattering of Muslims. Its first function was to pass a vote according a certain “statutory” legitimacy to the proceedings whereby its precursor had been formed on 13 May.

Meanwhile, plans were initiated for a physical, military intervention in France to force the hand of both the government and the slow-moving de Gaulle. Conceived by Massu, the operation originally bore the typically straightforward code-name of “Grenade” but under Delbecque’s influence it was changed to the more meaningful “Résurrection”, borrowed from de Gaulle’s allusion at his Press conference. “Résurrection” was predicated upon the support in France of General Miquel, commanding the Toulouse area where most of the para training bases were located. A force of five thousand paras would land at Villacoublay airfield just south-west of Paris; Massu and Trinquier would arrive, naturally, with the first wave and would then speed to join Miquel at an operational headquarters set up in the Invalides. Other commando detachments would seize the Eiffel Tower so as to control communications, while the élite 3rd R.P.C. would “neutralise” such key points as the Ministry of the Interior and the central offices of the trade union C.G.T. and of the Communist Party. At the same time Colonel Gribius, commanding the Second Armoured Task Force at nearby Rambouillet, would roll his tanks into Paris in support. The impetuous ex-para lieutenant, Pierre Lagaillarde, somewhat eclipsed by developments since 13 May, hoped to regain the limelight by provoking an uprising in the Latin Quarter and then marching with the students to seize the Assembly. Once the key points of the capital had been effectively occupied, it was intended that Generals Massu and Miquel would conduct a persuaded President Coty by helicopter to Colombey, presenting de Gaulle with a
fait accompli
. The date provisionally fixed for “Résurrection” was the 27th–28th, with Massu declaring confidently in a Press interview (on 23 May): “In eight days, General de Gaulle will be in power!” It was a thoroughly makeshift plan, which depended on the assured acquiescence of the army echelons in France. Against it would stand the few sources of gendarmes and C.R.S. defending the airfields—and the unknown quantity of the Communists and their allies.

24 May: “Résurrection” in Corsica

On 24 May an astonished France learned that Massu’s paras had seized power in Corsica, headed by the irrepressible Nez-de-Cuir. The coup was carried by detachments of the cloak-and-dagger 11th Shock, currently based in Corsica, without a shot being fired. When asked by journalists if there had been any casualties, Pascal Arrighi, the Gaullist deputy for Corsica who had taken part in the operation, replied: “Of course not! It was a revolution, not an election!” Only in Bastia was there a semblance of resistance by the Left, under slightly
opéra bouffe
circumstances. There the Socialist deputy mayor refused to accept Salan’s nomination of Thomazo as military governor of the island, and refused to leave his office. Finally, as a face-saver, the deputy mayor announced he would depart either if formally under arrest, or arm-in-arm with the insurgents, singing the
Marseillaise
. The
Marseillaise
won.

In Paris Pflimlin was outraged by the Corsican coup and momentarily considered making an effort to reoccupy the island. But when asked where the fleet was, the Admiralty gave the unsatisfactorily evasive response that it was at sea and sailing to an unknown destination. De Gaulle, still holding back, was now moved to telephone his old banker friend at Rothschilds, Georges Pompidou, and asked him to draw up a cabinet. The main scene of the action now transferred itself from Algiers to Paris, where it became largely a matter of constitutional haggling and a race against time before Massu’s paras floated down from the skies. At this point the strong man of the Pflimlin government turned out to be Jules Moch, the left-wing Minister of the Interior, who, insisting “I won’t be a Kerensky”, set to organising a resistance to the threat from Algiers. The C.R.S. (those that could be reckoned loyal) were mobilised, and trade union leaders briefed to halt all trains in the event of a landing (although, as one sagely pointed out, “The paras don’t often go by train!”). There was dangerous talk about arming the Communists, who claimed to be able to get 10,000 militants out on the streets at a moment’s notice. For several days France seemed to tremble on the brink of civil war and anarchy; although, despite the crisis, on that warm Whit Sunday of 25 May, a record number of cars headed insouciantly out of Paris for the country.

26 May: de Gaulle’s secret rendezvous

That day Guy Mollet, though at first deterred by de Gaulle’s refusal to disallow the use of armed force, endeavoured to act as intermediary between Pflimlin and the general. Late on the night of the 26th, the weather having turned icily cold, a clandestine meeting of the two took place at St Cloud. The choice of the place, the famous terrace of the 18th Brumaire, so steeped in associations of Napoleonic
coups d’états
, seemed a curious one. De Gaulle was embarrassed, not having thought of the historical association, while Pflimlin was frankly disturbed by it. His misgivings were not allayed by de Gaulle’s continued refusal to repudiate the use of force by the Algiers leaders, and notably the takeover of Corsica. As he had insisted at every private and public meeting since 13 May, he repeated that, at his age, he had no desire to become either a Napoleon I or Napoleon III. “You know very well”, he assured Pflimlin, “that I will never return to power brought in by force. I will not be the man of an insurrection. Never will I accept a military dictatorship, never, never.” But he steadfastly refused Pflimlin’s request to appeal to the army for restraint, as President Coty had done. “M. Coty wasn’t obeyed. I can only risk my authority. And if I am not heeded?” In view of what was to happen three years later, de Gaulle’s attitude seems perhaps not entirely unreasonable. Pflimlin said he was prepared to resign to make way for de Gaulle, but there were constitutional difficulties; to begin with, he could not simply nominate his successor. The President of the Republic would have to be involved. The greatest stumbling-block, however, was de Gaulle’s refusal to repudiate the army’s recourse to force, and on that note the two men parted coldly. It was nearly two in the morning and, delayed by thick fog, de Gaulle did not reach home until 5 a.m.

27 May: on the brink

On the morning of the 27th the crisis reached its peak. Parisians looked up nervously at every plane passing overhead; Simone de Beauvoir had Freudian nightmares about a python dropping on her from the sky; and in the Ministry of the Interior Jules Moch received an intelligence report that “Résurrection” was now scheduled to take place on the following night. He ordered his C.R.S. force to prepare to defend government buildings. Meanwhile, young para officers were arriving in the capital in civilian clothes, carrying suspiciously heavy suitcases. Among their targets was the kidnapping of Jules Moch himself, and with them—on his own mission—came Lagaillarde. Then, early in the afternoon, de Gaulle—apparently as a result of the mounting pressures upon him—issued a communiqué announcing that he had begun the “regular process” of forming a legitimate republican government, and condemning any threat to public order. At the same time he sent a signal to Salan couched in even more categoric terms, and astutely sent via official channels, in which he called for the dropping of all thoughts of “Résurrection”. In Algiers Salan was manifestly delighted to be let off the hook, and despatched his deputy, General Dulac, on a liaison mission to Colombey-les-Deux-Églises. There de Gaulle spelled out to him in the clearest terms yet:

I want to be summoned as an arbiter coming at the demand of the whole country, to take over direction of the country so as to spare it useless rendings. I must appear as the man of reconciliation and not as the champion of one of the factions currently confronting each other.[
4
]

28 May: Pflimlin resigns: the Left reacts

In Paris there was widespread jubilation and relief. Maurice Schumann was heard to exult: “He’s won. We’ve won. France has won.” Certainly it seemed as if the menacingly close spectre of civil war had been exorcised. At dawn on the 28th Pflimlin—white as a candle with exhaustion—duly resigned. It was decided that it was constitutionally acceptable for a prime minister not to be an elected member of the Assembly, and feverish consultations now took place between the leaders of both Houses, the outgoing Pflimlin, de Gaulle and President Coty. Although the way now looked clear for de Gaulle, there were still formidable technical obstacles ahead, not least among them the question of whether the Assembly, with its powerful bloc of the Communists and their allies, would accept de Gaulle. On the evening of the 28th the voice of the Front Populaire briefly drowned out all others, with a mass march (500,000 according to
L’Humanité
; 120,000 according to
Le Figaro
) to the Place de la République. Apart from Jacques Duclos and the Communists, Mitterrand and Mendès-France—as well as a relic of an earlier, defunct Républic, Edouard Daladier—were conspicuously to the forefront, amid a sea of banners proclaiming “Down with Fascism!” and “
Vive la République!
” There were abusive shouts of “Hang Massu!” “Send the paras to the factories!” “
De Gaulle au musée!
” and “
La Girafe au
zoo!” though in general Simone de Beauvoir detected, regretfully, an unexpected note of respect for de Gaulle. The crowd was also surprisingly good-humoured, not at all in a fighting mood; as Michael Clark notes, they were “no revolutionary cohort; this was no lashing out of popular fury against the Bastilles of tyranny and pride. It was more in the nature of a funeral procession”—certainly an
enterrement de première classe
for the Fourth Republic. But, as so often in moments of crisis, the French Left was split; three days later Mollet’s Socialist Party (S.F.I.O.) executive abandoned the Communists and—albeit by the slenderest of votes—decided to back de Gaulle’s investiture. The theme of “rather de Gaulle than Massu” (in itself bearing echoes from the days of the pre-war Front Populaire), as expressed by Beuve-Méry, the editor of
Le Monde
, had become the view generally endorsed by the moderate Left of France. In purely practical terms, any physical confrontation with the paras would, said Mollet, “have been a Spanish civil war without the republican army”.