The Monarch and Peerage of the Fifth Republic

Comparisons have a limited tensile strength. The more they are drawn the weaker they get, until eventually they snap and become useless.

Since Charles de Gaulle came out of retirement to become President of France in 1958 the obvious parallels between Gaullism and royalism have been stretched perilously thin. To remark that De Gaulle tends to think and act more like a king than an elected official is both true and important. To remark the same thing for the thousandth time is perhaps amusing but rather pointless. The resemblances between De Gaulle and Louis XIV or Napoleon still make handy gimmicks for political cartoonists, but they have long since ceased to illuminate the methods and aims of French government.

Pierre Viansson-Ponte's anecdotal sketch of the DeGaulle regime has the usual shortcomings of books which capitalize on the General's imperious manner and medieval pride. The King and His Court adds little to the existing stock of useful insights into DeGaulle's personality, if only because it is impossible to increase infinity.

Saws Resharpened

The special virtue of this book is that it digs far behind the public facade of the Fifth Republic, Viansson-Ponte confirms a startling number of cliches about De Gaulle's dictatorial techniques from the vantage-point of an insider. In crediting these cliches The King and His Court of course says nothing new, but is does give the American reader a renewed sense of how deeply De Gaulle's pretensions direct the fortunes of modern France.

Viansson-Ponte is a court chronicler without being courtier. As political editor of the prestigious Le Monde, he has free access to inner government circles even though he is not a Gaullist. This position gives him a rare detachment: he is able to write knowledgeably about De Gaulle while avoiding both the admiration of a follower and the jealousy of an opponent. The King and His Court resembles the Duc de Saint-Simson's colorful Memoirs about life with Louis XIV, full of sympathy and gossip, yet it retains the ironical view-point of a journalist somewhat skeptical about De Gaulle's lofty designs.

The General's regal bearing amounts to much more than theatrical bravado. "Despite haughty denials, shrugs of the shoulder, feigned indignation, General De Gaulle is, by temperament, a monarchist." Viansson-Ponte believes that if De Gaulle could restore the French throne he would gladly do so. But as a matter of practical policy he is resigned to democratic forms, if not to democratic substance, in French politics. This in no way diminishes the General's self-esteem:

He is at ease among kings, both deferential--noblesse oblige--and self-confident. It is true that he never thought seriously of founding a dynasty. But he reigns, and what is more he governe... Thus his very real power compensates for what heredity has not bestowed on him.

In the first half of The King and His Court Viansson-Ponte describes the public rituals and private tactics by which De Gaulle exercises his enormous power. There is, for instance, the formal introduction, a clipped ceremony in which the subject is supposed to accept the General's greeting and then hold his peace. De Gaulle has an effective way of dismissing upstairs who presume to start a conversation with him:

A certain empty, vacant stare signifies that you have suddenly become transparent, virtually non-existent; a special way of moving the lips without uttering a sound makes it plain that the General is no longer listening, that he is preparing to greet the next person.

DeGaulle behaves with the same lofty reserve whether at the Opera or the Comedie Francaise, a formal dinner or a private lunch at Colombey, his country estate. Viansson-Ponte also sets down De Gaulle's etiquette as Chief of State (liturgy), his ways of communicating with the public (sermon), and his relations with foreign dignitaries (kinship and rank).

L'etat, c'est Charles

In all of his affairs De Gaulle rules absolutely. Everything he does is calculated and stage-managed, every movement planned with grand destinies in view. Even when reading newspapers "only one thought is uppermost in his mind: his image as a historical figure." On road trips through the provinces De Gaulle gives precooked three to six-minute speeches in small towns, twenty-minute orations in large ones; a dozen times a day the General's itinerary calls for him to say "a few words to the people." Even the catechism of the press conference is carefully rigged, with coached interrogators planted in specific seats in the audience.

If the Fifth Republic is really a benevolent despotism, the popularity of the despot has apparently soothed the conscience of the French people. Television is the most successful purveyor of the Gaullist cult, and the General uses it like a professional actor. He commands sympathy as skillfully as he commands votes.

Millions of Frenchmen are growing old with him--"Look," they say, "he seems tired tonight," or conversely, "Charlie's in good form." Entirely unlike the Big Brother of George Orwell's 1984 he resembles an elderly uncle, "someone you would like for your grandfather," as the Readers Digest once put it.

The present health of the Fifth Republic does not guarantee it long life; it depends too heavily on the General's personal prestige, something which he cannot will to his successor. Viansson-Ponte frankly feels that the government will resume its cycle of frequent crises and cabinet shifts when De Gaulle steps down. "Because the regime rests upon one man, it can only be transitory."

De Gaulle's vanity and the reverence he inspires in his subordinates arise from a common perception: The General is an extraordinary man, and an extraordinarily able President. Almost single-handedly he has kept France among the great powers. His political acumen, his sureness of direction, and the legend of his leadership in World War II are the cords that bind the restless elements of the Fifth Republic into a coordinated, going enterprise. Gaullists would claim that a realistic essay of his value to France more than justifies his self-righteousness. Like the late Frank Lloyd Wright, De Gaulle sees no point in concealing his natural conceit.

Pomp and Utility

Pomposity is, moreover, a functional part of De Gaulle's administrative style. It saves time and ensures efficiency by awing underlings into ready obedience and by coercing consultants into full cooperation. His aloofness also serves as a defensive device. Like any high public figure De Gaulle must insulate himself with stock responses and mechanical mannerisms. Heads of states cannot possibly attend to each interview and each conference with bright originality. They

are simply too busy. De Gaulle's pomposity forms a protective cocoon which suits his tastes just as the folksy "flesh-pressing" role comes naturally to Lyndon Johnson.

The Palace Guard

The second half of The King and His Court consists of a biographical directory of leading Gaullists, annotated with symbols a la Guide Michelin. A camel, for example, signifies a Gaullist who stuck by the General during the desert years from 1953 to 1958, when he completely withdrew from politics. A machine gun insignia marks those who fought in the Resistance. Any kind of affiliation with De Gaulle, past or present, qualifies a man for the Directory. Thus Raymond Aron, now an opponent of De Gaulle, is listed along with heir-apparent Michele Debre and obscure hatchetmen like Jean-Baptiste Biaggi. "Minister of the word" Andre Malraux ("an elderly uncle whose whims are tolerated with amused indulgence") appears along with plotters, soldiers, relatives and arch-traitor Jacques Soustelle.

The menageric of personalities in the Directory refflects both Viansson-Ponte's sense of humor and the nebulous character of Gaullism itself. Viansson-Ponte deliberately avoids set definitions. To be a Gaullist one must be loyal to the General or to a cause which coincides with the General's ambitions. The hard-core cadres of Gaullism belong to the elite Union pour la Nouvelle Republique (U.N.R.). Millions of women cast their ballots for the General simply because "they are used to him and are afraid of what would happen were he to disappear. But the most devoted Gaullists are the oldtimers, veteran troops who joined the Free France movement in 1940. Their homage is unconditional. They are the ones who willing serve... the right?

Willingly serve in the positions assigned to them, remain at the General's beck and call... obey without argument, without even thinking, and kiss. If they must, the hand that smites them. For is it not true that the General always has good reason for his acts, and that once again, as always, he is in the right?

The King and His Court casts doubt on De Gaulle's infallibility, but it leaves no doubt of his ascendancy over the government and imagination of France. With little profundity--and little desire to be profound--Pierre Viansson-Ponte daubs a diverting portrait of a democratic reign and the motley entourage that supports it