FOR 30 years, his destiny and that of France had been inseparably intertwined. For over a decade, he had presided over France in as rare an identification of ruler and ruled as modern history shows. In many ways he was an anachronism. He dealt in abstract verities more than in practical politics. He bullied in an age of persuasion; he dictated in an era of dialogue. But through it all there was always some curious alchemy between Charles de Gaulle and the people of France when it came down to the irrevocable out or non. It seemed inconceivable, even as the damning evidence of election-eve polls mounted, that the French would deny him another victory. Nonetheless, they did. By a margin of 53 to 47% in a referendum that De Gaulle had needlessly elevated to a test of confidence, France last week rejected its President.
As always, he was as good as his word. In a final television appeal to the nation two days before the balloting, he had repeated an earlier warning to resign at once "if I am disavowed." Shortly after midnight on Monday morning, the voting trend unmistakable, De Gaulle sent a two-sentence communique to Paris from his country home at Colombey-les-Deux-Eglises. It said: "I am ceasing the exercise of my functions as President of the Republic. This decision takes effect at noon today."
Gracelessly Sacked. It was a decision whose immediate consequence was to elevate President of the Senate Alain Poher, 60, to the interim presidency of the Republic. Under the constitution that De Gaulle himself created, Poher must call an election in no sooner than 20 and no later than 35 days for a new and permanent French President. Poher, a member of the Centrist Party, might be a candidate, as might Centrist Leader Jean Lecanuet, a dedicated European integrationist, and Communist Jacques Duclos among others. But the most formidable candidate was likely to be Georges Pompidou, 57, long De Gaulle's righthand man and Premier until last July, when the general peremptorily and gracelessly sacked him for doing all too well in handling the student-worker crisis.
In the first hours of De Gaulle's defeat, the jovial, ursine Pompidou was maintaining the respectful silence of a mourner. A onetime classics teacher, he knew how to honor the tragedy of the fall of a great man. But as a former Rothschild banker, he was also well aware of the fund of admiration and good will that the French people hold for him. When the Latin Quarter was a battleground last May and June, De Gaulle cut and ran for Colombey and very nearly quit. Pompidou took over, and in a round-the-clock performance under strong pressure, effectively ran the government and cooled the crisis. He felt then that "a current" passed between himself and the country, and quietly told friends that "I will either be the next President of France or the leader of the opposition." He campaigned hard for De Gaulle's referendum, but he never took the step that some Gaullists urged on him: to promise publicly that he would not run for the presidency if De Gaulle lost.