• • •
Both Churchill and de Gaulle fell from leadership after World War II, despite their brilliant wartime contributions. They tried to recapture power in very different ways, however. The defeat of the RPF had taught de Gaulle that in politics the shortest distance between two points is rarely a straight line. After he announced his retirement from politics at a press conference in 1955, he took a detached, magisterial course, making almost no effort to keep himself in the public eye. He was a great actor and, like most great actors, knew when to get off the stage.
He was also a master politician. His intuition told him that high office must be courted like a woman. He followed the prescription of the French proverb “Pursue the woman and she will flee; retreat and she will follow.” Like Eisenhower, he intuitively knew that sometimes the best way to get power is to appear not to seek it. But waiting on the sidelines was not in Churchill’s nature. Churchill continued to lead the loyal opposition in Parliament, and there was never a moment when he was not openly working every possible angle to recapture power. Both men succeeded in returning to office, though by different means.
In American politics I always advise those aspiring to high office that ambition in the heart is one thing, but ambition on the sleeve is another. The first is a necessary and proper characteristic for a leader; the second is an unattractive and repelling one.
De Gaulle left the provincial simplicity of Colombey once a week for appointments at his Paris office on the rue de Solferino. While the men of the Fourth Republic rejected de Gaulle as a leader, many eagerly came to solicit his political advice. But often they left believing that he had learned more from their talks than they had. Through these meetings de Gaulle became perhaps the most knowledgeable man in France on the workings and failures of the Fourth Republic.
He also kept in touch with his fiercely dedicated supporters, who were even more loyal in defeat than they were in victory. They were a vitally important political asset for de Gaulle, providing him with a core of support that enabled him to seize the opportunity to return to power the moment it presented itself. When he was in office, they also gave him the strong, reliable support that is indispensable to a leader in periods of crisis.
Many of his followers were attracted more to the man than to his ideas. André Malraux, who was further left than de Gaulle politically, was so fascinated by de Gaulle’s character that he became an almost abject supporter. As I escorted Malraux to his car after a White House dinner in his honor shortly before my first trip to China, he spoke worshipfully of de Gaulle. “I am not de Gaulle—no one is de Gaulle,” he said. “But if de Gaulle were here, I know what he would say: ‘All men who understand what you are embarking upon salute you!’ ”
Cults of personality usually die with the man. It is a tribute to de Gaulle that Gaullism did not. Even now Gaullists play an important, if diminishingly powerful, role in French political life. During his years in Colombey de Gaulle often met with these disciples and nurtured the flame of their loyalty.
Most importantly, de Gaulle grew in wisdom during his time in political exile. Adenauer told a reporter that those years in Colombey “had done him immense good and now he is the ablest statesman in the West.” Great leaders almost always learn more from their mistakes than they do from their successes. De Gaulle critically reexamined his actions when he wrote his three-volume Mémoires de Guerre. In discussing his actions, he often reappraised them by examining alternative courses he might have taken. The detached perspective that such re-evaluation and self-criticism requires is rare among political leaders, but is imperative for one trying to wage a comeback.
“Writing the memoirs made him a political tactician,” noted one of de Gaulle’s associates. This was most evident shortly after he became Premier in 1958. He requested that the assembly grant him special powers to handle the country’s crises. The old de Gaulle would have demanded that the assembly grant him these powers and threatened to resign if it balked. The new de Gaulle understood the value of stroking. The political mechanic in him realized that the machine would run more smoothly if he oiled it.
He showered the parliamentarians with pleasantries when he came to the chamber. He courted his adversaries by chatting amiably with them during recesses. He reassured them by saying that all of his actions would be calculated “to make the republic stronger, healthier, more effective, indestructible.” And he charmed them by saying, “I want you all to know how much I feel the honor and the pleasure of this occasion to be here among you tonight.” On hearing this, the parliamentarians who had tried so hard to prevent his return looked agape, burst into applause—and granted de Gaulle the powers he requested.
• • •
De Gaulle could also perceptively analyze American politics. During his visit in 1960, de Gaulle showed great interest in the approaching presidential campaign. He was careful not to appear to take sides, but he did offer some shrewd advice. He told me that he knew that as Vice President I would and should run on the record of the Eisenhower administration, but that this would make it difficult for me to take the position that he felt the times demanded. He said very emphatically, “You must campaign for a ‘New America.’ ” Of course, I could not do this because I would have appeared to be criticizing the administration of which I was a part. But the advice was sound. Kennedy did run on the “New America” theme, and he won.
After my defeat in the election for governor of California in 1962, my family and I took a trip to Europe and stopped in Paris for a few days. Much to my surprise, and even more to the surprise of Ambassador Bohlen, de Gaulle invited Mrs. Nixon and me to have lunch at the Élysée and asked Bohlen to join us as well.
After my two electoral defeats, neither I nor any American political expert believed I had a political future. Consequently de Gaulle’s invitation seemed to be a very gracious and generous gesture. In his informal luncheon toast de Gaulle said that when he first met me three years earlier, he had intuited that I would play a greater role in American leadership. He stated that he stood by this view and that he saw a future role for me in “a top capacity.”
It was a gracious compliment but also a sincere one. Throughout my presidency and my years in San Clemente, visiting French officials who had known de Gaulle never failed to remark to me that he had predicted I would be elected President years before it was even suggested in the American press.
During my years out of office de Gaulle received me on every trip I made to Paris, except when he was out of the city, even though he usually granted appointments only to those who were in power. I do not mean to suggest that these meetings indicate that de Gaulle had an extraordinary personal admiration for me, though I believe that our respect was mutual and that it grew over the years. He was a shrewd observer of American politics and global affairs. I think he probably surveyed the American political scene and did not see many leaders who had much of an understanding of world politics. He also probably thought that the times would require a leader who had such an understanding and that I therefore might find an opportunity to return to power. Thus, our meetings were a chance for him to cultivate a friendship with and to get his views across to a possible future leader of his most important ally.
Also, I think that he empathized with me because he saw me as another who knew what it was to be “in the wilderness.”
• • •
The adversity of de Gaulle’s defeats helped build the character that attracted his fiercely loyal followers. But de Gaulle wrote that a man of character also needs grandeur to be an effective leader. “He must aim high, show that he has vision, act on the grand scale, and so establish his authority over the generality of men who splash in shallow water.” If he is content with the commonplace, he will be regarded as a good servant, but “never as a master who can draw to himself the faith and dreams of mankind.”
De Gaulle’s cause was France. Nothing inspired him more than the symbols of French glory, and nothing saddened him more than French
weaknesses and failures.
“All my life I have thought of France in a certain way,” de Gaulle proclaimed in the opening line of his wartime memoirs. In the stirring paragraph that follows, he elucidated a fascinating view not of the French nation-state but rather of the French nation-soul. His emotional side, he wrote, tended to envision France as a country fated either for great success or exemplary misfortunes. “If, in spite of this, mediocrity shows in her acts and deeds, it strikes me as an absurd anomaly, to be imputed to the faults of Frenchmen, not to the genius of the land.” His rational side contended that France was really not herself “unless in the front rank.” Only a grand national ambition that put France in the forefront of history could counterbalance the natural disunity of the French people. “In short, to my mind, France cannot be France without greatness.”
“When leaders fail,” de Gaulle explained to U.S. Admiral Harold Stark in 1942, “new leaders are projected upward out of the spirit of eternal France, from Charlemagne to Joan of Arc to Napoleon, Poincaré, and Clemenceau.” He then added, “Perhaps this time I am one of those thrust into leadership by the failure of others.” There was really never any doubt that de Gaulle considered himself the next in the long line of saviors in France. His armies marched under the flag of the Cross of Lorraine, under which Joan of Arc rallied the French centuries before. When he once said that “it was for me to assume the burden of France” after the capitulation of the Third Republic, he meant that through his decision to continue the resistance he had become the personification of France in the eyes of the French.
The inability of the Allies to comprehend this fact led to much of their antagonism toward de Gaulle during World War II. Once, when Churchill tried to get him to adjust his approach to some small matter, de Gaulle sternly refused and said, “Mr. Prime Minister, now that at last you have Joan of Arc on your side, you are still determined to burn her.” President Roosevelt was incapable of understanding de Gaulle’s motivations and continually joked with friends that de Gaulle thought he was Joan of Arc. Though Churchill had great sympathy and respect for de Gaulle, the British Prime Minister was often exasperated by the French leader’s intransigence. In one such moment, Churchill topped Roosevelt’s jibes by saying, “Yes, de Gaulle does think he is Joan of Arc, but my bloody bishops won’t let me burn him.”
Eisenhower, on the other hand, genuinely admired de Gaulle both as a military and political leader. He deplored the negative bias many U.S. foreign service officers had against de Gaulle and welcomed his return to power in 1958. He told me emphatically that while de Gaulle could be difficult, France would not have survived as a free country had it not been for his leadership. Years later I went out to see Eisenhower in Walter Reed Hospital before my 1969 state visit to France. At seventy-eight he was bedridden, with only a few weeks left to live. But his mind was alert and his memory keen. He said reflectively, “We did not treat de Gaulle with enough sensitivity during the war.”
As President, Eisenhower treated de Gaulle with great respect, and what Eisenhower gave in common courtesy de Gaulle returned in friendship. The alarming deterioration of Franco-American relations during the 1960s was due in large part to the failure of American policymakers to recognize the simple truth that respectful sensitivity and good manners are a small price to pay for good relations between nations.
• • •
De Gaulle’s greatest fear was that France would suffer the fate of those nations that once made history and now only observe it. In my arrival remarks on my state visit to Paris in 1969, I recalled Benjamin Franklin’s comment that everyone is a citizen of two countries, his own and France. If one stops to consider the many contributions France has made to modern civilization in art, literature, philosophy, science, and government, the adage rings true. De Gaulle dedicated himself to making sure that it continued to do so.
The materialism of postwar Europe disturbed de Gaulle. He worried that the French were too preoccupied with their standard of living. “This is not a national ambition,” he told a reporter. “In the meantime, other peoples are thinking less about their standard of living, are conquering the world, and are conquering it without even having to fight for it.”
De Gaulle once commented to Eisenhower, “Unlike the British, we have not lost our taste for excellence.” De Gaulle never lost that taste, but many of his people had. He often complained that the French people were the greatest obstacle in his quest for French grandeur. He strove to lead them to “the heights,” but often they did not follow. In 1969 they did not respond to a televised appeal in which de Gaulle called for an end to the civil disturbances that were sweeping France. Disgusted, de Gaulle told his aides, “The French are cattle, just cattle.”
It might seem strange that a man so dedicated to France as a nation could have such contempt for the French as people. Yet France, to de Gaulle, was more than the sum of its people. His vision was an idealized vision, which he held out to the nation to try to raise and exalt its spirit. The people were simply people—mundane, imperfect, their eyes not on that crest beyond the horizon but on the ground beneath their feet.
It was imperative in his mind that France be in the front rank of nations, in the advance guard of history. His efforts to design a grand national ambition for France were unsuccessful. He toyed with the idea of forging a philosophical compromise between capitalism and communism in France, but the French as a whole were not interested. His efforts to bolster the national pride, however, were largely successful. He insisted that France develop its own atomic weapons and nuclear force. And when American administrations in the 1960s neglected to consult with de Gaulle before taking diplomatic actions, he withdrew France from the integrated command structure of NATO.
During my discussions with de Gaulle in 1967, his preoccupation with France’s global role showed through both in the manner in which he conducted the talks and in the positions he took on major foreign policy issues. We met in his office in the Élysée Palace with only his translator present. I could tell that de Gaulle had a substantial understanding of English, though he never spoke it. I had enough familiarity with French from college to notice that when our translator occasionally missed the nuances of his statements, de Gaulle would rephrase his thought in very precise language, emphasizing the ideas that were misinterpreted. With his passion for perfection, he probably did not want to speak imperfect English. But I also sensed that he used only French because he thought that it should be restored to its former position as the language of international diplomacy.
He also recognized that there was a tactical advantage to conducting his half of the conversation in French. By waiting for the translations of my statements and questions, he doubled the time he had to contemplate his responses. He obviously had this in mind because he listened just as carefully to my original statements as to the translations.
We met shortly after the Arab-Israeli war of 1967 had broken out. De Gaulle had called for a summit meeting to discuss the Middle East and other trouble spots. He told me during our meeting that he believed that the Russians were “embarrassed” by developments in the Middle East and might be amenable to a settlement that would be fair to both the Arabs and the Israelis.
I asked him if the Soviet policy of supporting Nasser’s aggression throughout the Mideast did not raise doubts as to the sincerity of their desire for a fair settlement. He acknowledged that the Soviets had a policy of helping “socialist” countries such as Egypt and that they had constantly tried to exploit Mideast tensions in order to gain influence and leverage in the Arab world. But he emphasized that the Soviets had not completely rejected his proposed summit.
As it turned out, the Russians had no interest in meeting with the leaders of the West. I believe that de Gaulle’s desperate desire for a greater international role for France caused this rare lapse in judgment. As President Giuseppe Saragat of Italy once remarked to me, “De Gaulle is an honest and good man, but he is like the woman who looks into the mirror and does
not like what she sees.”
De Gaulle could not bear the fact that France, with its great history as a world power, had only a fraction of the economic and military power of the United States. He did not want the United States and the Soviet Union to make all the critical foreign policy decisions without the consultation or involvement of France. He also believed that the long experience of the French in diplomacy enabled them to contribute toward better East-West relations in ways that the inexperienced and sometimes rash Americans could not.
While his judgment about the present was faulty in this instance, he was prophetic in his analysis of the future of the Middle East. Israel, he thought, would insist on very tough terms in exchange for returning the territories it occupied. He remarked that the Israelis were an extreme people, saying, “Look at their history as recorded in the Bible.” He also pointed out that the Arabs were equally extreme. “Both,” he observed, “always make demands for more than they are entitled to.”
He said that the United States and other countries should join together in working for a peace based on reconciliation, not vengeance. He thought such a peace was in Israel’s long-term interests. “Israel has won all the wars it has fought with the Arabs to date, and will win the next one,” he said. “But in the end, they cannot survive in a sea of hate.”
Unlike many western leaders at the time, de Gaulle put the blame for the Mideast crisis on both sides. As a result, some unfairly labeled him an anti-Semite. Bohlen, who often was critical of de Gaulle, disagreed. “The problem,” he told me, “is that he feels that the Jews are generally internationalists, and above all, he is a deep-down nationalist.”
I concluded the conversation by saying that there was a need for greater consultation among the NATO powers in dealing with the Russians and that the United States should not rely exclusively on bilateral relations with the Soviet Union on major issues. With a slight smile he replied, “I will remember.” And he did.
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