France: Home with Trumpet & Spurs

His myopic eyes squinting in the glare of Orly lights, President Charles de Gaulle emerged, majestic and tanned, from the jet that had brought him home after his four-week, ten-nation tour of South America. The general bore an odd assortment of presents: an Argentine pony (asked De Gaulle when the presentation was made: “What does it eat?”), a Bolivian trumpet, Chilean spurs, a Colombian gold cigar box encrusted with emeralds (he does not smoke), and a Uruguayan whip appropriately inscribed, “Strike hard against the enemies of France.” The return received dutiful top coverage by the state-owned television network, although the French had long since become bored with the general’s marathon Latin solo. By now they were far more preoccupied with the Chinese bomb and the change in the Kremlin’s management. In the dailies, the news of De Gaulle’s return was even being crowded by Labor’s victory in Britain.

Special Alliance. In Brazil, the last and greatest nation on his tour, De Gaulle had waxed loftier and more Delphic than ever. He spoke of the traditional bonds between the two countries, and then, alluding to some dark and distant Armageddon, cried: “I greet the Brazilian army as the ally, if need be, of the French forces, whatever may befall us. There will always be between us, I am sure, a special alliance.” There were more immediate matters to discuss. The Brazilians having promised to compensate the former French owners of the Sāo Paulo-Rio Grande railroad nationalized in 1940, De Gaulle and President Castello Branco issued a communiqué expressing the hope that “the two governments will reach fully satisfactory results as rapidly as possible regarding the other questions still pending between France and Brazil.” The most outstanding of these problems is the Brazilian claim that once Brazilian, a lobster always remains Brazilian, no matter how far he strays on the continental shelf, and that French fishermen who capture them are pirates.

Friendly Aloofness. Apart from a possible lobster truce, the tangible re sults of De Gaulle’s peregrinations were far from impressive. The general gave vague promises of technical aid and increased trade. He flattered South American self-esteem with lofty references to Bolivar, San Martín and Sucre, and in turn was feted with speeches filled with mentions of Pascal, Racine, Montesquieu, Rousseau and Jeanne d’Arc. He entertained the rich and wellborn at receptions, and nodded and waved with friendly but aloof dignity to the huge crowds that jammed the streets and the squares to see him and hail him.

Clearly, millions of illiterate Latin Americans had become aware of the existence of France. The memory of De Gaulle may linger, and in the future it may contribute to this or that Latin American leader’s independent stance toward the U.S. But for the present, most of De Gaulle’s hosts had, if anything, made a special point of their hemispheric solidarity with the U.S.

Dauphin Declared. The most remarkable single result of the trip probably was the demonstration of De Gaulle’s physical stamina. At 73, and only recently recovered from an operation, he endured the grueling pace of the journey, the speeches and endless receptions, the mob scenes in all kinds of weather. All this reinforced the conviction in France that he will stand for re-election for another seven-year presidential term in 1965, even if he does not expect to serve it out. In the President’s absence, Premier Georges Pompidou had another chance to stand in for him, showing once again that De Gaulle evidently leans to him as his chosen dauphin. Not that the able Pompidou had much latitude; he received his instructions by phone from far-off South America as carefully and regularly as he does when De Gaulle is in residence at the Elysée Palace.