FRANCE: 233 Days of Mendes-France

It was 5 a.m. in Paris. A short, stocky man in a black topcoat hurried out of the old grey stone National Assembly building on the Quai d'Orsay. Minutes earlier Pierre Mendès-France had been Premier of France, the most popular, brilliant and energetic man to hold the office since the inception of the Fourth Republic. Now, ringing in his ears were the hoarse shouts and curses of his colleagues in the Chamber of Deputies still panting from the bitterest, most vindictive and unseemly overthrow of any Premier in recent French history.

Job-hungry French politicians have a word, usé (used-up, soiled), for a government at the moment that it may be voted down and Cabinet portfolios redistributed. Last week the opposition, having tried out its voting strength on a couple of small issues, and satisfied itself that Mendès was about usé, was ready for the big kill. Hunting ground: the debate on North Africa.

Moment of Truth. The dramatic moment came when ex-Premier René Mayer, an influential industrialist (identified with the Rothschild interests) and a member of Mendès' own Radical Socialist Party, took the rostrum. Mayer, whose constituency is Constantine in Algeria, was against Mendès' attempts to negotiate a North African settlement with the nationalist rebels. He was plainly on the side of the French settlers, and brushed aside talk of cruelty on the part of the French forces. "Repression always has a cruel aspect," he said coolly. "But this time it has been just. It was indispensable in order that the guilty might be punished ... It is essential that the Moslems faithful to France, who have often been the victims of assassins, be effectively protected."

As Mayer spoke on, his voice rose, and the Assembly sensed that the "moment of truth" was at hand. "It has been said that France must adapt herself to the evolution of the modern world. If that means adapt herself as she has done in Viet Nam, or as she has done in the Fezzan and in the French establishments in India, I answer non!"

On the front bench, Mendès sat immobile, a little paler than usual, white cuffs peeping out from the sleeves of his dark suit. Mayer turned towards Mendès: "You have already asked many times for the confidence of the Assembly. Today personally I will not be able to vote for it. For I do not know where you are going." Gaullists, Catholic M.R.P.s and Radical Socialists thundered applause.

Shared Responsibility. Mendès spent the dinner hour furiously revising his speech of rebuttal. By 9 p.m. he was back in his seat. One by one the Deputies drifted in. Dapper ex-Foreign Minister Georges Bidault, sniffing revenge (Mendès replaced him during the Geneva Conference), set down his briefcase, happily opened a newspaper. He was followed by 76-year-old Paul Reynaud, who sat in the fifth row, his old hooded eyes staring straight in front and his head nodding constantly with a nervous tic. The galleries were jammed with spectators, among them Mendès' pretty wife. Outside stretched a long line of people hoping to be admitted to the few public seats.