France: Private War of Prefect Bruneau

French roads may be nothing to shout about, but they are one of the last preserves of the motorist who likes to drive flat out. For one thing, patrolling gendarmes are few and far between. For another, there are no speed limits out in the countryside; the government feels that such things not only impinge rudely on "respect for the individual" but also disrupt "fluidity" on the highways. As a result, even the British are notoriously fond of bringing their Jaguars over for an occasional romp far and above the 70 m.p.h. they are allowed at home.

Maybe not much longer. Declaring war on "madmen of the road" since July, Prefect Jacques Bruneau, 53, of Moulins, has been meting out rough roadside justice at an open-air court —carefully screened by bushes—along much-traveled National Highway No. 7, which connects Paris and Menton. A long-disused law empowers prefects, who administer the 89 departments into which France is divided, to lift licenses on the spot for as long as two months, and Bruneau has been doing just that. More often than not, the reckless drivers corralled by the prefect's fleet of unmarked cars, motorcycles and one helicopter can drive no farther than his aptly named "Departmental Commission for the Immediate Suspension of Drivers' Licenses."

What burned Bruneau was the fact that no fewer than four persons had been killed and another 40 injured on one stretch of No. 7 in the past five weeks. Seven other prefects plan to follow his lead, but some citizens were predictably outraged by Bruneau's tough tactics. Paris newspapers dubbed Bruneau le prefét terrible. And in London last week the staid Royal Automobile Club huffily let it be known that while there were as yet "no firm assurances" on how tourists would fare, they were keeping a "very close watch" on the situation.