The Praetorians (29 page)

“Sheer chance, the impulse given at the outset, has led to this explosion becoming an enormous fraternization movement. But what a risk they have run!

“The delegations should have succeeded one another without a break, submitting motions carefully drafted in advance, the leaders of the movement remaining permanently out on the balcony.

“There's a lack of professional technique about it all . . . and with such splendid material too!”

A smile came over Lamentin's face. His colleague looked at him in astonishment.

“What's wrong with you, my dear fellow?”

“I was just thinking that today, for the first time, it would have amused me to be a paratroop colonel.”

 * * * * 

On the
17
th,
18
th and
19
th of May more and more Moslems turned up at the Forum. They came from Algiers, but also from all parts of the Sahel and the Mitidja; the army's and settlers' trucks were no longer sufficient to transport them. For the first time since the start of the revolt, in the towns, in the villages, and even in the tumbledown
mechtas
at the foot of the mountains, the Moslems felt that what was going on in Algiers, in that tiled square, concerned them as much as the Europeans.

A great relief mingled with astonishment spread through the whole of Algeria. In the
willayas
the
kattiba
leaders no longer dared to give orders to their men for fear of seeing them desert.

In three days the movement of May
13
th had swept away all the old administration of free communes, as well as the new one with its prefects and sub-prefects.

Even so, Glatigny had had to dispatch Captain Orsini to Constantine with orders to persuade the super-prefect and two generals, who were being difficult, to understand the situation more clearly.

Orsini set off in the middle of the night with a dozen paratroopers and carried out his comrade's mild instructions with his customary ruthlessness.

Glatigny had to recall Orsini to Algiers; then, since there were still some difficulties in Corsica, which Lieutenant Mattei, who was entrusted with the task of rallying the island, had not been able to solve, he sent him out the little captain, who suddenly felt far less sure of himself and embarrassed at being among his own folk again.

On May
17
th, at half past one in the afternoon, Soustelle landed at Maison-Blanche airport after escaping from Paris in melodramatic circumstances. Salan hastened to block his way. He did not want anyone else to rob him of the revolution and the popularity he had just found for himself in the Forum. But he arrived too late; Algiers learnt in a few minutes that the former Governor General was there and the soldiers on guard at the airport cheered him.

The Gaullists acted quickly and once again Colonel Puysanges admired the technique and speed of the little group of officers round Glatigny and Bonvillain. But he was beginning to take fright, and was already preparing to spring his trap for them, for none of them had replied to his approaches. To his chief he suggested moderation and “coming to some arrangement” with this setback, for, he said, “certain elements of the army, in a state of over-excitement, might go to any lengths of disobedience.”

The “setback” thus found himself offered all the attributes of the Minister of Algeria, Lacoste's official car and office, and the Villa des Oliviers as his residence.

Soustelle refused all this and accepted only the extremely vague post of adviser, which made it possible for him to put the Tojun in a compromising position and at the same time not commit himself too deeply with this man whose aims were still as obscure as ever, who belonged to too many people, too many parties, too many sects. And, besides, did not Salan derive his powers from the régime?

Soustelle decided to act as the prophet of integration during an extensive tour of the towns of Algeria.

On May
19
th Jean Restignes dispatched one of his servants with a brief note for Major de Glatigny:

“Dear friend,

“I should be delighted to meet you and your brother-officer Esclavier. The best thing would be for you to come to my house at eight tomorrow morning. We shall be able to discuss matters in peace and quiet.”

The writing was spindly, elegant, slightly feminine, and the hastily scrawled signature betrayed irritation.

That evening Esclavier, who was dining with Boisfeuras, asked his comrade what he knew about Restignes.

“More or less nothing. But he worked for my father in the Far East for a couple of years. It was long before the war, and Restignes was still on the threshold of his career.

“My father remembers him as an extremely intelligent,
enterprising, self-sufficient person with a remarkable gift for analysing political situations. He recognized in him a sound business sense and even a feeling for schemes on a grand scale, could well have imagined him as leader of a political party or becoming an excellent Minister, but not Prime Minister: too unstable, over-sensitive, always in need of a protector. Restignes generally selects his protectors from people of inferior capacity to his own, but who are more eager for advancement and have none of those twinges of conscience which plague him.

“That's why he linked up with Jacquier. He despises him, turns on him if necessary, but it's nevertheless Jacquier who holds him on the lead.

“Only I'm pretty well certain,” Boisfeuras concluded, “that long before the
13
th of May Restignes was already anxious to get rid of Jacquier. In this business he's acting alone and on his own authority.”

 * * * * 

Restignes lived on the heights above Algiers, in a modern villa which was all french windows, so that the garden with its red and purple flowers, its pine- and eucalyptus-trees, seemed to spread right into the house.

He greeted the two officers like old friends who had come to pay him a courtesy visit. Restignes wore a tobacco-coloured flannel suit, suède moccasins, a shirt open at the neck. Still slender and agile at the age of fifty, he looked like a tennis or polo champion. One could tell at once that he was one of those men who had been spoilt by life, had been born rich and had always remained so. His easy manner, his charm, his irony, had made him a popular figure at school and at the university and later on in the salons and ante-chambers where political reputations are made. His features were sharp and clear-cut, with the exception of his slightly fleshy chin. His eyes, which were pale and cold, were not only winning: they were also commanding.

An Arab servant in a red fez and flowing trousers brought in coffee. They lit cigarettes and discussed horses. Restignes scrutinized the two officers closely for any sign of impatience.

He liked the look of them, for he felt they were his sort, but he could not resist the temptation of provoking them.

“I hear you had a big audience at your circus show in the Forum.”

“Two hundred thousand yesterday,” Glatigny replied in the same tone. “But we could improve on that figure and pad out our programme if you agreed to do your act.”

“What do you suggest, the flying trapeze, or a clown in the arena? I'd be too sarcastic as a clown.”

He stood up suddenly and threw his lighted cigarette out of a bay-window overlooking the garden.

“Gentlemen, I didn't like some of the methods you had to use during the battle of Algiers; I even hid some Moslems, who were my friends and whom you were chasing, here in this house. . . . But last night Captain Mahmoudi came to see me. I know under what conditions you had him released and I've followed your experiment with the greatest interest. I realize that you wanted to go further than the plot—or
putsch
, shall we say—in order to solve, in a revolutionary climate, an inextricable problem. Contrary to all the acknowledged politicians, you are trying to lean on certain aspects of mass mentality—warm-heartedness, enthusiasm, fraternity—and not on hatred or folly.

“I can feel when the wind of chance blows certain men forward and carries them away; at such times I like to be on their side. Rationally speaking, you can't win, but there's this wind blowing you forward and all these Moslems coming over to you. . . .

“Last night Mahmoudi and I had a dream. We happen to be, for a few days longer, in one of those periods of grace in which any dream is possible. I have therefore decided to make you a party to this one and even to suggest that we realize it together. What I am offering you is peace in Algeria.”

He clapped his hands.

“Ahmed, bring us some champagne. My wild dream of last night has survived the light of dawn, but it has to be nourished all the same. We're going to drink, which I hardly ever do, especially in the morning.”

The champagne was served and Restignes raised his glass.

“I drink to our project. As I told you, it's utterly wild . . . and it has taken an untold number of hazards to create this situation for it to become possible.”

Restignes's voice was warm, friendly, rich in inflexions, but Esclavier noticed that his eyes remained blank and cold, as though they were the uncommitted onlookers of the rest of his personality.

He went on, with his hands in his pockets, bending slightly back from the waist:

“You had General Salan cheered in the Forum by people who would not have shed a tear if his assailants' aim had been better. You had the name of Charles de Gaulle acclaimed by the French Algerians, who have never been able to stand that cold-blooded, haughty northerner. I too want to stand for election in the Forum; I want the homage of that crowd which you have got so well in hand. Some of them hate me, others like me, but they all know me. It will be much easier than for our Commander-in-Chief.”

“And afterwards?” asked Glatigny.

“I love Algeria, even though I wasn't born here. Between the urge I feel to leave a great project stamped with my name and the attachment I have towards this country, the attachment is what counts more. For my project to succeed I shall even be prepared to take a back seat.

“I live every moment of the tragedy of Algeria in both camps. Through my family, I belong to the big settlers . . .”

“You belong most of all to Jacquier,” Esclavier thought to himself. He felt an insolent remark rising to his lips, but he bit it back.

“. . . through my friends and acquaintances, I'm attached to the Moslem intelligentzia, the French liberals and also the big-business circles which generally view a situation objectively.

“Ferhat Abbas is one of my friends, today as yesterday.”

Suddenly he assumed a ruthless tone:

“The movement born on May
13
th cannot be left in the hands of simple-minded adventurers, obtuse politicians and disgracefully ambitious generals. It must not be stopped but drawn out to its full extent. What differentiates a revolution from a
coup d'état
is its extent. A revolution affects a whole people, a
coup d'état
concerns a single individual or a team.

“You begin by putting me in the saddle at the Forum, which
will win you over a certain number of nationalist Moslems and, with them, some Frenchmen who know that privileges can't be maintained indefinitely.

“We have all these people enrolled in the Public Safety Committees. You, the military, stand behind them. Being more intelligent than the narrow-minded extremists or men of straw who now constitute these committees, they will become masters of them.

“Second stage of the operation: we create a revolutionary atmosphere, we bring the kettle to the boil. Then, with one of you, I go off to Switzerland and bring back Ferhat Abbas.”

“He'll slam the door in our faces!”

“No. I can promise you he'll follow us. We take him to the Forum and with him we once again proclaim integration: then no one will doubt it any longer, either in Algeria or anywhere else in the world. We shall see the external revolution collapse, the
willaya
chiefs abandoned by their men and reduced, if they don't rally to us, to being mere gang leaders without popular support.”

“I'm against integration,” Glatigny quietly declared. “It's quite impossible.”

“It must lead to something further. We must first of all piece together all those separate elements which make up Algeria, and integration is the only cement possible. Afterwards Algeria will proceed quite naturally to a form of independence within the framework of the community.

“By stirring up this country, by exploiting all its revolutionary power, by making financial sacrifices, of course, we shall recover our influence in the Maghreb and throughout Africa. . . .”

“Heavens, what a glorious prospect!” Esclavier exclaimed. “But to put your plan into operation, we'll need some time. . . .”

“A week, or else it will be too late.”

“I agree,” said Glatigny, “even though it means alienating certain elements of the military establishment. At eleven o'clock tomorrow, Monsieur Restignes, you'll speak at the Forum.”

“What about Soustelle?” asked Esclavier.

Restignes made a gesture with his hand:

“He's no friend of mine, but why shouldn't he be? Explain
this plan to him. Because he's intelligent, because all his revolutionary youth will rise to the fore again, he may well accept it.”

The three men went out into the garden. Restignes stooped down to straighten the stem of a flower which had bent in the wind.

“Till tomorrow, gentlemen,” he said to them.

As he and Glatigny retraced their steps down the gravelled path in the garden, Esclavier made a gesture of triumph at the big trees through which the early sun filtered in gentle rays.

“I've never felt such a thrill at being young! No doubt it's not my own youth, but the youth of this morning when anything seems possible.”

The geographer El Yakoubi (last half of the ninth

century) uses the word Sahara as a synonym of cemetery.

ROBERT CAPOT-REY
,
Le Sahara
français