Black Coffee Cabinet

Through France's political revolving door, seven potential Premiers have whizzed in, whizzed out in the past six weeks. All were unable to form a cabinet. Last week one succeeded. The new Premier: tall (6 ft. 2 in.) taciturn Rene Pleven, who affects Homburg hats and an arctic reserve. He succeeded partly because all France was tired of revolving door politics.

All night long, cars filed into the courtyard of the Hotel Matignon, official residence of French Premiers, to discharge French politicians arriving to talk cabinet posts with Pleven. When ex-Premier Queuille's sleek Delahaye almost collided with Foreign Minister Schuman's modest Citroen, Passenger Queuille doffed his hat, asked: "Are you hurt?" Said Passenger Schuman: "No, but I'm in a hurry."

Pleven snapped up Schuman's offer to continue as Foreign Minister; he made Vice Premiers of two other familiar faces: Rene Mayer, for Economic Affairs; Georges Bidault, for National Defense. He neatly skipped across the stumbling blocks which defeated seven men before him: let the Assembly decide whether there should be State aid to Catholic schools, he pleaded, and let there be some kind of wage increases. France's four bickering center parties, so uncompromising before, agreed in hope of giving France a little stability. The Socialists refused to join his government, but promised to support it. And so, with Communists to the left of him and Gaullists to the right, Pleven put together a central government which would last, taunted the Gaullists, at least "for the holidays." It did survive its first Assembly test impressively (390 to 222).

At 7:30 a.m., President Auriol, who had slept soundly during the nightlong deliberations, received the tired and unshaven cabinet ministers, offered them, instead of the traditional champagne, black coffee. It seemed more appropriate.

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