De Gaulle in a Crystal Ball

Charles de Gaulle foresaw that following his death the small village of Colombey-les-Deux Eglises--to which he retired after leaving the presidency in 1969 and where he now lies buried --would become a national shrine. "After me, this will be Lourdes," he reportedly remarked, adding wryly that "grandeur will be sold in the form of small medals, small flags and crosses of Lorraine in nougatine [candy]." Last week, as France marked the first anniversary of De Gaulle's death, with President Georges Pompidou attending a Mass at Notre Dame and De Gaulle's widow and family a simple ceremony in Colombey, it was apparent that much of his prophecy had come true.

Thousands of avenues and streets, including the famed Place de l'Etoile in Paris, have been renamed in his honor. More than 1,000,000 copies of books about De Gaulle, including Andre Malraux's Fallen Oaks, have been sold. A spectacular called La France de Charles de Gaulle is now being filmed, and an organization has collected his uniforms, watch, pen, cane, kepis, infantry saber, manuscripts, speeches and photographs for exhibit. A National Memorial Committee is building a $ 1,000,000, 134-foot-high marble cross of Lorraine at Colombey that will be visible for 20 miles.

Simple Ritual. It is at Colombey, which has a population of 377 and is 150 miles southeast of Paris, that the cult is most evident. After the funeral last year, the village priest, Father Claude Saugey, said to the mayor: "Well, Monsieur le Maire, we can now go back to our dull, humdrum lives again." Hardly. By some estimates, possibly exaggerated, more than 1,000,000 pilgrims have journeyed to the general's off-white marble grave, where he lies beside his daughter Anne. The people come with flowers and handmade crosses of Lorraine, plaques and crude placards reading "To our leader," "notre grand chef" "to our liberator," "notre grand general." They come in battered deux-chevaux, creaking farm wagons, sleek Citroens, by chartered trains and buses. General Jacques Massu, who was once sacked for his split with De Gaulle over Algeria and later won his way back into favor, came on horseback.

The ritual is simple: a walk to the village church containing the family pew, to the grave site, to the walled estate of La Boisserie, where De Gaulle's widow Yvonne still lives in virtual seclusion, and then back to the town. There old, nearly empty restaurants have suddenly become packed and new restaurants are springing up, along with hotels. Colombey's streets have been repaved, there is a new post office to handle demands for a special anniversary stamp, and a 1,200-car parking lot is being built.

At Chez Janine, the pilgrim can find De Gaulle postcards embossed in 24-karat gold, pens and pencils, key rings, ashtrays and African stamps bearing the general's likeness. At the curio shop of the father of Rene Piot, the last villager to talk to the general, are De Gaulle chinaware and letter openers, De Gaulle inside a crystal ball surrounded by floating snow, De Gaulle busts, statuettes, books, records, cassettes, calendars, and crosses of Lorraine of various types. In one respect, however, the general's prophecy has proved wrong. There are absolutely no mementos in nougatine.

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