‘Ah,’ he smiled again. ‘With the Jews, of course, things are somewhat more complicated. In theory, it’s the same — Judaism is a religion of the Book, Abraham and Moses are recognised as prophets of Islam. In practice, though, relations with Jews in Muslim countries have often been more difficult than with Christians. And of course the Palestinian question has poisoned everything. Some small factions of the Muslim Brotherhood call for retaliation against the Jews, but I don’t think they’ll get anywhere. Ben Abbes has always maintained good relations with the Grand Rabbi of France. Every once in a while he may let the extremists act out, because even if he really hopes to convert Christians in massive numbers — and who says he won’t? — he can’t possibly have high hopes for the Jews. What would really make him happy, I think, is if they left France on their own and emigrated to Israel. In any case, I assure you, he’d never compromise his vast personal ambitions out of love for the Palestinians. It amazes me how few people have read his early writings — though, to be fair, they’re all in obscure geopolitical journals. The first thing you notice is that he’s always going on about the Roman Empire. For him, European integration is just a means to this glorious end. The main thrust of his foreign policy will be to shift Europe’s centre of gravity towards the south. There are already organisations pursuing this goal, like the Union for the Mediterranean. The first countries likely to join up will be Turkey and Morocco, then later will come Tunisia and Algeria. In the long term, Egypt — that would be harder to swallow, but it would be definitive. At the same time, we’ll see European institutions — which right now are anything but democratic — evolve towards more direct democracy. The logical outcome would be a president of Europe elected by the people of Europe. That’s when the integration of populous countries with high birth rates, such as Turkey and Egypt, could be key. Ben Abbes’s true ambition, I’m sure of it, is eventually to be elected president of Europe — greater Europe, including all the Mediterranean countries. Remember, he’s only forty-three — even if he cultivates a paunch and refuses to dye his hair. In a sense, old Bat Ye’or wasn’t wrong with her fantasy of a Eurabian plot. Her great mistake was in thinking the Euro-Mediterranean countries would be weak compared with the Gulf States. We’ll be one of the world’s great economic powers. The Gulf will have to deal with us as equals. It’s a strange game Ben Abbes is playing with Saudi Arabia and the others. He’s more than happy to accept their petrodollars, but he won’t give up the least bit of sovereignty in return. In a sense, all he wants is to realise de Gaulle’s dream, of France as a great Arab power, and just you watch, he’ll find plenty of allies — not least the petro-monarchs, who have swallowed many a bitter pill for the Americans and alienated their own people in the process. They’re starting to see that an ally like Europe, with fewer organic ties to Israel, might be a much better alternative …’
He fell silent; he’d been talking for half an hour straight. I wondered whether he was going to write a book, now that he was retired, and put his ideas down on paper. I thought his analysis was interesting — if you were interested in history, that is. Marie-Françoise brought in dessert: a croustade landaise with apples and nuts. It had been a long time since I’d eaten so well. After dinner, the thing to do was to take a glass of Bas-Armagnac in the sitting room — and that’s just what we did. Wilting in the brandy fumes, pondering the old spy’s lustrous skull and plaid smoking jacket, I wondered what he really thought of all this. What opinion could a man have, after he’d spent his entire life dealing with the inside story? Probably none. I’d bet he didn’t even vote — he knew too much.
‘I went to work for French intelligence,’ he said, in a calmer tone, ‘partly, of course, because I’d spent my childhood fascinated by spy stories. But also, I like to think, it was because I’d inherited the patriotism that always impressed me in my father. He was born in 1922, if you can believe it. Exactly a hundred years ago. He joined the Resistance early on, in late June of 1940. Even in his day, French patriotism was an idea whose time had passed. You could say that it was born at the Battle of Valmy, in 1792, and that it began to die in 1917, in the trenches of Verdun. That’s hardly more than a century — not long, if you think about it. Today, who believes in French patriotism? The National Front claims to, but their belief is so insecure, so desperate. The other parties have already decided that France should be dissolved into Europe. Ben Abbes believes in Europe, too, more than anyone, but in his case it’s different. For him Europe is truly a project of civilisation. Ultimately, he models himself on the emperor Augustus — and that’s some model. We still have the speeches that Augustus made to the Senate, you know, and I’m sure he has read them closely.’ He paused, then added, ‘It could be a great civilisation, for all I know … Have you seen Rocamadour?’ he asked all of a sudden. I was starting to nod off. I said no, I didn’t think so — or rather yes, I’d seen it on TV.
‘You must go — truly, you must. It’s just twenty kilometres away, and it’s one of the most famous shrines in the Christian world. Henry Plantagenet, Saint Dominique, Saint Bernard, Saint Louis, Louis the Eleventh, Philip the Fair — they all knelt at the foot of the Black Virgin, they all climbed the steps to her sanctuary on their knees, humbly praying that their sins be forgiven. At Rocamadour you’ll see what a great civilisation medieval Christendom really was.’
Certain phrases of Huysmans about the Middle Ages floated vaguely through my mind. This Armagnac was absolutely delicious. I was about to answer Tanneur when I realised that I was incapable of expressing a coherent thought. To my great surprise, he began to recite Péguy in a firm and measured voice:
Happy are they who died for the carnal earth,
So long as the war was just.
Happy are they who died for four corners of earth.
Happy are they who died a solemn death.
It’s hard to understand other people, to know what’s hidden in their hearts, and without the assistance of alcohol it might never be done at all. To see this neat, elegant, cultured, ironic old man declaiming poetry surprised and moved me.
Happy are they who died in the great battles,
Who were laid upon the earth in the sight of God.
Happy are they who died on a last rampart
With all the trappings of great funerals.
He shook his head in resignation, almost in sadness. ‘You see, in the second stanza, to heighten the poem, Péguy has to bring in God. Patriotism alone isn’t enough. He has to connect it with something stronger, to a higher mystery, and he makes the connection very clear in the next lines.’
Happy are they who died for the carnal cities,
For these are the body of the city of God.
Happy are they who died for their hearths and fires
And the meagre honours of their native homes.
For these are the image and the seed
And the body and the first taste of the house of God.
Happy are they who died in this embrace
Bound by honour and their earthly vows.
‘The French Revolution, the republic, the motherland … yes, all that paved the way for something, something that lasted a little more than a century. The Christian Middle Ages lasted a millennium and more. Marie-Françoise tells me you’re a specialist in Huysmans, but to my mind, no one grasped the soul of medieval Christianity as deeply as Péguy — for all his republicanism, his secularism, his support of Dreyfus. And he understood that the true divinity of the Middle Ages, the beating heart of its devotion, wasn’t God the Father, wasn’t even Jesus Christ. It was the Virgin Mary. That, too, you can feel at Rocamadour.’