John Keiger

What was Emmanuel Macron playing at when he threatened to veto a second EU Brexit extension in October? Few would contest he was attempting to pressure British MPs to vote through Boris Johnson’s newly negotiated withdrawal agreement. He failed. But it's also worth asking another question: why did Macron stick his neck out for Boris Johnson, a man he previously branded a ‘liar’ before he entered Number 10? Was it that ‘foot on the table’ Elysée meeting of minds (22 August) or the numerous all-hours phone calls and the 24-26 October Biarritz G7 summit that persuaded Macron to declare on 18 October that Johnson was ‘a leader with genuine strategic vision’ who should be taken seriously?

‘France has a German policy, she has no other’, remarked the seasoned observer of international affairs and future editor of Le Monde André Fontaine in 1952. With a British withdrawal from the EU she is again confronted by an old demon dating from 1871 : management of a dominant Germany on the continent of Europe. Paris has sought to counter German power, whether military, political or economic, by two broad means since 1900. The first means was to secure Britain as an ally and ensure she remained committed to the security of continental Europe. This she was successful in doing prior to 1914 and 1939. However, the immediate post-war years were a different story.

One thing on which Remainers and Brexiteers can agree is that Brexit delayed is Brexit denied. The government continues to proclaim that the UK will leave the EU on 31 October with or without a deal. But No. 10 is acutely sensitive to the possibility of a parliamentary manoeuvre designed to compel the executive, through legislation, to seek a further extension of Article 50 to delay Brexit yet again. But Boris Johnson should keep calm about this prospect, for an unlikely saviour – the president of France, Emmanuel Macron – could come to his rescue. Whatever Brexit extension legislation Parliament might push through, any further extension of Article 50 requires unanimous EU Council of Ministers’ support.

At a time when the EU is at its least popular and, worse still, least respected, it is worth reflecting on how the idea for a united Europe developed – and where it went wrong. The Spectator’s reprint last week of Christopher Booker’s 2014 article ‘How the first world war inspired the EU’ is a timely reminder of the real genesis of the EU. Yet it was only after the Second World War amid fear of a renascent Germany, that the concept of an 'ever-closer union' became the shibboleth of European construction. It was here that the European project took a mistaken turn. The First World War led to France and Britain's economies becoming closely aligned. This partnership involved inter-allied commissions to oversee the distribution of wheat, sugar, coal and credit.

Silence has befallen French pronouncements on Brexit. Le Monde’s vitriolic editorial (12 June 2019) on Boris Johnson apart, the scene is remarkably calm. But this isn't good news. In fact, such silence is often a sign of French anxiety and a presage to trouble, particularly when Britain is concerned. As rationalists, the French are frequently frustrated by the ‘wait and see’ of the empirical British. ‘What is not clear is not French’, said the 18th century French philosopher Antoine de Rivarol.

As the European elections approach, Europe’s oldest liberal democracies – Britain and France – are in turmoil. Taking the long view, Britain’s problems are circumstantial and exceptional. France’s, by contrast, are renewing with more extreme political traditions that have risen and fallen, but never disappeared, over the last two centuries. Gavin Mortimer's blog on Coffee House describes the seemingly paradoxical synthesis of far-left and far-right voters contemplating casting their ballot for the same party – the former National Front, now Marine Le Pen's Rassemblement National. Yet as with so much in French politics this is far from novel.

It is not good form for the British to be awkward and obstructive. The art of the compromise was the polite British way of doing things. Or so it used to be thought. But Europe’s axis has tilted since Theresa May’s inability to secure an exit from the EU. Jacob Rees-Mogg’s recent tweet calling for Britain to be 'difficult' and paralyse the workings of the EU from inside sums up this toppling of conventional etiquette. Now that the extension has been granted until 31 October with few constraints on British membership, should Britain form an awkward squad in Brussels to block Europe’s institutions? And if so, where do we look for inspiration and lessons in how to be difficult?

In this the 115th anniversary week of the Entente Cordiale, the French president and the British Prime Minister will meet twice, today at the Elysee Palace and tomorrow at the European Council in Brussels. But neither of those meetings will be to celebrate their countries friendship. When May goes to Paris and then to Brussels, she will instead be a woeful supplicant in the Brexit feuilleton. And the one thing the vicar’s daughter can count on is that she will be subjected to a severe bout of Macron lesson-giving and severe sermonising, as is his wont. And yet Macron is hardly in a position of strength. Both leaders are battling domestic crises that come to a head this week. The British PM’s Brexit woes are only too well known.

Struggling to understand the ways of the French, the francophile Winston Churchill reflected whimsically in 1942: ‘The Almighty in His infinite wisdom did not see fit to create Frenchmen in the image of Englishmen.’ And yet today, the Almighty would struggle to create two more similar states in international terms than Britain and France. Similar geographies on the northwest European continent, similar populations (66 and 67 million), economies (5th and 6th by GDP), colonial histories, 3rd and 4th nuclear powers, two of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council, leading members of Nato and, until 2019 (probably), equally prominent members of the European Union.

In 1919, a 31-year-old Tommy from Bristol, named George Robertson – fresh from fighting alongside French troops on the Somme – married Suzanne Leblond in Abbeville, northern France. In 2017, George Robertson’s great grandson, Emmanuel Macron, became French president. Macron embarked on a policy that, while acknowledging Franco-British friendship, sought to ensure that Britain did not prosper from Brexit. Yet Macron’s stance appears increasingly counter-intuitive. Of all the European leaders, Macron is noted for being the most intransigent in his public utterances on Britain’s Brexit negotiations.