A strong wind whips up clouds of dust in front of the car. The muffled thump of artillery starts again, too close for comfort. Have I taken a wrong turning? Ahead, a small knot of soldiers watch me intensely. Four light tanks clatter their way across the road. But this is France profonde, the Larzac plateau. Incongruously, it is an exercise ground for the French military and home to perhaps a hundred middle-aged leftovers from May 1968. I have coffee with two of them, Marc, a wood-turner, and Christine, who makes hats. I want to know what they think about Chirac's revival of Gaullism, a political philosophy which, 35 years ago, they fought bloody battles to overthrow.
"At first we were intrigued by what Chirac was saying. But he's not a man you can trust, he's too full of himself. De Gaulle, whether you agreed with his politics or not, was someone. Chirac..." the wood-turner shrugs dismissively. It is an opinion shared by many: "Chirac lacks deep convictions. He only appears a Gaullist," says our socialist-leaning regional councillor. "Gaullism means independence; France standing alone. In this conflict, it is you British and the United States who are isolated."
Like Bush, Chirac is in power thanks to a questionable election. In the first round he polled only 20 per cent of the vote. The mayor of my village, a pigeon farmer and closer to the right, agrees that even if nine out of ten Frenchmen approve of what Chirac is doing, that doesn't mean they approve of him: "They say he's united left and right, including the extremes, but in reality it's Bush who's united them, not Chirac. Chirac's following public opinion, not leading it."
But exactly a year ago, just before Chirac was swept back into power with a huge if unrepresentative majority, his close friend and now foreign minister, Dominique de Villepin, wrote a book about France's destin-that "certain idea of France" whispered by angels into the ear of Joan of Arc, witnessed by Napoleon hovering above the heads of his troops, inhaled by de Gaulle in his lonely exile, and passed down the generations like a tongue of flame to find its present voice in Jacques Chirac.
My regional councillor shakes his head: "Don't overestimate de Villepin. He advised Chirac to dissolve parliament in 1997, with the result that for five years the president was emasculated." The shrewd, pigeon-farming mayor is watching his cocks puffing themselves up for the act on which his income depends. "Bush is a puppet," he says. "Chirac's smarter, but equally devoid of content. Both need to be inflated by the people around them."
Although de Villepin's image of a sacred destiny may no longer resonate much down here in France profonde, it has gone down a treat in Africa and the middle east, especially in that commonwealth of nations known as la Francophonie. Instituted in the 1970s, quite simply to "faire opposition ? l'anglais," it now comprises 56 countries informally recognising France as their collective figurehead. In October last year, the biennial gathering was held in Beirut. "We understand the middle east better than anyone," says my mayor. "The Americans should have listened to us."
Having whipped up support in Beirut, Chirac hosted a Franco-African summit near Paris. "I am amazed that Britain never bothered to maintain close financial links with its former colonies the way we did," says my regional councillor. "It would have helped you immensely in this Iraq business." France still has a minister of co-operation, meaning co-operation with Africa: currently, M de Villepin. Of the 53 countries in Africa, 52 were represented at the summit, including some 40 heads of state-a massive show of solidarity for Chirac (and de Villepin) and a humiliation for Blair over Mugabe. Without debate or amendment, they all dutifully signed a resolution, which they had no hand in writing, condemning America, while Chirac swept off to rapturous scenes of adulation as he performed the first official visit by a French president to Algeria since independence. The power of la Francophonie and African loyalty to France were seriously under-estimated by the British. With all those countries behind him at the UN, Chirac could afford to look relaxed.
But although it looks impressive, the Africa hand has to be carefully played. "We buy their products at the lowest price and sell them on for huge profit," my regional councillor tells me. "Slavery, without the cost of shipping the Africans across the Atlantic." The French press didn't cover the recent anti-French protests on the Ivory Coast.
Soon Chirac's dream of an international French television channel beamed specifically at the Arab and African countries, "offering a different perspective to the BBC and CNN," will begin broadcasting. "Pure hypocrisy," says the Larzac wood-turner. "Did we consult the UN before we sent soldiers into the Ivory Coast? Do the people in Paris even see African countries as independent?" It was at that point that the French artillery opened up only a couple of miles away, practising for the Ivory Coast. Or any other pro-French dictator who needs some support.
