THE FRENCH, wrote George Canning, a British statesman, to a ministerial colleague in 1825, "have but two rules of action: to thwart us whenever they know our object; and when they know it not, to imagine one, and to set about thwarting that." Canning's grumble, made a decade after the end of the Napoleonic wars, sounds oddly familiar two centuries later. And today it is not only the British who follow what might be called Canning's law: when in doubt, blame the French. Suspicion of France's intentions, and criticism of its actions, have been on the rise in several other countries, in sometimes understandable but often perplexing ways. Exhibit A is, of course, Brexit. "Only preening Emmanuel Macron stands in the way of Boris Johnson's triumph," thundered the Daily Mail when a deal seemed improbable. Downing Street hyped up French demands, and vowed to dispatch gunboats to defend British fishing waters. Yet other eu leaders too had threatened to walk away from talks. When Britain announced a new covid-19 strain had got out of control, several eu countries shut their borders. Yet "Covidiot Macron" was uniquely pilloried. A British official accused the French of "trying to take food off our shelves for Christmas out of spite." Britain, it seemed, had fallen victim to sly Gallic posturing, designed to punish and enfeeble an old rival.
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