Giscard goes back over to the painting, so the two visitors feel obliged to turn around to show they are following what he says: “Perhaps I don’t have any sense of the tragic in history, but at least I feel the emotion of tragic beauty when I see that young woman, wounded in the side, bringing the hope of liberation to her people!” Unsure how to punctuate this presidential speech, the two men say nothing, which does not seem to perturb Giscard, used as he is to silent gestures of polite assent. When the man with the whistling voice turns on his heel to look out the window, Simon realizes that this pause is a form of transition, and that they are about to get to the point.
Offering his visitors only a view of the back of his bald head, the president continues: “I met Roland Barthes once. I had invited him to the élysée. Such a charming man. He spent a quarter of an hour analyzing the menu and brilliantly deconstructed the symbolic value of each dish. It was absolutely fascinating. Poor man … I heard he found it hard to get over the death of his mother, isn’t that right?”
Finally sitting down, Giscard speaks to Bayard: “Superintendent, on the day of his accident, Monsieur Barthes was in possession of a document that was stolen from him. I wish you to recover this document. It concerns a matter of national security.”
Bayard asks: “What is the exact nature of this document, Monsieur President?”
Giscard leans forward and, with both fists resting on his desk, announces gravely: “It is a vital document that may pose a threat to national security. Used unwisely, it could cause incalculable damage and endanger the very foundations of our democracy. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to tell you more than that. You must act in complete secrecy. But you will have carte blanche.”
He looks at Simon at last: “Young man, I’ve heard that you are acting as a … guide to the superintendent? So you are well acquainted with the linguistic milieu in which Monsieur Barthes worked?”
Simon does not need to be asked twice: “No, not really.”
Giscard shoots a quizzical look at Bayard, who explains: “Monsieur Herzog has knowledge that could be useful to the inquiry. He understands how these people think and, well, what it’s all about. And he can see things that the police wouldn’t see.”
Giscard smiles: “So you’re a visionary, like Arthur Rimbaud, young man?”
Simon mutters shyly: “No. Not at all.”
Giscard points at the red and blue boxes on the roll-top desk behind them, under the Delacroix. “What do you think is inside them?”
Simon does not realize he is being tested and, before considering whether it is in his interests to pass the test, answers instinctively: “Your Legion of Honor medals, I assume?”
Giscard’s smile widens. He stands up and walks over to the boxes, opens one, and takes out a medal: “May I ask how you guessed?”
“Well, uh … The whole room is saturated with symbols: the paintings, the wall hangings, the moldings on the ceiling … Each object, each detail is intended to express the splendor and majesty of republican power. The choice of Delacroix, the photograph of Kennedy on the cover of the book on the escritoire: everything is heavily symbolic. But a symbol has value only if it’s on display. A symbol hidden inside a box is pointless. In fact, I’d go further: it doesn’t exist.
“At the same time, I don’t suppose this room is where you keep your screwdrivers and spare bulbs. It seemed unlikely that the two boxes were for holding tools. And if they were for storing paper clips or a stapler, they’d be on your desk, where you could reach them. So the contents are neither symbolic nor functional. And yet they must be one or the other. You could put your keys in there, but I imagine that at the élysée, the president isn’t responsible for locking up, and you don’t need your car keys either, because you have a chauffeur. So that left only one possibility: a dormant symbol, one that does not signify anything in itself here, but which would be activated outside of this room: the miniature, mobile symbol of what this place symbolizes. Namely, the grandeur of the republic. A medal, in other words. And, given where we are, it has to be the Legion of Honor.”
Giscard exchanges a knowing look with Bayard. “I think I see what you mean, Superintendent.”
21