TO ENGLISH ears, the word “compromise” often has a shabby ring. When safety or quality are compromised, people get hurt. Yet in continental Europe, compromise is often a political ideal. Nowhere is this truer than in Belgium, a country whose Dutch- and French-speaking populations tolerate each other (just), thanks to endless fudges and deals lubricated with taxpayers' money. Belgium's six governments are all baggy coalitions that balance social-market capitalism with a free-spending public sector (one in three active adults works for the state).

A third of parliamentarians from Flanders would like Belgium to vanish, says one senior politician. Belgian governments fall often, yet the place trundles along because most leaders agree to disagree. One thing that unites them is faith in deeper European integration. Apart from those on the extreme right, most Belgian politicians would welcome European Union taxes, a European army and nation-states reduced to a vestigial role. It is not hard to see why: to Belgian leaders trapped in the national equivalent of a bad marriage, the EU's free love must look like bliss.

This is the world that shaped Herman Van Rompuy, the first permanent president of the European Council, where heads of government come together. This job (once coveted by Tony Blair) was created by the Lisbon treaty. It is held for a two-and-a-half year term, renewable once. It makes Mr Van Rompuy a full-time spokesman for the EU's 27 leaders, a chairman who sets the agenda for summits and is host when foreign dignitaries come calling. The post replaces a system in which national leaders chaired the European Council in rotation for six months at a time.

Mr Van Rompuy, a 62-year-old Flemish Christian Democrat, was picked in November 2009, at the same time as Catherine Ashton, a British Labour peer, who became the EU's foreign-policy chief. As onlookers rubbed their eyes and Googled this little-known pair, a simple gibe spread: EU leaders had chosen non-entities who could not overshadow them. A few months on, Lady Ashton remains a target of withering criticism, much of it unfair. In contrast Mr Van Rompuy's star has risen. Senior officials call him “very intelligent” and “a master tactician”, notably at a summit on February 11th when he drafted a declaration of EU solidarity with Greece that bridged the differences between Germany's Angela Merkel and France's Nicolas Sarkozy.

In person, he has an air of authority more than power. With his soft, monotonous delivery, his fondness for grey ties, and wispy, professorial hair, he could be a university president. He is a devout Catholic with mild, donnish quirks. He writes haiku poems and reads Shakespeare for pleasure. Official lunch guests are greeted with sherry, which one does not often see nowadays. Mr Van Rompuy sips his sherry modestly and shuns wine at table (instead, his glass is discreetly filled with Stella Artois beer). He speaks French and German as well as Dutch: he is shy of using English in public although he is fluent in it, say aides.

He has his critics. Photographs of Mr Van Rompuy at the February 11th summit, flanked by the German and French leaders, reinforced the impression that he has “only two bosses, Merkel and Sarkozy”, to quote one national ambassador to the EU. Supporters say these images were “unfortunate”, and add that Mr Van Rompuy saved the summit by heading off a Franco-German announcement on Greece that did not even involve the European Council. But another ambassador says that east and central European leaders remain “furious” with Mr Van Rompuy, feeling that he ignores small countries.

He has raised some eyebrows with his eagerness to represent the EU at G20 meetings, alongside the European Commission president, José Manuel Barroso, and leaders of G20 members from Europe. Despite weekly breakfasts with Mr Barroso, a “blow-up” looms, it is widely predicted, as the two men tussle over who should speak for Europe in global discussions of economic governance or climate change.

Mr Van Rompuy's background has left its mark. As a former Belgian prime minister, he has big ambitions for the European Council, which became a formal EU institution for the first time under the Lisbon treaty. He has startled colleagues by suggesting that they gather once a month, and devote some meetings to single issues: energy security, foreign policy or a mandate for him to take to global gatherings, say. Many past European summits have been dull affairs, generating 40-page conclusions that the assembled leaders barely read, drafted for weeks by their underlings. Mr Van Rompuy wants “top-down” summits that issue crunchy conclusions, filled with concrete tasks, that leaders then take collective responsibility for fulfilling, says a senior official.

Enter economic government

A priority is what Mr Van Rompuy calls “European economic government”. This is a slippery term. Among French politicians, it can mean dirigisme, and putting growth ahead of budget deficits or inflation. In Germany, where it was until recently a taboo phrase, it means something like the harmonisation of rigour. Privately, Mr Van Rompuy's instincts may be more Germanic than French. He talks of macroeconomic co-ordination, to make sure that national policies do not clash with EU goals. But his private views are not important. He knows that national leaders disagree about a lot. But he likes to say that people do not have to agree on an end goal to work together. After all, in Belgium, everyone disagrees all the time: the art of compromise comes later, making sure that everyone leaves the room on the same line.

Is Mr Van Rompuy a man of ambition, keen to push national governments towards deeper EU integration? Or is he a pragmatist, wary of imposing ideas on elected national governments? Both: he is a man of compromise. He will be worth watching.





Economist.com/blogs/charlemagne