Of all the rituals surrounding France's monarchical presidency, perhaps none is so curious as la céremonié des voeux (wishes ceremony).
It starts every New Year's Eve with the president's televised wishes to the nation. This year, Jacques Chirac said he was making the fight against France's nearly 10 per cent unemployment his top priority.
In the first weeks of January, the President then hosts at least a dozen New Year's wishes cermonies: for the diplomatic corps, the armed forces, religious leaders, the press . . . even the bakers' confederation, who bring him a galette des rois pastry to mark the Epiphany.
It's hard to define some of the groups invited to the Élysée Palace. There are the corps constitues ("constituent bodies") and the forces vives de la nation, which translates roughly as "active participants in the life of the nation".
To show they have not forgotten their humble subjects, the President and First Lady travel to their home region of Corrèze for yet another ceremony.
Every guest - and there are thousands of them - receives an engraved invitation with his or her name handwritten in fancy script.
Guests are ordered to arrive at least a half hour before His Majesty's appearance. A representative of the group first makes a fawning speech to Mr Chirac, who is always sun-tanned after his holiday. He responds by reading a prepared text.
The directors of France's leading television networks and the TV news presenters flounce into the ceremonies like movie stars. As the President's speech ends, guests crowd against the red cordon in the hope of shaking the presidential hand.
More jaded habitues head directly for the groaning boards of canapés, oysters, foie gras, champagne, wine and spirits. A French colleague says he tries to consume the equivalent of what he pays in taxes.
It's a good opportunity to renew contacts, but sometimes it feels like a waste of time.
"I'm afraid I'll be crossed off the invitation list if I don't show up," the correspondent of a leading US newspaper said when I asked why he bothered.
Historians say the voeux ceremony is a vestige of the monarchy. In its present form, it was started by Napoleon III and has continued ever since, except for a break during the Second World War.
No one seems to mind that the extravagant custom paralyses the administration for most of January, or that no other modern democracy engages in anything comparable.
And just as the courtiers at Versailles used to imitate the king, every government minister and the leaders of political parties hold their own voeux ceremonies.
Junior ministers are required to attend their patron minister's reception. Since they are often rivals, this makes for some tense moments. Not once during their hour-and-a-half-long reception did the Foreign Minister, Dominique de Villepin and his European Affairs Minister, Nöelle Lenoir look at or speak to each other.
Sometimes, a message emerges from the stiff formalities. Alain Juppé , the leader of Mr Chirac's UMP party and the man whom Mr Chirac would like to have as his successor, threatened to "leave public life" if he is convicted on January 30th in a scandal involving fake government jobs for party members.
The socialist leader, Francois Hollande, told his guests that 2004 was "the year of new chances". If anyone needs a new beginning, it's the socialists and Mr Hollande.
The renegade Interior Minister, Nicolas Sarkozy, has attracted most of the attention through this month of voeux.
Tradition dictates that cabinet ministers gather in the Interior Ministry before crossing the street to exchange wishes with the President. While Mr Chirac was reviewing the Republican Guard, saluting the flag and listening to the Marseillaise, several ministers noticed a camera on the wall of the room where they waited. Could Mr Sarkozy have put them under surveillance?
Attendance at voeux is a measure of a minister's importance. To swell the ranks at the Justice Ministry, Mr Dominique Perben invited the stars of Femmes De La Loi and Avocats Et Associés, television series about the legal profession.
Michèle Alliot-Marie, the Defence Minister, had the misfortune of scheduling her ceremony for journalists at the same time as Mr Sarkozy's press conference. Pleased at the nonetheless respectable turnout, Ms Alliot-Marie said she'd never doubted that her ministry "had more charm" than Mr Sarkozy's.
Alluding to Mr Sarkozy, the Social Affairs Minister Francois Fillon said he would not work "with my eyes glued to the opinion polls." Mr de Villepin's ceremony took place at 11 a.m.; Mr Sarkozy's was at noon on the same day. Since the two men are also rivals, journalists tried to tip-toe discreetly out of the Foreign Ministry. "Don't worry," one of Mr de Villepin's aides assured me, only half joking. "We're keeping a list of the ones who leave early."