Bucharest. A Sunday.

Silence.

Then, a thunderclap.

President Nicușor Dan has seen fit to appoint Monsieur Adrian Veștea to assemble a new Government. A decree! A resolution!

The radio proclaims it with a flourish. Mr. Veștea, they say, is a man of immense success.

He was a Mayor. Successful.

He was a County Chairman. Successful.

He was a Minister. Successful.

Indeed, he is a paragon of administrative virtue.

Such is the praise of our illustrious President.

But why this sudden inspiration?

Because another gentleman, the esteemed Eugène Tomac, failed. He had ten days. Ten days to assemble a coalition.

He failed.

Time expired. The clock struck twelve. The seat remained empty.

Thus, enter Mr. Veștea. An economist. A specialist in the high art of state management. A former Minister of Development.

Now, he holds the stopwatch. Ten days. No more.

But wait!

From the halls of the National Liberal Party comes a scream of indignation.

Monsieur Ilie Bolojan is not amused. He is, in fact, livid.

Bolojan—the former Premier, whose own government was tossed aside by the Parliament's vote of no confidence—claims a conspiracy!

He cries out: "Hostility! A hostile act!"

He claims the President acted in secret. No consultations. No polite letters. No courtly warnings.

To appoint the second-in-command without consulting the leadership?

To Bolojan, this is not governance.

It is a plot.

An attempt to tear the party asunder from within.

One wonders.

Does the President seek the public good, or merely a more pliable clerk?

Meanwhile, the Parliament remembers. Two hundred and eighty-one gentlemen voted for Bolojan's exit. A landslide. A crushing defeat.

And yet, the drama continues.

They bicker. They rage.

And the administration of the state remains, as always, a most exquisite farce.