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PARIS - "Belgian crisis" is hardly headline-making stuff for a country that was created in a spasm of history, was invaded twice last century and whose two main communities, the Dutch-speaking Flemings and French-speaking Walloons, have squabbled over the spoils for decades.
But the rest of Europe is
slowly waking up to the fact that the latest bout of turmoil is exceptional, even by Belgian standards.
Last year, a spoof documentary on state TV tricked millions of Belgians into thinking their country was breaking up; today, many take the prospect seriously.
The country has been rudderless since general elections on June 10.
The ballot returned, as usual, a hung Parliament reflecting the country's linguistic faultline. But every attempt to forge a coalition has failed, leaving a caretaker Government in the hands of outgoing Prime Minister Guy Verhofstadt.
The latest bid to stitch together a Government is being led by Flemish Christian Democrat Yves Leterme, 46. But he can no longer count on the monarch, one of the few forces of national unity, to play a full-fledged role.
King Albert II, recovering from an operation to fix a broken hip, has become exhausted from trying to resolve the crisis. "The King is not ill, but he has not had the chance to complete his convalescence," palace spokesman Pierre-Emmanuel de Bauw says.
"Therefore, he will limit himself to political contacts and external relations."
Belgium's problems have deep roots. In 1830, it declared independence from the Netherlands, but for more than 150 years the political clout and the biggest sources of wealth, the coalmines and steelmaking industries, lay in the hands of the Walloons.
French was the dominant language, and the elite often viewed Flemings as yokels.
In the late 20th century, Wallonia plunged into decline as the old industries went under while Flanders surged in prosperity and self-confidence. More and more Flemings questioned why they should have to stomach francophone snobbery or subsidise jobless Walloons.
To defuse these demands, the constitution was changed to recognise the division of the country into three administrative regions: Flanders, Wallonia and Brussels.
Many federal powers were devolved to these regions, which have their own administrations and parliaments.
The national Government's authority was weakened further by European integration, such as the creation of the euro, which replaced the Belgian franc.
Today, the federal Government is almost a husk, retaining control over foreign affairs, defence, justice, social services and public health but little else. Wrangling over the future coalition has foundered over Flemish parties' demands for some remaining powers to be devolved further, which is fiercely opposed by the Walloons.
Nearly half of Flemings want the country to split up, and two-thirds believe it will happen "sooner or later", according to the latest opinion poll.
"Belgium is in terminal phase," says Filip Dewinter, head of the far-right Flemish independence party, Vlaams Belang (Flemish Interest), which won 12 per cent of the vote in June, the third highest of any party.
"Its time to administer euthanasia."
The Economist weekly in London agreed: "Time to call it a day ... If Belgium did not already exist, would anyone nowadays take the trouble to invent it?"
Even Leterme hardly counts as a national champion. He is on record as having said Belgium was an "accident of history" and had "no intrinsic value".
Despite this gloom, breakup is not inevitable, says Jean Faniel of the Centre for the Study of Political Life at the Free University of Brussels.
"Sections of the foreign press give the idea that Belgium is cracking up, but some in Flanders are taking a loyally federalist line," he said, noting that last month the Flemish Parliament slapped down a call by Vlaams Belang for a referendum on independence.
In francophone parts of Brussels, many homes have the national flag draped outside, in a fearful appeal for unity.
Last week, a Wallonian man, a Flemish woman and a man from the country's German-speaking minority held a symbolic marriage in the GrandPlace, the ancient square at the heart of the Belgian capital.
To the question "do you want to continue living together?" the trio replied "I do" in their respective tongues.
"The wish to separate is not in the hearts of the Belgian people," said Patrick van der Heyden, in the role of the French-speaking "bridegroom", as the trio called on politicians to heed the public will.
Laconic humour has always been as much a part of Belgium as mussels and chips, Surrealist art and the Mannekin Pis, and the latest crisis has been a delight for humorists, one of whom put the country up for sale on eBay.
"Belgium, a kingdom in three parts ... can be bought as a whole (not recommended)," read the blurb, adding the item did not include the "king and his court" and that the country came with ¬300 billion ($560 billion) in national debt.
Bidding for the second-hand country started at ¬1 but reached ¬10 million 25 bids later before eBay stopped the auction, saying it could not host the sale of anything "unrealistic".
