| Introduction | Part I | Part II | Part III |
Following the defeat of the same Second Empire in 1811, Napoleon was sent into exile, and the "dreaded" Third Republic began to emerge. The new regime was crafted, ironically, by about 400 monarchist representatives (out of some 650) to the National Assembly. These men knew they wanted a crowned head for France, but were deeply split over who should be chosen. These deputies were Legitimists, Orleanists and a handful of leftover Bonapartists, but they absolutely refused to compromise with one another. The three factions hated one another so totally, that the only compromise possible was suggested by Adolphe Thiers: "A republic divides us least." So, the new provisional republic was born in the shadow of three pretenders: the Legitimist Count of Chambord, the Orleanist Count of Paw., and the now exiled Napoleon III, elderly and sick, but still wanting to return. Each of these wanted to sit on the one throne. But then the Assembly decided that there would be no throne.
The new Republic was fairly conservative, at least at the beginning. But it immediately took on a life of its own as a result of three distinct crises (which nearly match the next three decades: the 1870's, 80's, and 90's). Gradually that regime turned into a somewhat more radical republic, which for us means. more anticlerical and anti-church. But in time It also passed through that stage as well.
The first of the crises I referred to was the "16th of May Affair." The new provisional president was one of Napoleon's old marshals, Patrice MacMahon. He was a strong conservative who wanted to keep the throne warm for a king. He didn't care which one, but he knew he didn't want a republic. Eventually, he tried a few too many highhanded tricks to manipulate parliamentary elections. French voters hate being told how to vote, so they kept voting against MacMahon's candidates ever more decisively. He finally accepted the inevitable and resigned, leaving the field open to genuine republican leadership.
The second of the formative crises was the Boulanger Affair, involving the young, very charismatic, intelligent and popular general, Georges Boulanger. It was the classic case of a "man on horseback," who looked like the one to solve all possible problems of the corrupt and self-serving republican monstrosity. There had been an extraordinary number of scandals involving civil servants and unpopular ministers, kickbacks on government contracts, taking care of the family with public money -- an all too familiar pattern.
General Boulonger looked like the ideal man to lead a coup. He made all the right political alliances and was elected to Parliament by wide margins in many districts, including one in Paris which had long been a republican stronghold. All of the regiments in the Paris garrison were ready to rise in support of him. But Boulanger decided that, on the night that everyone expected him to seize power, he would visit his mistress instead. Nobody in France ever forgot it. He never got another chance. He had to flee the country in 1889, the centennial of the Revolution, and committed suicide a few years later. Boulanger was the glorious coup d'état that never took place. Finally, in the 1890's, we have the famous and very divisive Dreyfus case. In France it is still referred to as simply "The Affair." Tragedy marked the case of Alfred Dreyfus: an army officer of Jewish family, born and raised in Alsace, a province annexed by Germany in 1871, and therefore enemy territory. He was falsely accused of selling military secrets to the Germans. Within a few years the guilty party became known, but Dreyfus had already been convicted in 1894 and sentenced to Devil's Island as a scapegoat, and the army refused to admit the mistake. There had been evidence suppressed in his trial, and the fraud was exposed in the newspapers with traumatic results for the army and the Conservatives. This case exploded all over the political landscape very close to the time of Thérèse's own death. The bitterness of the battle which followed polarized church and state still one more time, just when it had appeared that some compromise was possible. Unfortunately, many of the army officers who had railroaded poor Captain Dreyfus were good, practicing Catholics. Most of them were also solid Royalists. They saw Dreyfus, the Jew, the Republican, as a symbol of everything which had to be stamped out at all costs -- he represented everything "bad" in the republic.
This final explosion was just enough to spoil the Conservatives' plans one more time. By the time World War I broke out, many of the best French generals would be both devout Catholics and backer: of the republic: Foch, Pétain and others.
The life of Thérèse spans the final years of Pius IX and most of the reign of Leo XIII. This era saw many laws passed against church institutions. In 1875, independent universities were founded by the church to compensate for their exclusion from the Sorbonne and other venerable institutions. In 1879, there were laws against the Jesuits; in 1850 came laws against other religious orders, though not as severe as those of the previous century. By 1882 there was mandatory secular education for all children. Catholic schools were still allowed to function in addition to state schools, but not in place of them.
In this whole web of political wrangling arid bitter hard feelings, those who eventually brought about a reconciliation were the Catholics far-sighted enough to know that peace was essential. One person who gets high marks for this, of course, is Leo XIII. He did not share the sense of "hurt" which had paralyzed Pius IX, but still saw the truth of much of what Pius defended. This was the same Leo XIII who was born at Carpinetto Romano, where we find a lovely little cloistered monastery today. This is also the man who named one of the most successful healers in the French hierarchy, Cardinal Lavigerie.
Michael Lavigerie had been trained as a scholar and pastor, with studies in Lebanon, where he came to know firsthand about Moslems and Maronite Christians. He was appointed Archbishop of Algiers, a rather awkward colonial diocese with almost no native Catholics. Still, he turned out to be a wonderful choice: this was the man who founded the White Fathers and White Sisters, who became a first rate reconciler and missionary. He was also instrumental in the abolition of the slave trade, which was a major block to conversions among black Africans. In 1881, the pope appointed him Vicar Apostolic of the ancient see of Carthage, then made him a Cardinal and named him Primate of all Africa, as rewards for a job well done.
But then he asked something much harder. Leo XIII told Labigerie that he was the man to facilitate a dialogue with the republic. To do this, he would first have to convince the Royalists to abandon their siege mentality. "Rally to the Republic" -- this was the political program known as the Ralliement. Convince Catholics to support the good things the republic does, and the church will be fine. Lavigerie was apprehensive, but the pope just nodded wisely and said "I know you'll do the tight thing." And he did.
Six weeks. later, the French Mediterranean fleet docked In Algiers. The Governor was away, and Lavigerie was the ranking dignitary in the city. He was therefore expected to provide a luncheon for these naval officers, most of whom, naturally, were Royalist Catholics. So he decided to propose a carefully worded toast to the republic. This is what he said:
Union, in view of the past which still bleeds and the future which is always menacing, is at this moment our supreme need. Union is also -- may I say -- the first wish of the church and her pastors at all degrees of the hierarchy. Most certainly the church does not ask us to dismiss either the memory of France' past glories or those whose loyalty and services pay tribute both to them and to their country. But when the will of the people has been clearly stated, when the form of government they choose has nothing in it contrary to the principles which alone can give life to Christian and civilized nations and when, in order save one's Country from the pitfalls which threaten it, sincere adhesion to this form of government becomes necessary, then the moment has at last arrived to declare that the period of test arid trial is over and we all must unite, despite sacrifice: which arise to work as one for the future and the salvation of the country.
Thc toast goes on, but here we have the gist. When these officers heard these words, one could have heard a pin drop. Then they silently filed out of the room in protest, at which time a small band which the Cardinal had organized outside struck up the Marseilles, the republican anthem. Needless to say, the blast was heard all over the French empire. Every royalist family felt outraged. Lavigerie was insulted by countless letters and newspaper articles, and many of the best contributors to his mission funds told him that he would get nothing more from them. And he got no support whatever from the rest of the hierarchy. Perhaps worst of all, even the Republicans offered no sign of friendship or recognition of his courageous stand. Lavigerie would eventually die (in 1892) before the storm blew over, probably feeling very much a failure.
But a few years later, about the time Thérèse was nearing death herself (could we posit some cause and effect here?) there were two bishops, then three more, then some major prelates who finally stood up and declared that they agreed in principle with the efforts at reconciliation. Leo XIII had already written an encyclical specifically for France called Au Milieu des Sollicitudes in which he also supported the Ralliement: the partnership with the republic in all things which did not go against Christian truth. Within another decade, virtual peace was at hand.
This whole series of bitter memories, not only of the republics of the past, but of all the persecutions, the stormy origins of the Third Republic, France's crushing defeat by the Germans in 1870-71, and the national pride that had been violated, ... these were all still open wounds. We have the "16th of May Affair," the traumatic Boulaniger and Dreyfus crises, and all of the name-calling and verbal attacks which were exchanged. But gradually, they began to break down.
Many have seen Alain Cavalier's film Thérèse. It very accurately reflects these conflicts with its well crafted lines, such as the workman's "Vive la Républiquet." There was also the doctor who said to the mother superior, "This monastery should be torched and burned to the ground." When this film ran in France during 1986, that statement was greeted with sporadic applause. These issues are not dead, even today. Far from it. Not all of the hurts are healed, even now, but we are getting there.
Thérèse's life and work took place in the wake of these events; they were front-page news in the world that she knew and prayed for. If we plan to see what she did in context, then we also, as contemporary believers, must, be willing to look beneath the surface to appreciate and treasure them as they really were.
| Introduction | Part I | Part II | Part III |