Organizing for War: France, 1870-1914

ORGANIZING FOR WAR

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ORGANIZING FOR WAR FRANCE

1870–1914

rac hel chrast i l

Louisiana State University Press Baton Rouge

Published by Louisiana State University Press Copyright © 2010 by Louisiana State University Press All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America First printing Designer: Michelle A. Neustrom Typefaces: Steelfish, display; Adobe Garamond Pro, text Printer: McNaughton & Gunn, Inc. Binder: John H. Dekker & Sons

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Chrastil, Rachel. Organizing for war : France, 1870–1914 / Rachel Chrastil. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8071-3679-9 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. France—History—Third Republic, 1870–1940. 2. Franco-Prussian War, 1870–1871—Influence. 3. Militarism—Social aspects—France—History—19th century. 4. Militarism—Social aspects—France—History—20th century. I. Title. DC337.C52 2010 944.081'2—dc22 2010007014 The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources.



Portions of this work appeared as: “The French Red Cross, War Readiness, and Civil Society, 1866–1914,” in French Historical Studies 31, no. 3 (Summer 2008): 445–76. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Duke University Press. “Military Preparation in Peacetime: Training Societies, 1871–92.” Dix-Neuf, no. 4 (April 2005): 35–51. “Who Lost the Franco-Prussian War?: Blame, Politics, and Citizenship in the 1870s.” Proceedings of the Western Society for French History 32 (2004): 277–93. “Great Powers, Small Communities: Commemorating the Franco-Prussian War, 1871–1914,” in Visions/Revisions: Essays on Nineteenth-Century French Culture, ed. Nigel Harkness et al. (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2003), 175–92.

for Doris Chrastil and in memory of Mary Markowicz

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CONTENTS List of Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 part i 1 2 3 4

recovery

Between War and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Politics, Citizenship, and Blame . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Occupation and Liberation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Putting the Dead to Rest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71

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prepar at io n

5 The Commemorative Spectacle . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 6 Guns, Gyms, and Citizenship . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 7 The Red Cross . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

Map of France under German Occupation, 1870–1873, appears on page xiv

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TABLES 3.1 Occupation and War Indemnity Payment as Planned in 1871 . . . . . 51 3.2 SPALDF Expenditures, in Francs, 1872–73 vs. 1875–76 . . . . . . . . . . 57 3.3 CSAL Expenditures, in Francs, 1871–75 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 3.4 Actual Dates of the End of Occupation, 1871–73 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 6.1 Correlation between Urbanites and Training Societies . . . . . . . . . 116 7.1 SSBM Committees, Resources, and Materials, 1873–1914 . . . . . . . 128 7.2 UFF Committees, Resources, and Materials, 1881–1914 . . . . . . . . . 129 7.3 Nancy SSBM Membership, 1880–1910 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 7.4 Nancy SSBM Expenditures, in Francs, 1880–1913 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS These poor words fail to express my gratitude to the many people who have supported me in the pursuit of this work. My graduate advisors at Yale University, John Merriman, Frank Turner, and Jay Winter, helped me with much more than just this project. I also owe a heavy debt to Jean-François Chanet, Gil Joseph, the late Roger Gould, and Thomas Kselman for helping shape my theoretical approach. Thanks as well to those who gave me valuable feedback at various stages in this project, including Stephen Harp, Martha Hanna, Carol Harrison, Jennifer Boittin, Kate Cambor, Michelle Herder, Michael Jo, Jovana Knezevic, Charles Lansing, Beth Linker, Philipp Ziesche, Barry Bergen, anonymous readers, and conference audiences. Alisa Plant at LSU Press offered her unwavering support for this book. Portions of this book appeared in French Historical Studies, Dix-Neuf, Proceedings of the Western Society for French History, and in Visions/Revisions: Essays on Nineteenth-Century French Culture, and I thank the editors and staff at these publications for their encouragement and discipline. I would also like to thank the Society of Dix-Neuviémistes and the Society for French Studies for their recognition of portions of this work, which helped convince me that it was worth pursuing. At Indiana University, Charlene Brown inspired me to consider an academic career, and Michael Berkvam and the late Bill Cohen introduced me to the Third Republic and encouraged me to pursue French history. The Yale Center for International and Area Studies and the Smith-Richardson Foundation provided research funding. The staff of the archives and libraries in Montpellier, Nancy, Le Mans, and Paris provided advice and encouragement as I negotiated the research process. I thank the staff at Sterling Memorial Library and the late Florence Thomas for making study at Yale a pleasure, and Paul Freedman for his advice as I made the transition from grad student to faculty. The staffs of the McDonald Library and of Hinkle Hall at Xavier xi

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University provided friendly assistance. Mary Lee Eggart produced the elegant map. Thanks as well to Neal Novak, Michelle Neustrom, and the rest of the staff at LSU Press for making this book a reality. A faculty development leave from Xavier allowed me to complete the manuscript, and I am grateful for the guidance and support of my colleagues here in Cincinnati. Xavier has allowed me to become the scholar and teacher that I always wanted to be. In France, the sisters and international denizens of the Foyer Désilles of Nancy, François Roth, and Nicole Bériou provided hospitality, housing, and welcome companionship. Claude and Simone Mazauric made my stay in gloomy Nancy infinitely brighter. Thanks as well to the network of European historians from Yale—Catherine Dunlop, Katherine Foshko, Eva Guggemos, Faith Hillis, Maya Jasanoff, Charles Keith, Ken Loiselle, John Monroe, George Trumbull, and the late Stephen Vella—for advice and good company. I am grateful for the friendship of Jennifer Boittin, Michelle Brady, Alison Bruey, Liz Foster, Michael Jo, Beeto Lyle, Kris Martens, Jacob Melish, Esmeralda Năstase, and Amy Whipple. John Fairfield read and discussed this project many times with me as it reached its final stages. I would furthermore like to thank my parents, Mary Chrastil and Roger Chrastil, my siblings Liz and Mike, and my aunt Marilyn Thompson. This book is dedicated to my grandmothers, Doris Chrastil and Mary Markowicz, whose stories of their youths sparked my interest in the pervasive consequences of war.

ORGANIZING FOR WAR

France under German Occupation, 1870–1873 Map by Mary Lee Eggart

INTRODUCTION La Débâcle, wrote Émile Zola in 1892, describes “not only the [Franco-Prussian] war; it’s the fall of a dynasty, it’s the collapse of an epoch.” In the penultimate novel of his Rougon-Macquart series, Zola strove to explain the Prussian invasion, the collapse of Napoleon III’s Second Empire, and the futile destructiveness of the Paris Commune through the personal journeys of his carefully drawn characters. The novel sold over 150,000 copies in its first year, an instant success that tapped into the lived experiences and memories of millions of French men and women. For many, the “terrible year” of 1870–71 was indeed a moment of rupture, filled with extraordinary violence and fraught with unforeseen consequences that were still unfolding when Zola’s novel appeared over twenty years later. The real debacle’s final chapters continued far beyond the brief but brutal months of combat. This is a story about modern war and its long-term consequences on ordinary people’s lives. More specifically, it is a history of French provincial citizens after the Franco-Prussian War, as they came to terms with the defeat and prepared themselves for an anticipated future conflict. It is furthermore an interpretation of civil society as it developed in late nineteenth-century France, that is, the evolution of private or semiprivate associations (such as the Red Cross), and the ways that these associations changed the relationship of citizens with the French state. Few problems are as complicated, emotionally wrenching, and fraught with serious global consequences as the plight of nations after suffering a military defeat. In the years after the fighting has ceased, communities grapple not only with loss on the battlefield, but also with internal divisions, damaged infrastructure, and discredited ideals. These conditions provide the context for the lasting consequences of war, outcomes that may have been unpredictable during the combat itself, such as the eventual rise of Nazism in Weimar Germany after the Great War. The Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71, the most important European armed con1

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flict between the Napoleonic Wars and World War I, cast long shadows over military garrisons, meeting halls, and kitchen tables throughout France. But scholarship on the conflict has not adequately addressed its complex lasting effects on the lives of ordinary citizens. In light of the events of 1870– 71, French citizens reevaluated their own wartime contributions to the nation and expressed their patriotic commitment in innovative ways, whether through commemoration, volunteer service, or even leisure activities. Between 1871 and 1914, French citizens began to believe that they—not just the government—were responsible for preparing the nation for future armed conflict, through their participation in semiprivate associations. The FrancoPrussian War and its aftermath thus profoundly affected the roles of citizens in the wars of the twentieth century.

Not-So-Strange Defeat: The Franco-Prussian War Day after day, an older man, with the keen, observant eye of a lifelong artist and librarian, slowly picked his way across the smoking ruins of Strasbourg. Frédéric Piton had devoted years of his life to capturing the city on paper, which culminated in his 1854 book, Strasbourg Illustré. After his city came under siege during the Franco-Prussian War, he could only record destruction: bombs mangling children in their beds, hospitals bursting over with wounded soldiers, the literary treasures housed in library of the Temple-Neuf burning to ashes. As Piton witnessed the destruction of his city, he waited for the inevitable capitulation. In his journal for September 22, he wrote, “The night, which began in relative calm, has become terribly turbulent [mouvementée]. The cannons thunder more furiously than ever. Toward midnight, I climbed up to the attic. From all sides, the light of cannon fire flashes; the bombs, like a bouquet of fireworks, streak through the air. The earth, the houses tremble from the shock of these detonations, one after another, without respite. Before this horrible and grandiose spectacle, I wonder if men have become furiously mad, or if they have turned into demons, to want to do such evil to one another.” Piton’s reflection invites us to revisit the causes of the Franco-Prussian War and to remind ourselves of the intensity of this brief conflict. Why, indeed, did men undertake this war? How did France come to be on the losing end? To answer these questions we must begin with the realm of high politics and diplomacy. Tensions between France and Prussia had been brewing during the 1860s, as Prussia increased its influence and power and France

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suffered embarrassment and defeat during the Mexican campaign (1861–67). The European powers increasingly mistrusted Napoleon III as an overambitious bungler who failed to wield diplomatic influence during both the Polish uprising of 1863 and the Austro-Prussian War three years later. Leaders in both France and Prussia believed war to be inevitable after the latter’s smashing victory over Austria. The trigger event of the Franco-Prussian War hearkened back to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: a delicate dynastic succession in Spain. In the summer of 1870, Napoleon III protested when Prussian Minister-President Otto von Bismarck proposed King William’s nephew Leopold von Hohenzollern for the Spanish throne, just as French kings had opposed Hapsburg encirclement in previous centuries. Bismarck pressed the case in order to weaken France, mistakenly anticipating that Napoleon III would stop short of war. The incident should have ended when Leopold withdrew his candidacy. However, French Foreign Minister Antoine Gramont pushed William to pledge never to propose a Hohenzollern for the Spanish throne again, a demand that trod too heavily on royal prerogative. On July 13, 1870, the king refused Gramont’s request in an encounter at Ems with French ambassador Vincent Benedetti. Knowledge of the king’s refusal reached the French public only after Bismarck had doctored the telegram relating the incident to make it appear more provocative. The French press, which Gramont had already primed for war, went into a bellicose frenzy over the news. The French cabinet likely decided in secret that evening to mobilize for war rather than accept a diplomatic defeat, and the Legislative Corps voted war credits on July 15. Whether they viewed the war to be madness, as Piton did, or the correct response to a dangerously aggressive power, the majority of French people reacted to mobilization with surprise and acceptance. According to historian Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, this moment played a significant role in the gradual development of French national identity. Despite the dynastic origins of the conflict, by the time fighting commenced at the end of July, public opinion on both sides considered the war to be a clash between nations. With the battlefields so close to home, writes historian Michael Howard, “every individual felt himself involved in a mighty communal endeavour.” But Piton, as an honnête homme and good Frenchman, wrote Napoleon III to demand that the emperor spare the country from the ravages of war. The war that followed justified Piton’s fears. From the very beginning, disorganization and confusion marred the French war effort. The French had no clear war aims, no systematic plan for mobilization, and no allies.

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French infantrymen, generally older, uneducated career soldiers lacking discipline, arrived at their meeting places ill-equipped and received little direction from their superiors. The reserve Mobile National Guard, formed just two years earlier, remained underdeveloped and untrained. Officers performed no better. They were poorly educated and had often won their rank due to favoritism. French commanders, trained in colonial contexts, were adept at improvising with fewer men but ill-suited to large-scale war against a wellorganized opponent. By contrast, Prussia had developed detailed strategies for an invasion of France, improved its mobilization plan during the war with Austria, and made treaties obliging independent south German states— notably Baden, Württemberg, and Bavaria—to join the fight. Helmuth von Moltke, the Prussian Chief of General Staff, had demonstrated his organizational, strategic and tactical brilliance in 1866. The French held the advantage in only one capacity, their technological superiority. The chassepot rifle could shoot further, fire more rapidly, and cause more damage per bullet than Prussia’s vaunted Dreyse needle rifle, and the French machine gun discharged over 180 shots per minute. Despite their lack of preparedness for war—or in an attempt to offset it—the French opened the war with an offensive. The brief capture of Saarbrücken on August 2, the only skirmish on German soil, brought France a minor victory. Beginning on August 4, however, Prussia took the offensive, defeating the French at Wissembourg and Froeschwiller in Alsace, and at Spicheren in Lorraine. Despite superior technology, the French had not adjusted their tactics to use their new weapons optimally, remaining immobile, defensive, and inflexible. The next major battle unfolded in Lorraine on August 16, near the villages of Mars-la-Tour and Vionville. Combat was bloody and impersonal, with casualty rates that anticipated the intensity of the Great War: over sixteen thousand killed and wounded on each side. The day ended inconclusively, but afterwards French Marshal Achille Bazaine failed to press his advantage, turning a possible victory into a certain defeat. Bazaine lost another battle two days later and foolishly retreated to Metz, where he was cornered into a prolonged siege. Meanwhile, the rest of the French army fell back to Sedan under Napoleon III and Marshal Patrice MacMahon, where it suffered defeat and capture. Failing to die in battle, Napoleon III surrendered to King William on September 2. The Prussian-led German forces had crushed Napoleon III’s imperial army in just six weeks. The war might have ended here. However, when word of the defeat at Se-

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dan reached Paris on September 4, Parisian crowds encouraged the republican opposition to overthrow the Second Empire and proclaim the Third Republic, provisionally under the direction of the Government of National Defense (GDN). Drawing on the memory of the 1792 battle of Valmy, the legend of the revolutionary levée en masse, and existing national sentiment, republican leaders Jules Favre and Léon Gambetta attempted to create an all-out people’s war against foreign invasion. Favre promised to “cede neither a clod of our earth nor a stone of our fortresses.” With most of the regular army captured and the rest bottled up in Metz, the GDN used the untrained Mobile National Guard reserves and called up an army of the people. After Sedan, the French will to continue resisting, especially among urban, republican populations, testified to the strength of national identity in a time of duress. But the GDN proved to be no more successful than the Empire. Strasbourg fell at the end of September; from his attic, Piton first glimpsed the white flag of surrender atop the cathedral. Metz followed one month later. Elder statesman Adolphe Thiers, who shrewdly avoided an official position in the GDN, toured European capitals in October in an unsuccessful and demoralizing attempt to garner international support. Paris and Belfort endured months of siege during a very cold winter. In Paris, lack of food became a greater danger than falling bombs; rats became a delicacy, and disease preyed upon the malnourished. Women servants waiting in breadlines took comfort in their own sacrifice and in their sympathy for soldiers, telling themselves, “They also have their feet in the snow, but it’s not bread they’re waiting for.” The GDN focused on relieving politically important Paris rather than strategically cutting off German supply and communication lines, a misstep that allowed the Prussians and their German allies to continue their war of movement through the winter, reaching almost as far west as Brittany. The invasion threatened the tiny village of Pontmain (Mayenne) on a crisp January night, where the two young Barbadette brothers doing their chores in the yard saw a vision of the Virgin Mary. They reported that she comforted them and protected them and their elder brother out fighting on the front. Such were the worries and the sources of consolation for individuals coping with the debacle unfolding around them. By the time the French finally accepted a cease-fire on January 26, 1871, the German army occupied almost a third of the country. All together, about 139,000 French soldiers died, with a further 143,000 wounded, about twice the number of Germans. Even more French soldiers became prisoners of war.

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Of the 723,500 French soldiers captured, 373,000 spent several months in Germany. By the end of the war, the GDN had lost much of its popular support. The elections of February 8 brought in a legislature dominated by conservatives who campaigned on a platform of peace and were themselves divided between those favoring a Bourbon restoration and those supporting the Orleanist candidate. Thiers was named provisional executive of France in the spring, but it remained unclear whether France would become a republic, an empire, or a constitutional monarchy. The war cost France over sixteen billion francs, including over five billion for the war indemnity and cost of occupation, an amount ten times France’s budget for 1870 and one-tenth of France’s total capital. The French army no longer commanded the world’s fear and respect, whereas the German Empire, declared on January 18 in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, embodied strength and confidence. The resulting shift in the balance of power set the stage for the terrible conflicts of the twentieth century. But the Franco-Prussian War disrupted far more than the balance of power, and its domestic consequences extended beyond the realm of national politics. The war put French citizens like Piton, the undernourished Parisian servants, and the visionary Barbadette brothers in direct contact with the fears, uncertainties, and cruel realities inherent to military operations. Two generations had passed since the Napoleonic Wars, the last time armies had fought in metropolitan France and foreign soldiers had occupied the nation. The fresh exposure to combat violence shocked civilians. Townspeople and villagers witnessed fighting firsthand and coped with thousands of dead, sick, and wounded soldiers literally in their backyards, as well as in their schools, theaters, and homes. Nineteen departments, over one-fifth of French territory, faced months or years of German occupation. Nationwide, the population fell by approximately half a million due to disease, deprivations, and inhibitions to reproduction, plus another 1.6 million owing to the loss of most of Alsace and Lorraine. Frédéric Piton became a German subject for the last few months of his life, before he died in July of an illness contracted during the siege of Strasbourg. In studying the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War, scholars have traditionally focused on the relationship between France and Germany, particularly the problem of revanchisme. According to some scholars, the French desired revenge on Germany for the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine, and this festering national wound contributed to the outbreak of the Great War in

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1914. Others argue that revanchisme was less important to the early Third Republic than the French government’s desire to learn from German institutions. Few scholars have turned away from revanchisme to study the transformation of French attitudes toward international conflict. After 1871, many French men and women perceived wartime to be a period of their lives that was both expected and exceptional. They believed that another war was inevitable, but that the upheaval that it brought was unacceptable. Having witnessed the haphazard mobilization of soldiers, waited in breadlines with shells flying overhead, and tended to the wounded under German occupation, French citizens wanted the next war to turn out differently, and they changed their behavior accordingly. Instead of simply revisiting the concept of revanchisme, this book investigates French definitions of postwar recovery and war preparedness, and the ways that French men and women sought to achieve these elusive goals.

The State, Citizens, and Associations In order to address the issues of war recovery and preparedness, we must understand the development of French civil society during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Associations formed the backbone of French civilian engagement with the Franco-Prussian War, both during and after the conflict. Piton, the Parisian servants, and the Barbadette brothers may appear to be disconnected individuals with little in common, observing and reacting to a war that descended upon them. But their personal experiences unfolded within a tangible and potentially empowering network of charitable, political, and religious organizations. During the war, most provincial charities, universities, and churches continued to function, and new associations supporting the national cause mushroomed and remained active after the fighting ceased. Piton admired the volunteer firefighters in Strasbourg, while many working women benefited from charitable support given to the wives of National Guardsmen. In the years after the war, the Barbadette brothers became enmeshed in several organizations that promoted pilgrimages to the site of their miraculous vision. Such activity would have surprised Alexis de Tocqueville, who characterized French civil society as undersized and weak in relation to the French state. Tocqueville believed that American and European societies were becoming inevitably more equitable, but he feared they might slip into despotism

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—that is, a society of equals enslaved under one ruler. The healthy development of political and civil associations, he believed, would safeguard liberty, provide stability, and create a more perfect society. Tocqueville’s idealized American civil associations functioned independently as a layer between the state and atomized individuals. He contrasted the United States with France, which he characterized as having no civil society whatsoever, and thus inclined toward despotism. Tocqueville’s assessment contained more than a kernel of truth. The French “state”—shorthand for the ever-changing kings, ministers, and legislative bodies that designed and executed the policies intended to rule and regulate the nation—grew increasingly powerful since the rise of absolutism. It policed food distribution and taxation during the Old Regime, and expanded its reach during the Revolution and Napoleonic era through restructured administration, conscription, taxation, and control over the Catholic Church. This growth was consistent with the Jacobin tradition, which maintained that society did not need a layer between the state and the individual; indeed, the revolutionaries of the 1790s sought to free the nation from interference from the church and corporations alike. During the Third Republic, the state’s growing role in primary education, universal conscription, welfare, and reproduction dominated political debate. Although the state represented a bureaucratic force with its own evolving interests, these interests often overlapped with those of the wealthier classes of French society. The state achieved rule through the long-term use of coercion and consent, both negotiated and implicit. At its most powerful, the agents of coercion—such as the military or the police—became less necessary; instead, law and custom sustained the legitimacy of the state, delineated the parameters of intrastate conflict, and even defined human identification. In modern France, fundamental challenges to state legitimacy have been frequent, but some form of state control has always been quickly reasserted. The state’s limitations on the freedom to assemble and associate during the nineteenth century appeared particularly firm, in the interest of safeguarding both the individual and the state from the “dangerous” influence of special interest groups. Article 291 of the Napoleonic Code required government approval for all associations with more than twenty members, and an 1834 law reiterated a ban on all unauthorized associations in order to rein in political threats to the regime. The state appeased political organizations by sometimes permitting these associations to exist, but it retained the power to break them up and arrest their leaders.

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Yet this portrait of ever-increasing state power requires modification. Despite the expanding state bureaucracy, it is now clear that Tocqueville did not accurately predict the vitality of nineteenth-century French civil society. In practice, associations throughout the century acted more freely than the legal constraints suggest. As Carol Harrison argues, prefects and ministers assigned to enforce the law were much more permissive than the law itself, recognizing that “some forms of association were more acceptable than others.” Even if they had been so inclined, government regulators did not always command the resources necessary to monitor and control associations. The individual representatives of the state worked according to their own motivations and shaped the power of their own offices. Furthermore, periods of revolution and political vacuum allowed openings for associations of all kinds, including charities, political committees, and mutual-aid societies. The groundwork for a thriving associational culture was laid in the first half of the nineteenth century. Almsgiving through the church had been practiced for centuries, but now charities developed new organizational patterns. The Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, founded in Paris in 1833 by layman Frédéric Ozanam, integrated “traditional charitable expressions of Catholic piety and modern associative practices.” By 1853, it had become an international organization with over five hundred conférences, each of which operated independently. In many cities, General Associations for Aid and Patronage united members of different faiths with the goal of using “scientific charity” to eliminate poverty. Many religious congregations operated as associations, not simply as communities of the faithful. Under the law of 1825, congregations became legally recognized providers of essential services, including education, health care, laundry services, and the cleaning of private schools. Charities and congregations of women religious created a network of primary schools that served sizable minorities of the student population. In addition, learned and athletic associations inspired and challenged bourgeois and petty bourgeois males to promote local history and more perfectly fulfill their social roles. The relaxation of legislation on the right of assembly in 1868 gave partial legal sanction to this social transformation, but we should not overstate the independence of these associations. In many of these cases, the state retained some kind of involvement in them, canvassing their activities, providing funds, or sanctioning public demonstrations. During the Second Empire, local musical, charitable, and leisure associations participated in joyous public festivals held in the name of the state’s own saint, Napoleon. Associational life developed within an ambiguous space that could not be

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characterized as fully public or private, secular or sacred, masculine or feminine, for others or for the self. During the Franco-Prussian War, citizens formed countless political organizations and charitable associations, including hundreds of local Red Cross committees and departmental committees for aid to soldiers’ families. In the short term after the war ended, many of these associations disbanded, but in the long term neither the state nor civil society returned to its former nebulous shape. Rather, over the following decades, both the state and associations stretched out into new territory, attracted additional social groups, and sometimes entered into fresh conflicts with each other. French citizens enjoyed more disposable income, leisure time, and organizational tools that they could devote to associations than ever before, and they saw these organizations as a positive means to accomplish common goals. Unregulated and regulated political circles, trade unions, charities, learned societies, mutualaid societies, Catholic circles, and athletic, musical, and educational groups mushroomed all over the country. During the 1870s, these associations and moderate republicanism had a paradoxical relationship. Philip Nord has persuasively argued that a robust civil society that included associations helped bring about “the republican moment.” Republicans came to dominate key institutions within French civil society, including the Freemasons, the universities, Jewish and Protestant consistories, the bar, chambers of commerce, and even artistic circles. Out of this “general resurrection of civil society . . . the Third Republic was born.” Yet moderate republicans within the government did not fully embrace free association. Despite the loosening of regulations concerning assembly under the Second Empire in 1868 and under the Third Republic in 1881, the government maintained the legal power up until 1901 to disband or decline to approve an association it deemed dangerous. The republican state resisted allowing complete freedom of association because it continued to view associational life as a threat to the relationship between the individual and the state, rather than as a liberating layer of free action. The problem in the eyes of the French government was not so much securing freedom from the state, as in the United States, as assuring freedom from the perceived nefarious influence of the Catholic Church and from destabilizing radical organizations. It was only in 1901 that evolving political philosophy and republican strength allowed the law to catch up with the myriad networks of associations that had developed without legal sanction. The liberal law of July 1

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of that year legalized free association for most groups, while severely limiting the powers of Catholic congregations to operate freely. After this point, only religious congregations or groups that wished to act as legal entities—to buy or sell property, for instance—required authorization. Within these limits, associations were no longer assumed to be a dangerous intermediary between individuals and the state, but an important part of a healthy republic that would in fact help free French citizens from the influence of the church. So, in order to understand the processes of war recovery and preparation, we need to examine more than the concrete activities that associations undertook. We also need to analyze the particular freedoms and constraints under which these associations operated, and the new social relations that they created.

War-Related Associations War-related associations—such as the Red Cross, commemorative organizations, or shooting clubs—took older and concurrent forms of association in new directions. They borrowed the organizational patterns and practices of clubs and charities, but their objectives changed. Whereas charities either assumed that poverty was a perennial problem or aspired to eliminate it altogether, war-related associations rested fundamentally on the view of war as extraordinary yet expected, not just in distant colonies but also on the European continent. As violence in everyday life decreased, the disruption of war became less tolerable and merited special efforts in order to set things to right. Although charities sometimes responded to periods of exceptional need, such as the cholera outbreak of 1832, they did not undertake extensive preparations for future emergencies. Furthermore, most charities, operating under pious custom and the tenets of liberal ideology, focused their efforts on the poor and marginalized, especially destitute mothers and their innocent children. By contrast, war-related associations aided and honored anyone within the nation who was damaged by war. By the 1880s, they became increasingly preoccupied with young, healthy males, whose bodies war threatened to destroy. It was no longer acceptable to allow healthy men to succumb to violence unnecessarily. Finally, charities differed from war-related associations in their ultimate aims. Some charities, such as the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul, viewed the religious experience of the donor to be of greater importance than the material aid to recipients. Others aimed to eliminate poverty or provide education. In these cases, class, locality, and religious

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community were the common referents. But war-related associations added to these concerns the aim of saving their nation from military defeat. Warrelated associations oriented French citizens to new kinds of tasks, more fully challenged the government to respond to their needs, aspired to unify French citizens across gender and religious divides, and linked local experiences to the fate of the nation. This book analyzes the development of such associations and the evolution of their goals, membership, activities, and relationship with the government. It examines the transition from the improvised local efforts that emphasized rebuilding and mourning in the 1870s, to the hierarchical national organizations interested in preparing new conscripts and nurses for future war from the 1880s to 1914. Four dimensions will repeatedly figure into the analysis of these organizations: the influence of state and government representatives, the involvement of religious institutions, the extent of class inclusiveness, and the impact of gender assumptions and roles. Each of these four perspectives illuminates the problems of war recovery and preparation. Conversely, the fact that these organizations dealt with the special problem of national security shaped particular debates concerning the state, religion, class, and gender. The French state long claimed a monopoly on the administration of international armed conflict and the domestic use of armed forces, a claim that became increasingly uncontested by the late nineteenth century, as alternative forms of mass violence declined—notably, the waning of bread riots by the early Second Empire and the disbandment of the National Guard following the Paris Commune. The state’s power over conscription was transformed from the early Napoleonic Era, when columns of troops roamed the provinces to stamp out draft evasion, to the early Third Republic, when conscription became a normal stage of a young man’s personal development. Yet state agents did not uniformly reject civilian attempts to interfere with the army. Some ministers of the interior allowed or even encouraged the work of war-related organizations. Deputies to the National Assembly sometimes freely served in these controversial associations despite official state disavowal of them. As citizens became increasingly preoccupied with war preparation, they were subject to particular state scrutiny. Since they claimed to contribute to national security issues, their actions could be deemed especially dangerous or inflammatory in both domestic and international contexts. This book will explain why the state tended to encourage some activities over others, and the extent to which such organizations altered state policy.

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Next, we must address the roles of religious institutions, clergy, and lay members in war-related associations. Catholic notions of sacrifice, redemption, and the afterlife were tightly bound to war experiences and fears. It will be important, therefore, to understand how religiously informed rituals or traditions gave rise to, influenced, or were grafted onto commemorative ceremonies. Furthermore, the contentious relationship between the Catholic Church and state during the early Third Republic, which led to the law separating church and state in 1905, helped to mold the creation of war-related associations. In some instances, Catholics self-consciously created parallel but separate organizations, while at other times in other places, such as the annual ceremony at Mars-la-Tour (Meurthe-et-Moselle), the drive to commemorate the dead and prepare the nation for war papered over these religious conflicts. The third dimension to consider is the extent to which war-related organizations influenced, and were influenced by, power issues related to class. In contradiction to Tocqueville’s theories, associations could lead to undemocratic practices in the name of special interests or moral authority. Within many associations, local elites—usually politicians, clergymen, businessmen, or military officers—controlled the agendas and held most of the power. The voice of average citizen-participants has often been excluded from surviving documents. Yet associations could also empower their members. Rural mutual-aid associations allowed peasants to protect their property in case of fire or flood. In the 1860s, petit bourgeois associations based on the values of “steady employment, patriotism, and the cultivation of physical strength” challenged upper-bourgeois social dominance. Elites also engaged with the democratic electoral process within their associations in order to secure leadership positions and put their plans into action. The medium of association was therefore not inherently inclusive or exclusive. How did this dynamic play out in associations devoted to war-related issues? Like most wars, the Franco-Prussian War profoundly affected people from all levels of society. Unlike most preceding conflicts, however, the war occurred in a time and place where a large portion of people had the means and opportunity to do more than simply react and survive. Many French activists believed that war in the future could not be adequately met by notables alone, and they tried to mobilize greater numbers across socioeconomic lines, though these efforts met resistance from traditionally structured organizations. Finally, I will analyze the gendered roles of men and women within warrelated associations. The seemingly firm gender boundaries delineated in the

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Napoleonic Code shifted rapidly during the late nineteenth century. Competing discourses concerning female professionalization, women’s civil duties, and the definition of motherhood all made women’s position in French society appear up for grabs. Among other changes, women increased their presence in university classrooms, earned degrees in law and medicine, and trained as professional nurses. Feminist organizations such as the Union Fraternelle des Femmes (founded in 1901) promoted women’s interests through meetings, petitions, and the publication of female authors. The state increasingly valued women as administrative personnel and inspectors of schools, children’s services, and workplaces. At the same time, women’s activities outside the home during the Third Republic came under scrutiny as demographers illustrated that France’s population was growing much more slowly than that of other nations—most notably, competitors Germany and Britain. Between 1890 and 1914, deaths outstripped births in seven years; the population only grew due to immigration. When feminist Nelly Roussel launched her public speaking career in 1904, the sight of a woman lecturing on any topic—let alone advocating women’s reproductive rights—struck many contemporaries as an unusual spectacle, especially in the provinces. Women’s changing roles in war-related activities contributed to this state of gender flux. Wartime thrust gender divisions into sharp relief, sustained by what Margaret Higonnet and Patrice Higonnet have termed a “double helix” system of gender relationships: women’s status during wartime may rise, but it can never attain the level of the sacrifices that men are expected to make in combat. During the Franco-Prussian War, many women voluntarily participated in the war effort as spies, nurses, auxiliary food suppliers (cantinières), and occasionally as combatants, but their contributions never matched those of their male counterparts. Still, men did not feel secure in this position of exalted sacrifice. Fears of female emancipation and male impuissance within an increasingly complex modern world contributed to a “crisis of French manhood.” The humiliating defeat in battle presented a serious challenge to prevailing notions of French masculine prowess and honor, and it haunted young males as they entered manhood—a transition more tightly linked to military service than ever before, as the near-universal conscription of men became a reality during the early Third Republic. Meanwhile, women were increasingly excluded from combat zones, especially in their roles as auxiliary food suppliers, and were encouraged instead to raise sons to be soldiers and to serve as volunteer nurses behind the lines. The growing preoccupation

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with war preparation kept such gendered divisions in the forefront even during peacetime. As we shall see, many women took public positions in the name of national war preparedness. Yet the “double helix” often reproduced itself in the roles that women and men were expected to play within warrelated associations.

After the Debacle This book examines the process of postwar recovery during the 1870s and its transition into preparation for a future conflict from the 1880s through 1914. These activities cannot be separated from the multifaceted development of civil society during that period. Departmental differences add another layer of complexity to this story. Three departments figure prominently here: the Meurthe-et-Moselle in the northeast, the Sarthe in the center-west, and the Hérault in the Midi. These departments do not represent the entire country, but given the unusually rich holdings in their archives and libraries, they allow for a deep comparison among departments that experienced the FrancoPrussian War in very different ways. The areas that became the Meurthe-etMoselle, part of Lorraine in eastern France, were invaded and occupied in the opening weeks of the war, saw some of the bloodiest combat in August 1870, and remained under German military control until the end of 1873. By contrast, it was only in December that the war reached the Sarthe, a department carved out of Maine and Anjou, between Paris and Brittany. After three days of battle at Le Mans in January, the French Second Army of the Loire was forced to retreat, and the Sarthe came under German occupation for two months. Finally, the Hérault, a Languedocien department located on the Mediterranean coast as it turns south to meet the Pyrenees, remained hundreds of kilometers from any combat and was not occupied at all. The differences among these departments, of course, ran much deeper than simply the immediate circumstances of the war. Long-term political, economic, and social changes affected the involvement of the inhabitants of these departments with postwar recovery, and had an even greater impact on their engagement in preparation for a future conflict. Part I analyzes the attempts of French civilians, politicians, and priests to recover from the Franco-Prussian War through recourse to the state, the church, or free associations, as republicans consolidated their political power during the 1870s. Chapter One presents the problems facing French citizens

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immediately following the war. The chapter introduces the many travelers, soldiers, and refugees filling France’s roadways and their attempts to find their bearings after the sudden Prussian invasion. Without a coherent demobilization strategy or a stable political system, private charities and government agencies hastily struggled to aid these people, but they could not develop a clear model of action or adequately respond to all the postwar needs by the end of 1871. Citizens’ recovery needs came up against two competing definitions of recovery, discussed in Chapter Two. Politicians defined the war as a political event, arguing that French revival from the conflict would entail political change. Notably, republicans contended that France would recover from the empire’s war with the firm establishment of a peaceful republic. In contrast, men of letters emphasized the need for a moral refounding of the country to help France come to terms with the disaster. Neither of these options inspired confidence among provincial citizens that the government could address their postwar needs. These citizens’ own attempts to shape the recovery through the work of associations are the subject of Chapters Three and Four. Chapter Three examines French responses to the German domination of French territory and citizens, from 1871 through the end of the occupation in the fall of 1873. The desire to restore a coherent, independent France propelled many French men and women to aid migrating Alsatians and Lorrainers and to attempt to pay off the daunting war indemnity themselves. Middle- and upper-class voluntary associations, often led by women, tried to take responsibility for gaps they perceived in the government’s response to these issues. Chapter Four, the last chapter in Part I, analyzes early governmental and private efforts to commemorate the soldiers who died during the war. Although the government undertook its most extensive commemorative project to date, it could not satisfy the demands of ordinary citizens. During the 1870s, commemorative activities generally looked backward in time to mourn the dead and praise their actions. The annual ceremony at Mars-laTour transcended church-state conflict and testified to the sophistication and tenacity of provincial organizations in the face of government ambivalence. Part II examines efforts to prepare for a future conflict. In the past, civilians were expected to contribute to a war effort only during the period of actual combat. The levée en masse of 1793 had called for the contributions of all French men, women, and children only once France was already at war. In the 1880s, many civilians began to see themselves as responsible for war preparation, even during peacetime. They believed that women and men,

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especially young males, needed to hone their bodies, gather bandages, invest their emotions, and unify their wills toward French victory. As military service became nearly universal after 1889, the conscripted soldier became all the more central to these efforts. Commemorative events, discussed in Chapter Five, now shifted their focus away from the dead and increasingly became political, nationalistic, and masculine spectacles aimed at the next generation of soldiers. Many men joined clubs where they trained in gymnastics, shooting, and general military preparation (Chapter Six). Both women and men volunteered for the Red Cross, with the aim of healing wounded and sick soldiers (Chapter Seven). The associations that mobilized for these responsibilities became increasingly complex, sophisticated, and visible, and they continually pushed the state to be more accountable for war readiness. These activities contributed to the myth that the French could adequately prepare for a later conflict. It was during these years that preparation for war—even during peacetime—became part of the definition of French national identity.

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I

RECOVERY

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1

BETWEEN WAR AND PEACE Winter Travelers wending their ways through the byways of provincial France in January 1871 found a country in crisis. Just a few months earlier, in the heat of the summer, the country had gone to war against Prussia and its German allies, with shouts of “À Berlin” filling the streets of Paris. Most provincial citizens had accepted the war, although it came as a surprise. Even after a series of catastrophic battles, many swore to hold on to the bitter end. But now it was obvious that the war would not outlast the winter snows. France had lost. As travelers approached some villages, the hastily dug mass graves and trampled farmland bore witness to recent battle. Like the smoke of abandoned campfires, a palpable sense of uncertainty and despair hung in the air. In many towns and villages, nestled in the woods of Lorraine or exposed in the Paris basin, travelers could not miss the invaders’ strange uniforms and distinctively pointed helmets. They heard the sounds of the German language—not the Alsatian dialect, but the language spoken in Bavaria, Saxony, and the far eastern reaches of Prussia. German soldiers appeared jittery and exhausted, wary of the French civilian population, but their rifles and horse-drawn heavy artillery left no room for doubt: for the first time in two generations—since 1818, after the defeat of Napoleon—a foreign army occupied French territory. The scene changed as voyagers continued south of the Loire River or west into Brittany, where combat and occupation did not reach. On the surface, the patterns of work and family life in two-thirds of the country may have appeared normal for this time of year. But from the fishing communities on the Atlantic coast to the rocky, dry hamlets of Provence, these regions, too, experienced anxiety and loss during the war. Whether their inhabitants spoke French, Gascon, or Breton, they asked those travelers who appeared trust-

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worthy for information—have you heard word of my son’s regiment? are the armies headed this way? The answers could not have always been reassuring. Travelers on the road during this winter of 1871 did not simply witness the war; they were themselves the men, women, and children who lived it and provided its meaning. As the Prussian army swept into France, refugees fled on horseback, in carts, or by foot. One young woman left her village outside of Bar-le-Duc (Meuse): “Her child had been born six weeks before, in one of the carts; she does not know what has become of her husband. He did not want to leave their little house, but he insisted that she depart with the neighbors. Since then, she has not had any word from him, and since he was not the type to let anyone take his property without defending it, she imagines that he must have been shot.” Wealthier refugees, fleeing their chateaux, peered out of their fine carriages into the evening fog with trepidation that Prussian soldiers “would condemn us to the darkness.” These refugees encountered regiments of soldiers and their camp followers, the cantinières— female providers of food and drink—along with volunteer doctors with their mobile hospital wagons. In the woods, hidden from sight, irregular bands of voluntary guerrilla fighters, the franc-tireurs, shadowed the trails. All of these travelers, along with the usual beggars and migrant workers, churned up the slushy, muddy roads, seeking food and shelter wherever possible. As winter melted into spring, these displaced people slowly made their way back home to assess the damages and decide what to do next. Historians’ accounts of these somber months often focus on Paris, whose half-starved residents endured over four months of siege, the disappointment of failed sorties, the bombing of civilians, and repeated revolutionary upheavals—all this before the ill-fated Paris Commune in the spring. Yet the experience of the Franco-Prussian War was no less traumatic and formative for provincial citizens than it was for their Parisian counterparts. Living through the war shaped women, men, and children in the Sarthe, the Hérault, and the Meurthe-et-Moselle, though the war unfolded differently in each department. And, just as Parisians found that the German presence was only one of their many problems, French provincials surveying the landscape in the early months of 1871 saw much more than simply the detested visage of Bismarck rising up out of the ashes. They worried about crops, homes, and loved ones, and they often called for more government accountability for the damages done to body, home, and pride. Just as the Franco-Prussian War marked a key stage in the development

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of modern mobilization, its aftermath demonstrated to contemporaries the need for a well-conducted demobilization and a postwar recovery plan. Helmuth von Moltke’s Prussian General Staff had created the concept of mobilization as a separate, crucial stage between peace and war, during which soldiers and supplies were made mobile, assembled, and concentrated; a large reason for the French defeat had been their inability to implement this novel organizational strategy. After the debacle, the French also faced the crisis of underplanned demobilization. Fortunately for France, the war did not touch major industrial centers, such as Lyon, St. Étienne, and most of the Nord. The Franco-Prussian War’s short duration precluded the mobilization of industry for combat, which made it easier for the economy to recover when the war ended. However, the Government of National Defense had not fully anticipated the problem of reintegrating hundreds of thousands of soldiers, prisoners of war, and refugees. Instead, the return of soldiers and the assessment of damages to homes, public spaces, and families occurred haphazardly. Expectations of the government’s accountability for its citizens’ well-being and security were beginning to rise, in part due to programs undertaken at the municipal level during the war, such as soup kitchens or aid to soldiers’ families. But the end of the war spelled a reassertion of the central state and a return of its liberal economic policies, and the central state took up postwar recovery operations reluctantly and belatedly. In the confusion, private organizations stepped in when the government could not—or would not. To ameliorate their situation, civilians availed themselves of existing financial and organizational tools, creating new ones as well. They had to define and undertake recovery for themselves. In the first year after the war, these efforts were small in scope and duration, but the strategies that farmers, businessmen, and small charities employed to cope with defeat and disorganized demobilization provided the foundation for the modern European response to increasingly all-encompassing warfare.

S

For residents of the central-western department of the Sarthe and its capital city, Le Mans, the dawn of the year 1871 brought only anxiety. Since the war had begun the previous summer, the news and rumors reaching the residents of this department had often been troubling. Now the war itself had arrived in their towns. General Antoine Chanzy’s Second Army of the Loire had retreated into the region in December, with Prussian armies under Prince Friedrich Karl following closely behind. The ensuing battle on January 10–12

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around Le Mans played only a minor part in the collapse of the republican army, but it deeply affected the local inhabitants. The raw and poorly shod French army could not match the experienced and organized Germans. The 100,000-man Second Army lost 25,000 men in casualties, plus twice that number as deserters. They left the civilian population to face the German forces alone. After two decades of prosperity, the arrival of war in the Sarthe came as a shock. During the Second Empire, the department had blossomed in an agricultural golden age. The Paris-Brest railroad opened in Le Mans in 1854, allowing the Sarthe’s cereals, artisanal textiles, hemp, pork and beef to reach regional and national markets. Influential nobles won government benefits for the department through a patronage system of connections and favors. The departmental capital, too, benefited from economic growth. Like Paris under Baron Georges Haussmann, Le Mans expanded in the 1850s and 1860s by annexing suburbs and neighboring villages, growing to a population of fifty thousand by 1871. Now, under the occupation, the fragility of that success became abundantly clear. The German armies demanded that Le Mans, occupied on January 12, pay two million francs within twenty-four hours and provide forty thousand German troops with shelter and food. During the two months that the Germans remained in the Sarthe, Le Mans paid further requisitions totaling over one million francs, of which 66 percent came directly from citizens. In Parigné-l’Evêque, a small town of 3,500 inhabitants, Germans reportedly housed their 250 horses in a stable already in use as a temporary hospital, and the large animals trampled the wounded French soldiers. During these bitter winter months, French civilians often resisted requisitions, cut telegraph wires, and shot at Germans. On their part, the allied German armies confiscated food, burned houses, took hostages, and executed civilians. In the eyes of both occupiers and occupied, lives and livelihoods were at stake, and feelings remained raw. News of the armistice of January 28 failed to bring a sense of closure.

S

Under these strained circumstances, adult males were asked to weigh their options in national elections held in early February 1871. The previous September 4, following the defeat at Sedan, the Second Empire had been overthrown in Paris. The new Government of National Defense (GDN) claimed republican ideals but lacked popular legitimacy. The GDN refused to hold

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elections during the war crisis, which cost it credibility. Leaders like Jules Favre and Léon Gambetta held onto office in the hope that they could engineer a military victory and launch a new political system. When victory failed to materialize, the GDN placed its political hopes in the election of a National Assembly. This body, elected by universal manhood suffrage, would start the process of writing a new constitution and, by its very existence, convince German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck that the populace would respect the peace negotiations. Republicans believed that, with Napoleon III discredited, voters could at last express their true, republican beliefs. Republicans faced an uphill battle in departments like the Sarthe, which cast its lot with Napoleon III during the Second Empire. High agricultural prices brought relative wealth and stability, securing peasants’ loyalty to the Empire when they were offered no real alternative. In the plebiscite of May 1870, 88 percent of the electorate cast their ballots, and 87 percent of these voters supported Napoleon III and his liberal reforms, a slightly higher percentage than the national average. It was well-known that the western half of the department leaned strongly conservative. A combination of regular religious practice, prosperity, and conservatism dated back to the eighteenth century, when relatively wealthy peasants in the west found the economic and social system dominated by nobles and clergy to be advantageous. Nevertheless, republicans hoped that the elections of February 1871 would reawaken the eastern areas of the Sarthe, which had been more inclined toward revolution back in the 1790s. In these overcrowded communes, poorer peasants turned to weaving to supplement their incomes. They therefore came into contact with town and city merchants, experienced negative encounters with royal administrators, and ultimately became more receptive to the changes brought by the Revolution. Successive monarchs and Napoleon III had obscured this political tradition, but republicans thought that perhaps now it would reemerge. They were disappointed. The Sarthe voted 63.8 percent for the monarchist and Bonapartist coalition, “Of Union and Peace.” These results followed the national trend: conservatives dominated the National Assembly by a margin of at least 400 to 275. How are we to understand this outcome? Republicans at the time believed they had been rejected due to the ignorance of the peasantry, along with logistical and military circumstances beyond their control. Indeed, it is well-known that the February election—the first free national elections held in over two decades—fell far short of democratic ideals. The elections were

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called on January 29 and held on February 8 (February 10 in some areas, such as the Sarthe), but delays in communication made the campaign period even shorter. This hasty process made any reasoned judgment nearly impossible and favored conservative notables with long-standing name recognition. Many voters were soldiers—wounded, imprisoned, and far from home— who did not have access to the polls. Those who could vote were disgusted with the republicans, who had continued the war past the point of national endurance. Had the republicans settled with Prussia after Sedan, many believed, France would have lost only Strasbourg or Alsace and would have paid a much smaller war indemnity. But the election represented more than just a referendum on the war. Voters also expressed longer-term reasoned grievances with republicans, whom they associated with unpopular high taxes and anticlericalism. The elections of February 1871 thus revealed profound uncertainties about the fate of the nominally republican French government. And the importance of the elections extends further. The elections were a missed opportunity, not only for the republicans, but also for the creation of a better political process. The timing of the elections, just after the armistice, might have suggested an acknowledgment by the government of its accountability toward its citizens for its conduct during the war. But in this case, universal suffrage, supposed to be the most democratic and direct mode of citizen-state interaction, disappointed. Voters had few opportunities to engage in public political debate on the meaning of the war. The shoddy use of the ballot stood in for and obscured discussion and action concerning postwar recovery and future national security. The elections conferred an ambiguous legacy concerning the demands that citizens could place on their government during times of war, a legacy that was wrestled over in the decades that followed.

S

As the winter snows receded with the coming of spring, the German army pulled back from the furthest points of its invasion, including the Sarthe. By March, the Germans remained in only nineteen departments and the Territoire de Belfort. A complete reckoning of the war damages left behind proved difficult. Farmers in the Sarthe had their horses requisitioned, their planting seed depleted, their hearths destroyed, and roads to local towns damaged. Most devastatingly, 1,100 members of the 33e mobiles of the Sarthe died during the war. In addition to requisitions demanded by the Germans, inhabitants of the city of Le Mans claimed almost two million francs in damages to fur-

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niture, stores, and animals. Local bureaux de bienfaisance were overextended and went into debt. Schools and other buildings used as hospitals needed to be cleaned and disinfected before being put to their ordinary uses. No clear process existed to help these war victims recover. The last time France had been invaded, at the close of the Napoleonic Wars over fifty years earlier, the Restoration government had paid only for the occupation itself. Afterwards, the departments that had suffered the most damages were left to pay for them on their own. By 1871, the idea that the government should take responsibility for its citizens’ losses due to war had only begun to develop. As the planting season approached, farmers in the Sarthe did not expect government aid, but they knew that they could not handle recovery on their own. Instead, they turned to existing private organizations for help. And yet, private charities worked more efficiently with the administrative support of government agencies. Let us consider, for example, one successful effort to distribute seed to farmers in time for planting season. A group of British Quakers funded the purchase of cartloads of potatoes, barley, oats and clover—some 665,000 kilograms, worth about 142,000 francs. Members of four private agricultural societies of the Sarthe organized the distribution of this bounty, but they enlisted local mayors to identify farmers in need and called on the Ministry of Agriculture to pay for the transportation of seed to 7,300 growers in the Sarthe. This kind of cooperation among local bourgeois agricultural societies, mayors, and government administrators had been common since the first half of the century. But in this case, the coordinating committee revealed some misgivings about the role of mayors, who had been elected by indirect popular suffrage. Ultimately, the committee grudgingly decided that the mayors were the best placed to help “the most needy and most worthy,” declaring, “We like to believe it was always done [fairly]; but if, against all effort, there were some regrettable exceptions, we would like at least the right to decline any responsibility for it.” A successful private charitable operation thus required the cooperation of several different government agencies. Through this and similar efforts, and thanks to the timing of the war, the agricultural cycle was minimally disrupted. Despite such positive efforts, the events of the winter of 1871 left a deep and long-lasting impression on the inhabitants of the Sarthe. On September 30, 1875, a police commissaire in the small town of Beaumont (population 2,028 in 1876) included the following in his monthly report: “Public morality— still left to be desired since the events of 1870–1871. This evil appears to be

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deeply planted in (most) Indigents, in workers and day laborers, and also in some merchants.” He mechanically repeated this assessment almost word for word the following month, and the month after that, and so on through at least the end of the 1870s. The war carried in its wake intense and enduring feelings of disappointment and malaise.

Spring The spring of 1871 brought a few pieces of welcome news. For one, the French government took over the responsibility of paying for occupying German soldiers in April, putting requisitions to an end. In the same month, the National Assembly named a Commission of Invaded Departments, led by Deputy Kolb Bernard of the Nord, to assess civilian damages and determine if compensation was in order. The motivation behind this effort was not just to help civilians, however; Adolphe Thiers, the provisional executive, needed these numbers to get the most out of the impending peace talks. The commission’s questionnaires asked mayors to list the costs of maintaining enemy troops, requisitions, and pillage, subject to verification. With special care, the commission scrutinized the timing of the destruction, because damages inflicted after the Preliminaries of Peace went into effect on March 2 could be billed to Germany. The total estimate reached nearly 690 million francs. Thiers wanted to award aid on a case-by-case basis, rather than create a lump settlement, which would imply complete government acceptance of responsibility for civilian damages. The issue elicited strong debate in the National Assembly. Joseph-Théodore Petitbien, a republican politician from the Meurthe-et-Moselle, later explained his perspective: “National solidarity is the obligatory corollary to national sovereignty [expressed in the revolution of September 4]. . . . Adversaries of solidarity say that the border departments, exposed by their geographical position to the disasters of invasion, should put up with the inconveniences of their natural situation. . . . This kind of theory does no less than stamp out national spirit and create a scission between the border departments and those of the Center. . . . War was not declared on communes, but on the Nation.” Other deputies disagreed, especially those representing departments that had not been invaded and did not want to pay for it. The question took months to resolve. Finally, due to fear of revolution, desire for a speedy recovery, and “the sentiments of nationality found in the hearts of all French

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people,” deputies decided to award payments to individuals. The first major law, passed on September 6, 1871, provided 100 million francs, about oneseventh of the claimed damages, for the departments, to be distributed by appointed departmental committees. Another 6 million went to Parisians claiming damages from the entry of the French army into the city during the repression of the Commune. A second law, passed on April 7, 1873, allocated a further 120 million to the departments and 140 million to Paris. Many citizens perceived the actual distribution of funds to be insufficient, unequal, and unfair. The Seine received almost enough to cover its claims and wipe away traces of the siege and the Commune in Paris. Other departments were only allocated a quarter of their requests. Some cities were able to make up the shortfall out of their own budgets. Le Mans paid over 2.5 million francs to its inhabitants for requisitions and destruction of property by October 1, 1873, which covered 97 percent of the damages reported. But some cities and towns found their ability to pay for the war encumbered by other building projects, including the construction of permanent barracks during the 1870s. The war continued to drag on private and public projects: merchants’ demands for payment, years after the fact, for goods shipped out of Le Mans, never to be seen again; the persistent debt dogging the village of Champrond (Sarthe) into the 1880s. Petitions for more aid, sent to the National Assembly in 1876, 1879, and 1881, went unanswered.

S

Meanwhile, the weather continued to warm, and families looked forward to the return of their soldiers. Healthy combatants trickled home haphazardly after their regiments quietly disbanded. But others could not be so easily accounted for. The occupation of the northeast of the country and the constant movement of troops, both within France and as prisoners in Germany, made it extremely difficult for families to communicate with soldiers or even to confirm that they were still alive. Wounded and sick soldiers were transported via railroad and rivers along seven evacuation lines away from the front and unhygienic, crowded Paris, following the detailed instructions provided by the GDN’s logistics specialist, Charles de Freycinet. A soldier wounded just south of Paris, around Orléans, for instance, might find himself taken along Line 5, which snaked its way south across the Massif Central with stops in St. Étienne and Clermont-Ferrand, eventually reaching the Mediterranean department of the Hérault. On the way south, the landscape changed. Forests gave way to rocky, dry soil dotted with cypress trees and vineyards, and

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the sound of cannon faded as the sea drew nearer. After descending from the low mountains, the soldier might have ended his voyage in a hospital in Lodève, a small manufacturing town. Or he might have continued down into the plains, through the vineyards, toward the Mediterranean coast to radical urban centers—such as Lunel or Béziers—whose coopers and merchants supported the wine industry. If hospitals there had no more room, he might have been sent on to the departmental capital, Montpellier, or further still to the port city of Cette (today spelled Sète). The Hérault, hundreds of kilometers from the battlefields, suffered far less from the Franco-Prussian War than did the Sarthe. Combat did not disrupt the department’s robust wine industry. Though shaken by oidium in the 1850s, as they would be by phylloxera in the coming decade, the vineyards in 1871 were strongly rooted, literally and figuratively, into the lives of most inhabitants of the Hérault. Increased viticulture blurred the lines between urban and rural, for many cultivators lived in villages, while urban coopers, bottlers, and merchants worked closely with landowners. Furthermore, the Hérault’s rivers and coastal plains facilitated trade and communication. Viticulture even affected Montpellier. Processes related to wine production were the city’s only major industry. Montpellier’s prominent bankers and merchants thrived on the wine trade, and its long-established universities lent themselves to agricultural study. All of these structures remained intact in the spring of 1871. Had the Hérault been invaded during the war, it might have been able to cope better than the Sarthe, due to its tradition of collective social interaction, a feature of village life in the Midi. Bourgeois cercles and popular chambrées dated from the early nineteenth century, and the wine industry built on and encouraged such patterns of sociability. Traditional village solidarity developed into regional cooperation, expressed through group demonstrations and professional associations such as syndicates. Wine producers sought to balance individual freedom and small-property ownership with collective action and economic protection, and they promoted the principles of equality and greater political participation. If the war did not strain the department’s economy or test its social networks, it did bring welcome political change. For many in the Hérault— whether royalist or republican—the war brought the long nightmare of the Second Empire to a close. Many had ardently protested the regime of LouisNapoleon Bonaparte from the very beginning. In December 1851, the Hérault

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was one of the major sites of rural protest against Louis-Napoleon’s coup d’état, paying for it with between 2,500 and 3,000 arrests and 1,700 deportations. In the plebiscite that popularly sanctioned the coup, Montpellier, a royalist stronghold, was the only departmental capital nationwide to cast a majority “no” vote—all the more damning because of its abstention rate of over 50 percent. During the Second Empire, republicanism and anticlericalism gained support not only in the wine-producing plains, but also in small northern manufacturing towns such as Lodève, Ganges, and Bédarieux, as well as in coastal Cette. Although Montpellier retained its traditional legitimist and strongly Catholic population, its citizens nevertheless elected leftist opposition candidates in the legislative elections of 1869, and they voted a majority against the plebiscite of 1870. By that time, the city housed two republican newspapers, La Liberté and young activist Jules Guesde’s more radical Les Droits de l’Homme. During the war, Montpellier became one of the bases of the Ligue du Midi, a republican organization founded in Marseilles that argued for municipal self-government and the arming of citizens to protect against the Prussian invasion, which put it in tension with the GDN’s focus on the relief of Paris. Many in the Hérault therefore experienced the war as a positive moment, full of political possibility. In later years, republicans in the Hérault celebrated the date of September 4 because it marked the fall of the Second Empire, while many other areas of the country mourned that date due to its association with Sedan. Yet monarchists still remained powerful. In the February 1871 elections, conservatives dominated 55 percent to 45 percent. Adolphe Thiers won more support than Léon Gambetta, for the radicals had pushed for abstentions and divided the republicans. Southerners had long been viewed as different from other French men and women, even as unpatriotic and lazy, and the Hérault’s distance from the war and smugness over the fall of Napoleon III did not help this reputation. In the spring of 1871, however, many Héraultais took up the responsibility of caring for wounded soldiers as they arrived in the south. Though far from the theater of battle, the mayors, priests, and police of the Hérault provided information for families awaiting news. A network of advocates sought to answer these most basic and important inquiries. After months without communication, the trail of a missing soldier might be quite cold, so families contacted the city where the soldier had joined the army or the last place he was known to have been stationed or hospitalized. Often the mayor, the priest, or another acquaintance penned letters

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on behalf of the family. In March, M. Hays of Cognac (Charente) wrote the mayor of Montpellier to inquire about Captain Diviers, who had joined a corps of franc-tireurs in the Hérault: “I would like to ask you if the franctireurs of your department have returned home, and to have you ask them if they know what has become of Captain Diviers of Cognac, for we have not heard news of him since the battle at Le Mans and his family fears that he is dead. Nobody can give any precise information, and this is why I am writing you.” Such letters were routed to the police, who tried to find reliable information and relay it back to the families. In the case of Captain Diviers, the fears were well-founded: the central police superintendent of Montpellier reported to M. Hays that, “according to the information furnished by a certain M. Arboux, former officer of the franc-tireurs of Hérault . . . M. Diviers, captain in the same corps, was killed at Le Mans.” Often, the available scraps of information left some paths only partially retraced. An exchange between the Abbé Chenebaux, the curé of Fortan (Loir-et-Cher), and the officials of Montpellier in March captured a fragment of the journey taken by Fortan resident Eugène Moreau. Moreau had not been heard from since December 8, but his family knew he had been wounded and had spent time recovering in Vichy. Chenebaux had already contacted the mayor of Vichy, who “just responded, and tells me that this young soldier was evacuated to Montpellier last February 25.” Chenebaux continued, I thought, therefore, Monsieur le Maire, that you would not refuse your help in my search. We need to find the trace of this young man. If he is dead, his death certificate, or his deliverance, if he is alive, is necessary. For in the time since we have been deprived of his whereabouts, his mother [and] his only sister have succumbed to smallpox, and there is no one else but his father and his brother-in-law, and it is urgent that we settle the affairs of his family. I do not speak to you, Monsieur le Maire, of the poignant anxiety of the unfortunate father, to whom three long months of silence gives the near certainty of a final blow; the truth, whatever it may be, will still be less cruel for him than the ignorance that pushes him to desperation. The response did not provide the closure so anxiously awaited: Moreau “is not in the mobile hospitals of Montpellier and his name is not on any of the lists of these establishments. This mobile, having arrived in the train station

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of this city, perhaps was directed toward Cette, Béziers or St. Pons.” The records do not indicate Moreau’s fate.

S

The Meurthe lay at the crossroads of these wartime travels. First came the French soldiers heading east in the early weeks of the conflict, when hopes ran high. Very quickly, however, the war turned sour. On August 12, 1870, the Prussians occupied the capital, Nancy, which had been left as an open city. Four days later, the villages of Mars-la-Tour, Vionville and Rezonville (just north of the Meurthe in the Moselle) witnessed one of the bloodiest battles fought on French soil up to that time. Afterwards, Nancy became the temporary home for refugees and wounded soldiers. In January 1871, the Germans burned the village of Fontenoy-sur-Moselle to the ground in retaliation for guerrilla fighters’ destruction of a nearby bridge, and they required the region of Lorraine to pay a ten million franc indemnity. Beyond this, the municipal debt contracted in the Meurthe during the war totaled 7,240,877 francs. Nancy supplied 36,000 bread rations a day, while small villages like Aingeray struggled to support one hundred fifty German soldiers and eighty horses for ten weeks. Despite the Meurthe’s relative prosperity from its burgeoning metallurgy industry and its established embroidery, salt, glassworks, and pottery manufacturers, the war strained the department’s economy. The annexation of part of Lorraine to the German empire clumsily redrew the region’s political and administrative boundaries. The Meurthe lost a segment of its northeastern territory but gained the northwestern arm from the Moselle, including the village of Mars-la-Tour, that gives the department its irregular shape. In September 1871, the National Assembly named the new configuration “temporarily” the Meurthe-et-Moselle, for its two major rivers. Towns in the pasted-on branch, like Longwy and Briey, lay further away from Nancy than from other departmental capitals. At first, no railroad, national road, or departmental road properly connected the department. A few villages did not know whether they would be French or German until October. The Franco-Prussian War pushed the Meurthe-et-Moselle more firmly than either the Sarthe or the Hérault toward the republican camp. During the Second Empire, the bourgeoisie generally had supported Napoleon III, when the department benefited from imperial policies that strengthened the transportation infrastructure and improved city life. But the war destroyed the Meurthe’s support for the empire and did nothing to endear its citizens to

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monarchists. In February 1871, the voters of the Meurthe defiantly elected republicans—including hawkish Léon Gambetta—with 62 percent of the vote. With Strasbourg and Metz now German cities, Nancy became the new capital of the east, an administrative, judicial, intellectual and military center located just a few kilometers from the new German border. The city had been growing since the Second Empire, when the unpopular but effective mayor, Baron Henri Buquet, had overseen the implementation of better water treatment and gasworks, as well as the building of a new covered market, prefecture, university buildings, and churches. Now, in addition to the existing Faculty of Letters, Faculty of Law, Pharmacy School, and National Forestry School, Nancy welcomed the Faculty of Medicine from Strasbourg in 1871 and the Metz Court of Appeals the following year. Nancy also became the point of arrival for thousands of immigrants from annexed Alsace and Lorraine who chose to leave their homes rather than forsake France. During the three-year occupation and for decades to come, local citizens remained keenly aware of the area’s precarious position. Thus the Franco-Prussian War literally defined the Meurthe-et-Moselle and placed Nancy at the center of the conflict. French prisoners of war made a particularly melancholy contribution to this point of human exchange. The surrender of 83,000 men at Sedan is the most well-known capture of prisoners, but it made up a relatively small percentage of the total. The Germans imprisoned up to 723,500 French soldiers for some portion of the war, including 373,000 who were held in German territory. Many prisoners heading east passed by train or by foot through Nancy on their way to one of over two hundred sites, scattered as far north as Tilsit (now Sovetsk, in westernmost Russia). Conditions in these fortresses varied, but many prisoners suffered from a lack of adequate food, clothing, and sanitation, which facilitated the spread of dysentery, typhoid fever, and especially smallpox. Many prisoners did not return home until months or years after the armistice, if they returned at all: seventeen to eighteen thousand French prisoners died in captivity, accounting for about one in eight of the total military deaths on the French side. Communication between prisoners and their families and friends was inconsistent and depended on intermediaries. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) published lists of prisoners of war held in Germany or German-occupied France. Rabbis and journalists gathered letters and mailed them, or passed general news about the prisoners to their communities.

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Women in Nancy surreptitiously gathered prisoners’ names and addresses in order to contact their families. Coralie Cahen, a native of Nancy who had served honorably in the Red Cross during the war, made several trips to Germany in 1871 and 1872 to visit, nurse, and account for thousands of French prisoners of war held in sixty-six different fortresses. Cahen became the link between the prisoners and their families in France. In Berlin, she obtained access to the files of 59,000 prisoners, and she reported their names and status back to Paris. She also interceded on behalf of soldiers sentenced to longer terms for bad behavior and was said to have convinced Empress Augusta herself to allow their release. The French government could do little to help prisoners, but individuals and organizations sent packages to ease their hunger and cold. The ICRC in Basel, Switzerland, coordinated the distribution of packages sent both by individuals and by local committees of the Red Cross, including those in the Hérault. The committee of Montpellier sent thirty-three barrels of wine. Ladies’ Committees sent 4,675 clothing items over the course of the winter, especially shoes for soldiers preparing to march home again. Smaller organizations did not forget the prisoners of war, either. The Comité des Ambulances of Béziers sent two hundred francs when they liquidated their resources at the end of the war, and the Société de Bienfaisance des Dames Protestantes de Lunel sent fifty francs for warm clothes. However, not all of the aid sent could reach particular soldiers. Three hundred forty-two packages sent by the ICRC were returned because they could not find the recipient, and there was no guarantee that packages fell into the intended hands. Although the French government did little to assist prisoners of war, it was able to negotiate their release. The exchange of prisoners began after the signing of the preliminaries of peace on February 26. Prisoners held in Belgium and Switzerland were released by March 20, and the process for French soldiers held in Germany was accelerated so that they could crush the Commune in Paris. Otherwise, the Treaty of Frankfurt, signed May 10, stipulated that released prisoners who still owed service to the French army be sent south of the Loire River. The last wounded soldiers held in Germany were evacuated in August 1871. The prisoners’ passage back through occupied areas of France brought home to inhabitants the extent of their defeat. As a citizen of Lunéville (Meurthe-et-Moselle) reflected later, “One of the most distressing spectacles imposed on our hospitable city was the return of our unhappy prisoners that peace had returned to their homes. Sad debris of the

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misfortune of our army, the glorious defeated, many of whom came to expire before our eyes, these soldiers died leaving their imprint on our soil!” This homecoming symbolized the disorder, lack of unity, and disgrace dogging the early republic, in sharp contrast to the parades and crowds that had welcomed soldiers returning triumphantly from Italy and Crimea under Napoleon III. The return of French soldiers and the process of reintegrating them back into civilian society took months. The new kind of warfare, involving high casualties and mass imprisonment of soldiers, touched soldiers and families in the Sarthe, the Hérault, the Meurthe, and in departments all over France, whether or not they had been invaded.

R

At the end of 1871, the editor of La Sarthe assessed the year past and peered pessimistically into the future. “We need a series of blessed years to repair the misfortunes of the cursed year,” he wrote. France would rise up again, but “it will not yet be in 1872.” The aftermath of any war, even such a brief one as the conflict between France and Prussia, contains a series of small human dramas. Individuals and their families and communities must cope with dislocation, destruction, personal loss, and disappointment. By the summer of 1871, as the inhabitants of the Sarthe, the Hérault, and the Meurthe assessed the war and recovered from its damages, it became abundantly clear that the country had not prepared for such a disaster. With no combat on their soil for over fifty years, few living French men, women, or children had any personal experience with war. Of course, France had endured past wars more devastating than this one, but by 1871 expectations had changed. The French no longer fell prey to famine and were less accustomed to violence in their daily lives than their ancestors. When the war came, improved communications and transportation increased their awareness of others’ troubles without creating a reliable network of relief. Pain and destruction had become less acceptable, but no robust social or political framework yet existed for assessing damage and aiding civilians in times of crisis. No simple solutions to France’s troubles presented themselves in these first months after combat ceased. The timetable of postwar recovery varied significantly from region to region, due to differences in political and economic history, as well as departments’ experiences with the war. No single diagnosis or postwar plan could apply to the nation as a whole. It was not clear whether those in need should turn to the central government, to ex-

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ternal private charities, or to their own community. In some regions, like the Sarthe, French civil society did not show itself to be particularly strong and cohesive in the aftermath of war. Yet during these months, some French organizations improvised plans to address the most pressing needs—sending soldiers home, rebuilding homes, and planting fields—using whatever public or private resources they could muster. Still, many areas of France faced ongoing issues related to the occupation, the influx of Alsatians and Lorrainers, and the proper burial of deceased soldiers. The question of whether citizens or the state were responsible for postwar recovery remained open for debate as the 1870s unfolded.

2

POLITICS, CITIZENSHIP, AND BLAME While farmers reseeded their fields, political conflict between republicans and conservatives sowed new ideas about citizenship that shaped the discussion over the best ways to handle postwar problems. The republicans suffered an embarrassing defeat in the elections of February 1871, but by 1877 they were secure enough to withstand the seize mai crisis and establish the longest lasting French republic to date. How? Republicans proved remarkably able to build alliances across social strata. They capitalized on the old governing elite’s divisions over non-republican alternatives and offered political compromises, such as a stagnant Senate in exchange for a dynamic Chamber of Deputies. Republicans further strengthened their position through financial alliances with the smallholding peasantry and the conservative professional middle class. The cornerstone of these alliances, and thus the foundation of republican power, was the promise of stability: peace with the rest of Europe and social calm within France. Republicans hoped to forge a post-revolutionary France by taming the political practices associated with Jacobinism. In the conception of moderate republicans of the 1870s, universal suffrage was no longer the unmediated expression of the general will, but a controllable means to appease the populace. War was no longer a tool for universal liberation, but a necessary evil to be avoided when possible. Republicans of all stripes redefined themselves as the party for peace. “After the war and the invasion, the legacy of the last reign, France seeks repose,” asserted one republican campaign. “It wants to be assured not only of peace for today, but also of security for tomorrow.” Republican politicians did not advocate revenge on Germany, but rather blamed the disastrous war on Napoleon III’s shortsighted and authoritarian policies. Recovery from the war thus entailed a rejection of rule by one man and the embrace of the republic. Forging a republic meant not only the founding of republican political 38

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institutions through strategic alliances, but also the self-conscious molding of citizens who would become personally attached to these republican institutions. Although the model of citizenship was constantly renegotiated, recent studies have demonstrated that a core ideal of republicanism emerged during the 1870s. The adult male citizen should be educated to vote republican, adopt a secular outlook, serve in the military, and disown disruptive strikes or demonstrations. Republicans’ consolidation of power rested upon their ability to convince the electorate that they stood for peace, and to circumscribe citizenship within a controlled and tranquil realm. Postwar recovery was a political problem to be solved through political means. In opposition, some men of letters sought national revitalization through moral and spiritual atonement for the war. But neither of these definitions of postwar recovery addressed the needs of many French citizens.

The Politics of Peace Republicans in the early 1870s aimed to gain political control of the country after the setback of the 1871 election. Success was not assured in the early years of the decade. Republicans were not a unified political group, divided in the roughest estimation between moderates (Jules Simon, Jules Ferry) and radicals (Léon Gambetta). Republicans also struggled to maintain permanent organizations under the repressive policies of the conservative National Assembly. Nonrepublicans drew attention to the failures of the GDN, which they characterized as dictatorial, unstable, and bellicose. General Auguste Ducrot, who had served directly under General Louis Trochu during the siege of Paris, maintained that he had wanted to end the war, either at the end of October or in December, when Helmuth von Moltke suggested holding talks for an armistice. Instead, the GDN continued a fruitless, destructive war, throwing together armies despite a lack of trained soldiers and supplies. Opponents attacked the ambition of key members of the GDN, especially the “dictator” Gambetta, who held the titles of Minister of the Interior and Minister of War at the same time. Ducrot cited dispatches from Gambetta, which, he claimed, overstated France’s abilities and convinced the GDN to continue the fight. “Yes,” Ducrot concluded, “all the crushing weight of the capitulation of Paris, of the defeat, of the National ruin, must fall back on those who were not afraid to sacrifice the Fatherland to miserable preoccupations of

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person and party!” Between 1873 and 1875, the National Assembly published an inquiry aimed at exposing the dictatorship of the GDN during the war. To counter these attacks, republican politicians capitalized on the mistakes of Napoleon III and the ministers of the Second Empire. In doing so, republicans tried to recast themselves as the promoters of peace and the agents of stability. For Jules Favre, Minister of Foreign Affairs in the GDN, who wished to deflect any criticism away from his own conduct during the war, the case was clear. Simply put, le seul coupable: c’est l’Empire. Two infamous phrases haunted the leaders of the late Second Empire for decades. In a speech to the Legislative Corps on July 15, 1870, Chief Minister Émile Ollivier stated that, despite his own qualms, he accepted responsibility for the war “with a light heart.” Writers and politicians immediately cast this remark as flippant, and it became a symbol for the insouciance of the entire imperial regime. In their eyes, Napoleon III was no more than an adventurer exploiting France for his own ambition. Over the course of twenty years, the empire blindly “perverted consciences by its official candidacies; by the abuse of personal power, it enervated the army and destroyed discipline.” The political process, Albert Sorel wrote, “was partisan, irritated instead of instructed, and the results were rarely worthy of a self-respecting people.” When the war crisis came to a head, Bismarck manipulated the ministers of the final government of the Second Empire. Republican opposition leader Jules Favre called the Legislative Corps’ approval of the war “parliamentary theater,” underscoring the sham of representative government under the empire. By contrast, he argued that the small opposition in the Legislative Corps—Thiers, Gambetta, and Favre himself—had one by one vainly argued against war. The second phrase that tarnished the reputation of the Second Empire was Minister of War Edmond Le Boeuf ’s claim on July 14, 1870, that “We are ready, very ready!” for war, reportedly adding, “to the last gaiter button.” Even before the first engagements of the war, the disorganized mobilization revealed the falseness of this claim. Soldiers arrived first at one place to be equipped and only later joined their regiment. Food, arms, and ammunition were not properly supplied. General Achille Bazaine complained—in part to exculpate himself—“For my part, I never saw a machine gun until my arrival at Metz.” Mobilization moved too slowly. Critics furthermore argued that the imperial government had failed to train officers and military planners, especially in science and geography. One observer claimed, “Nothing prevents a general from proposing for promotion someone who does not know

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the capital of Prussia.” Officers lacked training in decision-making, did not speak German, and generally, it was said, were not screened for honorability. By contrast, Prussian officers were better educated, spoke French, and took better advantage of the telegraph. Overall, the leaders of the Second Empire had failed to prepare the country for the war they so blithely declared. Even the monarchical National Assembly confirmed this belief in a resolution overwhelmingly passed in March 1871. The fall of Napoleon III closed a long, dark chapter for republican journalist Jules Claretie: “The Empire, in 1870 as in 1814, lost France. Two empires, three invasions! It’s a bit much.” Through the early 1870s, the republicans made steady gains in by-elections to the National Assembly. The constitution of 1875 suggested a victory for republican institutions, but with monarchist Patrice MacMahon as the president and a monarchist-dominated Senate, republican power was far from guaranteed. The National Assembly ended its work on the last day of 1875, making way for the election of a new Chamber of Deputies in February 1876. Despite their internal differences, republicans knew that they needed to dominate this chamber. They now relied on their ability to convince voters that they stood for domestic and international stability. Even though voters made their choices based on many factors, republicans realized that their loss in 1871 was due in part to their association with war, from the 1793 levée en masse to the imprudent continuation of the Franco-Prussian War. By 1876, however, moderate and Opportunist republicans alike could claim that they maintained the status quo between monarchists, whose victory would disrupt the government yet again, and revolutionary radicals, whose election would scare investors and damage the economy. In addition, republicans had enough distance from their conduct of the Franco-Prussian War to turn around their hawkish image. A pamphlet supporting Léopold Galpin, candidate for La Flèche (Sarthe) explained the republican position: “The Republic is today the legal government: it is in consolidating it . . . that we can give our country durable prosperity. . . . Look at what this Government has done in the last five years! Did it not, in the middle of difficult tests, carry the weight of a crushing situation, pay our ransom, free the territory, reorganize our army? Did it not vanquish the Commune, re-establish our finances, stimulate business, agriculture, commerce and industry?” To underline the contrast between republicans and conservatives, Galpin added, “A last word: Remember! Remember our problems! Remember their origin!” Galpin won, capturing a seat vacated when conservative Auguste de Talhouët was named

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senator. Even in the Hérault, far away from the war’s battles and the German occupation, republican candidates called for peace. In the arrondissement of Lodève, republican Eugène Arrazat argued that voters ought to choose, abstractly, “peace and not war.” Nationwide, the elections of 1876 continued the trend of republican growth, giving republicans a 340–155 edge in the Chamber of Deputies over monarchists and Bonapartists. In the Sarthe, which had been entirely conservative in 1871, half the deputies elected in 1876 were republicans. In the Hérault, where republicans and monarchists both had a strong tradition, republicans made gains as well: four of six candidates were elected. Four of five deputies from the Meurthe-et-Moselle were republicans. Republicans were better able to convince voters that they—via Thiers—had put an end to the occupation and would do a better job of handling a future war than the conservatives in the National Assembly. The new Chamber of Deputies faced its first major crisis on May 16, 1877. Under monarchist pressure to replace moderate Jules Simon as prime minister, President MacMahon provoked Simon’s resignation. When 363 deputies protested MacMahon’s choice as Simon’s successor, he dissolved the chamber. New elections in October became a referendum on the republic. While recognizing that voters took many factors into account when casting their ballots, republican candidates believed they had a winning issue, and in their campaign literature they emphasized their commitment to peace. On this point, republicans found the president to be a convenient foil. MacMahon was the monarchists’ hope for holding on to power until a true monarch could be enthroned, yet he was a military man who had served the Second Empire. His heightened presence during the campaign of 1877 made it easier for republicans to portray royalists and Bonapartists as sharing the goals of overthrowing the republic, installing rule by one man, and leading France into yet another disastrous war. In the Meurthe-et-Moselle, the war once again became a key issue. Republicans and pro-MacMahon conservatives tried to outdo each other convincing voters that they represented the side for peace. An official government flyer signed by President MacMahon read, “After so many trials, France wants stability, order and peace.” Few voters would disagree, but many did not believe MacMahon was the man to help France achieve that goal. Copies of the flyer testify to the public’s divergent responses. On one, a royalist supporter wrote, “No confidence—You have to know how to command a division to command a great people,” adding, ap-

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parently without irony, “Long live King Henry V”—a puzzling reference to the Bourbon pretender, the Comte de Chambord, who had spent the previous thirty years not in an officer’s tent, but in an Austrian château. On another copy, a republican repeatedly wrote after MacMahon’s name “= Sedan.” At MacMahon’s words, “They tell you that I want to overthrow the Republic. You will not believe it,” the individual crossed out the second sentence and wrote, “It’s the truth.” Republican campaigns repeatedly stressed the peaceful, conservative nature of the republic and invoked the perils of personal rule with express reference to the wars brought by the Second Empire. Republican deputies pushing for peace “to repair the disasters that government of personal rule had accumulated on France” appealed in an open letter to the commercial interests of Lorrainers whose businesses were interrupted by war scares. These deputies promoted their record for peace: they had assuaged any fears that France would become involved in a war in “the Orient” (a reference to the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78), and they had reprimanded the conservatives who desired to restore temporal power to the pope. Now they needed voter support to stay in office and maintain the republic. On the same document, 110 men in the Meurthe-et-Moselle—including municipal councilors, businessmen, and members of the chamber of commerce—signed a response affirming their support. As representatives of industry, commerce, and commercial agriculture, they needed to be assured of reliable transportation, market confidence, uninterrupted productivity, and a steady labor force. They regarded a moderate republic as their best hope for protecting those interests. MacMahon’s power play of May 16 had disrupted their business, and they feared a return to rule by one man. In 1870, the populations in the east “were the first victims of personal government”—not victims of German aggression —“and . . . are particularly interested in maintaining peace.” Without republican promises of peace, these businessmen threatened to direct their political clout elsewhere. Conservative newspapers attempted to undermine the republicans’ claim to promote peace by suggesting a conspiracy between republicans and the “Prussians.” Le Journal de Lunéville wrote in support of MacMahon, claiming that “Prussia has vowed for the success of the radicals in the next elections, because it knows that the conservative party is too prudent and too circumspect to ever offer Prussia a plausible motive for war.” Le Journal du Mans portrayed republican candidates as being at Prussia’s beck and call: “The more

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the elections are radical, the more Bismarck will be content!” Despite these warnings, voters nationwide firmly supported republican candidates in 1877. In the Hérault, republicans were elected in all six districts. In the Sarthe, all the incumbents from 1876 were reelected, although in the Meurthe-et-Moselle one republican lost his seat to a MacMahon conservative. The republican strategy of campaigning for peace and stability had worked. This republican political strategy has two important implications. First, it signals that politicians in the 1870s were not interested in pursuing a war of revenge against Germany. Revanchisme—supposed French antagonism toward Germany during the early Third Republic that unified the country toward the goal of recapturing Alsace-Lorraine—became a powerful historical myth in the hindsight of the twentieth-century world wars. In reality, republicans during the 1870s realized that they needed to embrace peace if France were to regain allies in Europe and glory on the world stage. The Alsace-Lorraine problem did not present an easy solution. An offensive war was out of the question, and a negotiated settlement could not be realistically pursued. The French government only dealt with the issue as a vague hope for the future. Ministers opposed and monitored any domestic calls for revenge, and the government’s relationship with the German empire was one of deference and emulation, not of confrontation and hatred. It was diplomatically advantageous to distance the Third Republic from the wars of the French Revolution, the imperial pursuits of the first Napoleon, and the revolutionary fervor of the Commune. In the words of republican journalist Jules Claretie, republican, free France should approach the rest of the world “not with a sword, but with a torch [of liberty] in our hands.” The second implication of the republicans’ pursuit of peace and their attack on rule by one man relates to their concept of citizenship. Were French citizens of the 1870s considered to be responsible for France’s fate in war?

Citizens and Blame By 1877, the republicans had managed to secure their form of government in part by convincing enough people that they would supply France with the security and stability the voters desired. However, they achieved this goal by defining postwar recovery as a political problem that would be solved by political means. Republicans and monarchists alike blamed politicians and politically aligned generals for France’s defeat during the Franco-Prussian War,

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but their discussions lacked serious debate about specific policies concerning military organization and decision-making processes. Republicans believed that France would recover from the defeat when, and only when, republican political institutions solidified. As a corollary to this position, politicians avoided suggesting that civilians or ordinary soldiers might have acted differently during the war, or might have something to offer the nation in terms of postwar recovery. They did not blame French citizens for any shortcomings, such as lax discipline in the ranks or the disorganized efforts of the French Red Cross. Instead, politicians praised civilians for engaging in such activities as resisting requisitions, cutting telegraph lines, or passing information. In other words, politicians honored individual, spontaneous acts of bravery in the service of the French nation. Similarly, ordinary soldiers were praised for their bravery and sacrifice. During the trial of General Achille Bazaine for treason, prosecutor General Pourcet insisted that “by [soldiers’] tenacity in an unequal struggle, by their courage in combat, by their resignation during privation, by their discipline that could not be shaken in the most extreme situations, they do not cease to be worthy of our glorious past.” Bazaine’s condemnation confirmed that the rank-and-file were not to blame for their leaders’ failures. According to this position, now that the war was over, there was no more room for citizen involvement in war-related activities. The government did not envision any role for women or civilian men as charity workers, even though voluntary associations had raised and distributed aid, and the Red Cross had treated thousands of wounded soldiers during the war. In other words, citizens during the war had made significant contributions to the war effort, but the republican rhetoric of the 1870s denied the importance of citizen involvement. Instead, citizens were only to exercise the vote in order to usher in a post-revolutionary, republican France that would disavow wars of conquest, liberation, and revenge.

S

Not everyone agreed that civilians bore no responsibility for the Franco-Prussian War. Men of letters, who were more likely than politicians to promote the revanchiste cause, also were more inclined to point to the moral shortcomings of their fellow citizens for the causes of the war and its upheaval. Men who viewed the Franco-Prussian War as a clash of nations found persuasive the notion that weaknesses in the French national character had determined the outcome. As historian Albert Sorel put it, “It is against ourselves

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that we must undertake a true and fruitful revenge for the disasters of 1871.” The war was a belated alarm bell. In his first lecture at the Faculty of Sciences in Nancy after the war, Jules Chautard called for the French to “gather ourselves together, humble ourselves, and ask ourselves what the cause of our grief was and what can be the remedy today.” He declared, “Our political faults have basically the same origin; each seeking pleasure in the underworld of material well-being and enjoyments derived in the appetites of nature— each neglected his right, had disdain even for his duties as a citizen.” French moral laxity, continued Chautard, led to a lack of emphasis on science and thus indirectly to the defeat. “If we were betrayed,” wrote professor of history Louis Lacroix of Nancy in his published journal, “it was by ourselves. Everyone was at fault.” During the early 1870s, a laundry list of French character failings was often repeated. According to Ernest Renan, the French suffered from “presumption, puerile vanity, indiscipline, a lack of seriousness, application, honesty, mental weakness, inability to grasp many ideas at the same time, absence of the scientific spirit, [and] naïve and rude ignorance.” Writers in Paris, Le Mans, and Montpellier complained of French “public indolence,” the degeneracy of café culture, lack of “the sentiment of duty” and “respect for rules and authority,” and selfishness in the face of national emergency. Arthur de Gobineau went much further than most critics in accusing the “insolent soldier” of “blatant indiscipline.” He deplored that “the mass of the population, and all the country dwellers, not only refused to help their oppressed native land, but even regarded this refusal as a laudable example of domestic prudence.” It is not surprising that these accusations of generalized moral laxity did not often appear in the Meurthe-et-Moselle, where the average citizen was still living with occupation daily. Authors in Paris and the provinces alike thought that a lack of religion had contributed to the downfall of France. Gabriel Monod believed that secularization lessened fighting zeal. The Papal Zouaves were “beyond reproach” because of their fighting faith, whereas “the absence of truly religious or moral ideas” among other soldiers hampered their efforts. Chautard declared, “Our errors come from the alteration of philosophical doctrines and the abandonment of the religious sentiment. From there, forgetfulness of duty, first toward the Author of all things, then in regard to society, our superiors, our equals, our inferiors and ourselves; forgetfulness that engenders egoism.” Such calls for spiritual renewal were not limited to Catholics. In a letter to all French Jews, Grand Rabbi Isidor of the Central Consistory wrote,

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“Our patrie is our mother. . . . But to regenerate it, let us begin by regenerating ourselves.” For these authors, religious failing was a character flaw with indirect social and military consequences. Without faith and a sense of duty toward God and society, men had no reason to fight selflessly and effectively for the nation. For others, the lack of religion brought the war and defeat directly as a punishment from God. A pastoral letter from Bishop Foulon of Nancy and Toul, paraphrased in Lacroix’s journal, explained, “The chastisement of God in general, and particularly in the present war, are only the healthy severities of a father who knows not to spare the rod on his children when they misunderstand his will, and substitute their caprices for his laws. In sum, it is the Biblical perspective, which alone can divulge the secrets of history and allow us to understand its teachings.” An anonymous author commanded “Catholic Christians, Protestant Christians, Christians of all name and all party, on your knees! . . . Do you know that if war has been unleashed with its terrible retinue of evils, reversed fortunes, extinguished existences, broken hearts, deserted foyers, torrents of tears, rivers of blood, it is—let us not deceive ourselves—because the salt has lost its savor, the light is out, faith has disappeared.” For Abbé Bonnel, 1870–71 was the “proof and the chastisement” that France had not learned the lesson of penitence taught at Lourdes. These beliefs were not isolated, but played an important role in the development of the Third Republic in the rise of pilgrimages, debates over education policy, and the relationship between the church and the state. According to these arguments, moral failing also allowed an opening for radical politics to cause chaos in the nation. Conservatives saw the roots of the defeat of 1870–71 in the cycles of revolution and reaction that had marked French politics since 1789. Gobineau’s remarks on the insolence of soldiers and stingy prudence of peasants derived from the unending political upheavals of the previous century. On February 24, 1871, the anniversary of the 1848 revolution, Louis Lacroix of Nancy noted, “Without this day, we would not have had the Second Republic, without the Second Republic, we would not have had the Second Empire, without the Second Empire, we would not have had the third invasion, and without that, we would still have Alsace and Lorraine, which will be torn away from us tomorrow. Thus, revolution, republic, empire, invasion, dismemberment, such is the circle, or rather the spiral in which we turn without end, sliding closer and closer to the abyss.” Lacroix traced the loss of Alsace and Lorraine back to the revolution of 1848

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and implied that the latest republican revolution in 1870 would inevitably lead to further trouble. He believed that the French needed good primary education to provide a solid base for the country and stop the constant cycle of revolution. Similarly, Baron de Montvaillant noted in his history of the garde mobile of the Hérault that “the unfortunate invasion of subversive [radical and socialist] theories have been only too favorable to the Prussian invasion.” After the Paris Commune, the president of the Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe encouraged his members to determine the “exact formula, the precise definition of moral, economic, and political laws that reign over modern societies. If these laws were better known, a few ambitious perverts would have less of a chance of stirring up the multitudes with nicesounding words or absolutely empty formulas, and we would see civil wars bloody our streets less often.” These conservatives blamed the actions and ideas of a few radicals for France’s seemingly unending domestic and international upheavals. All of these authors shared the belief that the French needed to undergo a moral change in order to reclaim their former glory and regenerate the nation after the punitive Franco-Prussian War. Their solution to these problems was not to create a voting citizenry, as the republicans of the 1870s did, but rather to advocate for a moral nation, created and sustained through the inculcation of moral and religious values, passed down from those who know better.

R

The silences surrounding the political legacy of the Franco-Prussian War reveal as much about it as the ringing trumpet of peace that the republicans hoped would be heard both in the provinces and in Berlin. French politicians were not interested in pursuing a policy of revenge against Germany. Instead, republican candidates for the Chamber of Deputies directly associated recovery from the Franco-Prussian War with the establishment of a republican political regime. The republicans’ claim that they stood for peace and stability contributed to their rise to power by the late 1870s. Republican politicians carefully avoided blaming average soldiers and citizens for any actions relating to the Franco-Prussian War, but some intellectuals believed that the French nation needed to undergo a period of soulsearching and renewal before it would be able to reclaim its place in the world and in the eyes of God. The modes of regeneration that these two groups presented, whether through the use of universal suffrage or through a moral

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refounding of the nation, did not suit the realities of many citizens. Those French citizens who were still living with the trauma of the Franco-Prussian War, whose towns were occupied by German soldiers and who mourned the loss of sons or husbands, were not satisfied with recourse to the ballot box alone or to a renewed moral commitment. Scholar Allan Mitchell describes a “slow dissolution of a whole public ethos” in 1876: “Not since the months immediately preceding the insurrection of February 1848—the Paris Commune excepted—had there been such widespread extraparliamentary activity in France. And the reasons were much the same: a perception that the true interests of many Frenchmen were simply not being represented in the regular political process and a complaint that those who ruled were unable to cope with the nation’s problems.” Under MacMahon, “in a psychological sense, France’s recuperative powers were inevitably placed in doubt.” In the 1870s, citizens saw only “improvisation, trial and error, [and] prevarications” in the National Assembly, instead of real reform and plans for defense. As Chapters Three and Four will illustrate, a different way—the association of individuals in the pursuit of a common goal—emerged, becoming the means that allowed these concerned citizens to effect concrete change related to the occupation and to the commemoration of the war dead. To understand the development of associations during the 1870s, we need to go back to the occupation in the immediate postwar period.

3

OCCUPATION AND LIBERATION Military occupations each operate by different rules and unfold in unpredictable ways. During World War II, the occupying German authorities in France arbitrarily murdered civilians and helped traditionalist, xenophobic forces within France pursue their ideals. Through the course of the war, France deported 76,000 Jews. The terms of that wartime occupation changed according to the fortunes of war in far-flung parts of the world, and it only ended with the invasion of the Allies and a brief but intense civil war. The occupation of France during and after the Franco-Prussian War developed differently. As described in Chapter One, the wartime occupation of 1870–71 was unpleasant, violent, and costly for civilians. Still, it paled in comparison with that of 1940–44. Against expectations, it did not turn into a downward spiral of violence. The end of combat in January 1870 allowed negotiators to determine the extent and duration of the postwar occupation. According to the February 26, 1871, Preliminaries of Peace, the German forces would hold French territory as a security for the French government’s payment of a five-billion-franc war indemnity. Only after the final installment, set for March 2, 1874, would the occupation end (Table 3.1). Nancy, one of the first cities to come under German control, would be among the last to be released. Once the fighting had ended, the conditions of occupation changed dramatically. Interactions between German soldiers and French citizens during the postwar years became relatively infrequent and surprisingly civil. The German occupation authority, with Baron von Manteuffel at the head, carefully coordinated its powers with the French. The German military administration controlled the government of occupied territory during the war itself, but after the armistice the Germans allowed French authorities oversight of the press, the gendarmerie, and elections. French prefects arrived in French Lorraine at the end of April 1871; on the last day of that month, municipal 50

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table 3.1. Occupation and War Indemnity Payment as Planned in 1871 date due As soon as possible, following Feb. 26, 1871

amount of payment due —

departments to be evacuated Calvados, Orne, Sarthe, Eure-et-Loir, Loiret, Loir-et-Cher, Indre-et-Loire, Yonne; Seine-Inférieure, Eure, Seineet-Oise, Seine-et-Marne, Aube and Côte d’Or to the left bank of the Seine

June–July 1871*

.5 billion

Eure, Seine-Inférieure, Somme

Dec. 31, 1871

1 billion

Oise, Seine, Seine-et-Marne, Seine-etOise, Paris forts

May 1, 1872

.5 billion

Aisne, Aube, Côte-d’Or, Doubs, Haute-Saône, Jura

March 2, 1874

3 billion

Marne, Ardennes, Haute-Marne, Meuse, Vosges, Meurthe, Territoire de Belfort

Sources: “Treaty of Versailles, Versailles, February 26, 1871, Preliminary Treaty of Peace between France and Germany,” articles II–III, Major Peace Treaties of Modern History, 1648–2000, ed. Fred L. Israel (Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2002), 1: 646–48; additions and changes from “Treaty of Frankfurt, Frankfurt, May 10, 1871, Definitive Treaty of Peace between France and Germany,” article VII, Major Peace Treaties, 1: 653–54. *“Thirty days after the reestablishment of the authority of the French government in the city of Paris.” Treaty of Frankfurt, Article VII.

elections took place all over France, including occupied territory. Although some towns, including Lunéville and Nancy, continually housed at least two to three thousand foreign soldiers, the German presence in most towns or villages was sporadic. By the end of 1871, when the Germans built their own barracks, their day-to-day contact with the French diminished considerably. As in World War II, French mayors bore the brunt of the task of mediating between the German authorities and French citizens. Thiers believed that mayors often lacked the experience, tact, and language skills to deal with the most delicate issues, so he appointed cosmopolitan, German-speaking Count Charles de Saint-Vallier to smooth out difficulties in the occupied territories. Conflicts usually concerned relatively mundane issues: curfew, drunkenness, or disorderliness on either side. On the occasion of Emperor William’s birth-

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day on March 22, 1872, mayors were cautioned to explain to the populace that gunfire was intended to be celebratory, not a cause for alarm. Even more seriously, French clergy complained that Protestant Germans used Catholic sacred spaces for their services. Altars had to undergo a purifying ritual before they could be used again for Catholic services, but performing such a ritual risked further provoking the Germans. In Vitry-le-François (Marne), somebody persistently pushed back a curtain drawn between Catholic and Protestant sides of the church. In this case, the bishop of Châlons had to turn to Saint-Vallier, since the municipal government, the local priests, and the Germans had not been able to negotiate a binding agreement. No less troubling, the German authorities held the mayors responsible for preventing attacks on their soldiers, while the French protested against German looting and disrespect. The danger that such ongoing, simmering resentments could flare up into renewed hostilities encouraged both sides to speed up the pace of payment and liberation. In the interest of avoiding further conflict, both the French and the German authorities took great pains to punish their own people for the rare outburst of violence. By and large, the occupied French, the German soldiers, and both governments respected the Treaty of Frankfurt and the rule of law. Under such circumstances, the Thiers government was not inclined to encourage any activity that might compromise the peaceful conclusion to the occupation. However, many citizens saw room for intervention into occupationrelated problems, especially the influx of immigrants from Alsace and Lorraine, and the looming war indemnity. New charitable associations arose to address these issues. Unlike traditional charities that helped the chronically poor and marginalized, these associations aided people disrupted by the unusual circumstances of war, including able-bodied male Alsatians opting for France. They also claimed the right to help France itself. Even while occupied, Nancy and the Meurthe-et-Moselle lay at the heart of many of these postwar efforts, pumping resources, people, and inspiration into the rest of the nation.

Alsatians and Lorrainers Opting for France Article 2 of the Treaty of Frankfurt begins, “French subjects, natives of the ceded territories, actually domiciled on that territory, who shall preserve their nationality, shall up to the 1st October, 1872, and on their making a previous declaration to that effect to the competent authority, be allowed to

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change their domicile into France.” Although historians are familiar with this arrangement, it is worth examining for its unique and quintessentially nineteenth-century qualities. The treaty appeared to be a clear victory for proponents of nationalism, neatening political borders so that inhabitants’ citizenship matched their national affiliation. In deference to national sentiment and in order to avoid taking on a restless population, Germany granted Alsatians and Lorrainers the rare opportunity to decline incorporation into their conqueror’s territory. The French nation was supposed to take primacy over regional ties to Alsace and Lorraine, the patrie trumping the terroir. Yet this was not self-determination in the Wilsonian, democratic sense, in which the majority vote decides for all. Instead, the treaty tacitly incorporated the liberal principle of personal choice, whereby individuals took ownership of their nationality and decided it for themselves. The state treated each case separately, without any intermediate group between the individual and the state. In practice, however, the policies toward Alsatians and Lorrainers compromised both nationalist sentiment and liberal freedoms. At the heart of this major administrative undertaking lay the logic of bureaucracy. Individuals could only operate within the guidelines of the policies determined by the French and German national governments. Human lives, however, often did not fit the mold. Could one opt for French citizenship but live in annexed territory? What was the responsibility of a native Alsatian family who had moved to the south of France before the war? Did a man born in French Nancy, but living in annexed Metz, need to make a declaration to remain French? Did a French woman who had married a German have the right to declare herself and her children French? New instructions issued in the Convention of December 11, 1871, made the matter clearer. Anyone born in Alsace or the annexed parts of Lorraine—and only those people, whether living in Alsace or Lorraine or not, including those serving in the French army or in French prisons—would automatically become a German citizen unless he or she declared French citizenship and moved to France. Place of birth became the cornerstone of the policy, not because of an individual’s emotional bond to his or her to homeland—indeed, Alsatians and Lorrainers were invited to leave their birthplace to join the more abstract patrie—but rather due to bureaucratic necessity. It was much simpler for the centralized, bureaucratic state to record and track birthplace using the concrete evidence of birth certificates instead of, say, native language or emotional attachment. This bureaucracy rested on longstanding patriarchal assumptions. The Napo-

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leonic Code had built upon legal arguments dating from the late 1790s that placed familial ties above citizenship. Married women and minors, including young men facing military service for one country or the other, had to depend on their husbands and fathers to choose between France and Germany. Raphaël Dreyfus, for instance, chose the French nationality for himself and his dependent children, including his twelve-year-old son, Alfred. Despite these clarifications, endless questions from persons affected by the policy provoked a flurry of letters up and down the chain of command, from mayors to the Minister of the Interior. When difficult cases arose, the German government always made the final call, usually ruling for German nationality. Establishing the precise number of people who left Alsace-Lorraine because of the annexation is not easy. In rolls compiled by December 31, 1872, the French Ministry of Justice listed 380,810 people deciding to opt for France. Many of these people, however, did not move to France, and they therefore became Germans once the deadline passed. Others made multiple declarations, one before moving and another upon their arrival in France. Furthermore, many Alsatians and Lorrainers had moved into other areas of France long before the war. The population of Nancy was already 15 percent Alsatian-Lorrainer before the outbreak of war. In total, about 130,000 people, or 8.5 percent of the population of the annexed territories, immigrated to France between the summer of 1870 and the October 1872 deadline. The migration continued long afterwards. All told, around 460,000 Alsatians and Lorrainers, or nearly 30 percent of the population of 1871, emigrated from the annexed areas between 1871 and 1910, of which 10,000 settled in Nancy. Those weighing the decision of whether to opt for French citizenship were thus constrained by treaty, family, and bureaucracy, but they still exercised some choice. The decision was painful even for those who already lived within the borders of France. A woman named Marie Clair wrote to her mother from Écouen (Seine-et-Oise), “I hurry to respond to you that having the choice between France and Prussia I prefer to remain French. . . . Adieu, my dear mother.” Those living in annexed territories found plenty of reasons to stay put: emotional ties to the region, the expense and difficulty of packing up and moving a family, leaving friends and relatives, finding employment, and, for many, learning French. On the other hand, Catholics and Jews feeling unwelcome in the German empire were more likely to opt for France than Protestants.

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Young men were the most likely to choose France. Of the 1,007 declarations made in Hérault, adult males made 661 (65.6 percent), although the proportion was smaller in the Sarthe (54.9 percent of 340). In the Hérault, 34.2 percent of immigrants were in the first decade of legal adulthood. Many young men or professional soldiers were not eager to serve in the German military. Of the 376 males with known professions who made their declarations in the Hérault, 41 percent (154) were military personnel; in the Sarthe, the proportion of military men was 37 percent of adult males (69 of 186). Émigrés came from all levels of society, including intellectuals, state functionaries, and workers, but they tended to come from and settle in urban areas. The Société de Protection des Alsaciens et Lorrains Demeurés Français (SPALDF) found jobs for 5,861 Alsatians and Lorrainers nationwide, and only 548 (9.3 percent) were for cultivateurs. Several entrepreneurs, such as lime manufacturer Emmanuel Dulach, opened new branches in Nancy or moved their businesses to France altogether, bringing hundreds of workers along with them. The textile producers Fils d’Emmanuel Lang built a village complex in Nancy for the 396 employees who made the move from Mulhouse. Alsatians and Lorrainers who moved into other parts of France due to the Treaty of Frankfurt thus formed only part of a larger, long-term pattern of migration both before and after the war, and their motivations for opting for France were complex. Nevertheless, these migrants received particular attention from both activists and the state. Charitable organizations took the nationalist component of the policy at its word: Alsatians and Lorrainers deserved aid and special consideration if they chose to leave their homes for the sake of the nation. Although these organizations did not explicitly espouse revenge on Germany for taking Alsace and Lorraine, they encouraged immigration by making the transition as smooth as possible. These organizations are an early example of a robust and organized movement to address postwar problems. Early organizations in border areas responded to an urgent need; Lunéville, for example, temporarily housed some thirteen thousand immigrants, who outnumbered the town’s population. Those making Nancy their first stopping point in France found help as soon as they stepped off the train. The Comité de Secours aux Alsaciens-Lorrains (CSAL) offered free transportation to the interior of the country, helping 13,270 people by the end of 1871 alone. Once they arrived in a particular city, local associations helped them find housing and jobs, and supplied them with food, clothing, and medical

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care. In the Meurthe-et-Moselle, a department with a traditionally high literacy rate, associations encouraged communes to allow Alsatian and Lorrainer children to attend school free of charge. This web of associations helping Alsatians and Lorrainers included both state-funded and private efforts, operating on national and local scales. The government created some organizations, such as the CSAL of Nancy, which was established in April 1871. Private citizens founded and supported others, like the Parisian SPALDF, although these organizations too had ties with the state. Some organizations were mutual-aid societies whose members, at least initially, were primarily recent immigrants themselves. Still others were the work of Catholic committees, such as the Comité des Dames de Sainte-Odile in Nancy, or the Comité des Dames Patronnesses de l’Oeuvre des Alsaciens et Lorrains of Béziers, directed by the local curé. Synagogues and Protestant churches in the Meurthe-et-Moselle welcomed Alsatians and Lorrainers to their new communities with German-language services. This haphazard collection of charitable activities arose because there was little recent precedent for handling such a large influx of war refugees who were deemed particularly worthy of charity due to their patriotic attachment to France. Activists therefore took existing practices and personnel and rapidly wove a new but imperfect charitable network. Funding for these initiatives came from a variety of sources. The government allotted funds to aid newly arrived Alsatians and Lorrainers in Nancy, which the CSAL distributed along with private donations. By the law of December 18, 1872, the government decided to allocate part of the over six million francs that had been raised for the payment of the war indemnity as additional funds for Alsatians and Lorrainers (see below). The CSAL of Nancy received 477,903.85 francs, 77.8 percent of its total receipts, from this fund. The amount of aid peaked around 1872 and steadily decreased throughout the rest of the 1870s. Only the amount earmarked for the education of children increased throughout the mid-1870s (Tables 3.2 and 3.3). By 1876, however, state monies dried up again. Private committees felt a certain amount of pride from picking up where the government left off. The SPALDF, claimed its annual report, “has perfectly responded to the sentiment of the French public at large who never fails to appreciate . . . the real utility of the causes for which their sympathies are solicited.” The leadership of private committees created tight links with politically and socially powerful men and women. The president of the SPALDF, Baron

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table 3.2. SPALDF Expenditures, in Francs, 1872–73 vs. 1875–76 1872–73*

1875–76*

Subsidies

216,000

14,000

Money given to committees on the border (such as the CSAL in Nancy)

Cash Aid

287,000

29,000

236 new families, 586 families with temporary aid, 966 families already receiving aid

Job Placement

5,000

4,000

1,421 people placed

Transportation

27,000

2,000

89 people or families

Housing and Food

55,000

2,000

1,468 people

Clothing

48,000

11,000

3,829 items to 1,888 people

1,000

4,000

1,239 people

10,000

30,000

137 girls and boys in “lycées, collèges or establishments for free instruction”

20,000

See section below

76,000**

See section below

Medical Care Education Orphanage

—

notes

Algerian Colony

108,000

General Expenses

48,000

24,000

—

805,000

216,000

—

TOTAL

Source: AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, Rapport Présenté au Nom du Comité à l’Assemblée Général des Membres Fondateurs Tenue le 13 Mai 1876 (Imprimerie Centrale des Chemins de fer, 1876), 6–17. *Rounded to the nearest 1,000 francs. **Although the other expenses steadily decreased over this period, the expenses for the colonies in Algeria increased to 274,000 in 1873–74 and 271,000 in 1874–75.

d’Haussonville, had been a member of the Ministry of the Interior’s subcommittee for aid to Alsatians and Lorrainers. Other members included former councilors of state, deputies, bankers, businessmen, professors, and nobles, including prominent Alsatians and Lorrainers themselves. Eugène Lederlin, newly arrived professor at the Faculté de Droit in Nancy, and Jules Norberg, director of the publishing house Berger-Levrault, both served on the CSAL in Nancy. Women who wished to contribute to the cause formed af-

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table 3.3. CSAL Expenditures, in Francs, 1871–75* 1871

1872

1873

1874

1875

total

500

17,200

39,000

15,100

2,200

74,000

3,800

174,100

142,200

3,600

5,100

328,800

Aid to New Residents of Nancy

—

19,600

32,500

13,600

3,900

69,600

Medical Aid

—

—

2,500

6,800

5,100

14,400

School and Apprenticeships

—

200

4,500

6,600

10,500

21,800

Housing Construction

—

28,600

4,800

2,300

2,800

38,500

General Expenses

100

7,000

4,600

3,900

3,100

18,700

4,400

246,700

230,100

51,900

32,700

565,800

Diverse Aid Travel

TOTAL

Source: Gourier, Compte-Rendu des Opérations du Comité d’Alsace-Lorraine du mois d’Avril 1871 au 1er Janvier 1876 (Nancy: Réau, 1876), 11–12. *Rounded to the nearest hundred francs.

filiated but separate ladies’ committees. The seventy-six members of the Comité des Dames Patronnesses attached to the SPALDF included the Baroness d’Haussonville and Emma Koechlin-Schwartz (a cousin of Paul Déroulède), both of whom later became leaders in the Red Cross, along with fifteen titled women. Similar committees in Béziers and Nancy also described themselves as dames, certainly not femmes. In keeping with standard charitable practices, the women’s auxiliaries visited working-class immigrant families, distributed goods, and judged whether or not a family was worthy of charity. Despite these overlaps between the state and private organizations in helping newly arrived Alsatians and Lorrainers, each side could undertake tasks that the other could not. The French central government, especially the Ministry of the Interior, claimed certain powers to which private groups were not entitled. Only the government could help, for instance, with handling matters pertaining to civil status. Justine Massenet Mouillebaud lived in Cette, but had been born and married in Château-Salins (the former Meurthe). As a widow, she had the right to request that her only son be exempt from

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French military service, if she could provide a copy of her marriage certificate to prove his legitimacy. Her hometown having been “ceded to Prussia” and the mayor not responding to her letters (written by an associate, as Mouillebaud was only able to sign her name), in May 1873 she asked the prefect of the Hérault to go through the proper channels on her behalf. He obtained the certificate three months later. By 1891, this kind of inquiry had become common enough to warrant the creation of a government form letter. The National Assembly also allowed domicile requirements for voting to be lifted for newly established optants. Matters of citizenship and legal standing, it was long accepted, could only be mediated by the state. In other respects, however, private associations had a freer hand than did the state. The French government constrained itself from encouraging emigration from Alsace-Lorraine, especially after the October 1872 deadline, in the interest of maintaining peaceful cooperation with Germany. The SPALDF had no qualms about promoting emigration and prided itself for filling a necessary role that the state could not perform. As one of its members asserted: “The duty falls again to our Society, born from a private initiative, and consequently free from any political responsibility, to acquit the debt of sympathy, which, in happier times, the country itself would have entirely taken charge.” Despite the SPALDF’s links to the state in terms of its membership, it could only achieve its goals by maintaining space between itself and the state. Private groups also enjoyed more leeway in dealing with orphaned Alsatian or Lorrainer children, although here too the links to the state were not entirely elided. The care of orphans (not necessarily orphaned by the war) was a delicate question. Orphans fell outside of the normal regulations, since they had no parents to make a declaration for them, but the French state could by no means formally attempt to remove them from Germany. Yet that is precisely what Les Orphelins d’Alsace-Lorraine did. Although the state was not officially involved with this effort, the organization’s steering committee included six deputies and a former prefect. The group’s leader, the Marquis de Gouvello, deputy from the Morbihan, decided to seek out orphans in Alsace-Lorraine and place them in French orphanages. With the help of a Nancy-based emigration committee, de Gouvello was able to collect fourteen orphans from Metz within a matter of days. His partner, M. Jehan of Metz, gathered forty more, but Jehan was arrested and held for nearly three weeks for kidnapping. Undaunted, he convinced one of his jailors to opt for France.

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By the fall of 1872, five hundred children had been taken to France and sent to the homes of individual families or orphanages nationwide. Although the state and private organizations each ran into certain limitations, they also worked hand in hand. This relationship formed the cornerstone of an ambitious enterprise: the creation of Algerian colonies for immigrant Alsatians and Lorrainers. The land came from territory recently submitted to French control, through the joint effort of Monseigneur Lavigerie, Archbishop of Algiers (formerly Bishop of Nancy), and Admiral de Gueydon. In June 1871, the National Assembly set aside one hundred thousand hectares of land for the use of immigrant Alsatians and Lorrainers. The French government worked closely with the SPALDF to create and maintain these villages. While the state provided roads, public buildings, and waterworks, the association selected the families to be sent to Algeria and provided them with transportation, animals, tools, and seeds. It also loaned them, interest free, the five thousand francs in cash the government required to cover their expenses until the first harvest. Between May 1871 and October 1873, the SPALDF helped 750 families from Alsace-Lorraine move to Algeria. Despite this promising start, the program only achieved modest results. By 1876, only 180 people lived in Haussonville, despite its “exceptional location,” its potential as “an important administrative center,” and its recent renaming after the president of the SPALDF. A second village, Boukhalfa, created in the fall of 1875, housed only 111 residents. Despite the immigrants’ good will and hard work, the two first harvests failed, and SPALDF allocations dwindled by 1875 (see Table 3.2). Other settlements—Strasbourg, Duquesne, and Bitche—suffered the same fate. The records do not indicate the nature of the immigrants’ interactions with natives of Algeria. The nationality of Alsatians and Lorrainers was based on a particular combination of birthplace, conquest, and individual or family choice, and it was shaped by the logic of nationalism, liberalism, and bureaucracy. Amazingly, this population shift occurred in a relatively smooth and bloodless manner, in marked contrast with the population displacement, genocide, and ethnic cleansing endemic to the twentieth century. Although these Alsatians and Lorrainers were not war refugees in the sense of being forced from their homes by invading armies or to escape violence, charitable organizations mobilized resources as though they were. While the immigration of Alsatians and Lorrainers that occurred as a direct result of the annexation was only a small portion of all immigration from those areas into France during the

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early Third Republic, most charitable efforts to help them adjust took place in the early 1870s as a result of the postwar settlement. Despite their improvisational nature, these associations were able to help thousands of immigrants, with or without the cooperation of the state, demonstrating valuable proof of the power of organizations to effect change. Meanwhile, however, a larger project loomed: the liberation of German-occupied territories.

“Liberating the Territories” The payment of the five-billion-franc war indemnity engendered a lively debate in France throughout 1871 and 1872. Finding this enormous amount in cash would not have been possible. It was the equivalent of paying for the entire midcentury reconstruction of Paris in less than three years. The Banque de France reported its total circulation in late 1871 at 2,317,630,000 francs, and the entire nation possessed only six billion francs in cash. Thiers, Minister of Finance Auguste Pouyer-Quertier, and the governor of the Banque de France, Gustave Rouland, deemed a gigantic international loan offering to be the quickest way to pay the debt without upsetting the French monetary supply. That is, they believed the best way for French men—but not women—to contribute to the liberation was to make individual investments. Such a mechanism was familiar to French investors, but it had never been tried on such a large scale. The government tested the waters with a loan offered primarily to French citizens on June 27, 1871, hoping to raise two billion francs. In a single day, buoyed by the financial gains made during the Second Empire, over 300,000 large and small investors offered to loan nearly five billion francs, of which the government accepted a little over two billion. Chamber reporter Anatole Claveau recalled fondly the day that PouyerQuertier, astonished by the success of the loan, announced the results to the National Assembly: “I have never again witnessed such an explosion of parliamentary joy. It was delirious. Right and Left, united for the first time in this wave of enthusiasm, applauded with the same sincerity and the same spirit.” The success of the first loan boosted the confidence of bankers both in France and abroad, allowing Thiers to negotiate for an earlier end to part of the occupation. The government paid five hundred million francs in July 1871 and one billion over the course of August. In return, Germany evacuated Normandy and Picardy at the end of July, and its soldiers left the Paris region by the end of September. A convention signed on October 12 agreed that

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France would postpone the extension of customs duties to Alsatian manufacturers and pay another half billion francs in early 1872, while Germany evacuated six more departments: Aisne, Aube, Côte-d’Or, Doubs, HauteSaône, and Jura. The liberation was such a high priority for Thiers that he was willing compromise on his protectionism. By the fall of 1871, only six departments (including the Meurthe-et-Moselle) and the Territory of Belfort remained occupied, and the number of German troops in France decreased from five hundred thousand to eighty thousand (see Table 3.4). Despite the success of the first loan, many French citizens doubted that the remaining three billion francs could be raised so easily. They feared that international investors would lack confidence in politically unstable France. More importantly, they believed that the French people needed a symbolic stake in the liberation. Throughout 1871 and 1872, projects and plans for raising the money domestically cropped up in pamphlets, newspapers, and the National Assembly. Claveau later recalled, “There was not a grocery store table 3.4. Actual Dates of the End of Occupation, 1871–73 date of liberation

amount paid

July 1871

.5 billion

August 1871

1 billion

departments evacuated ( months ahead of schedule )* Eure, Seine-Inférieure, Somme (on time)

September 1871

—

Oise, Seine, Seine-et-Marne, Seine-etOise, Paris region (3–4)

October 1871

—

Aisne, Aube, Côte-d’Or, Doubs, HauteSaône, Jura (6–7)

Early 1872

.5 billion

—

Summer 1872

1.5 billion

—

Fall 1872

Marne, Haute-Marne (18)

May 10, 1873

.5 billion

June–September 1873

1 billion

Ardennes, Meurthe-et-Moselle, Meuse, Vosges, Territoire de Belfort (6–8)

Sources: Convention of March 15, 1873, Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, January–June 1873, 207; Mitchell, German Influence, 30–48; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 527–51. *Based on timeline from the Preliminaries of Peace and the Treaty of Frankfurt.

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accountant in France who did not have his own plan.” Often incomplete, convoluted, and unrealistic, these plans shared a desire to balance the practicality of meeting the deadline for payment with a just distribution of the burden. Plans ranged from the simple solution of pinning the cost to Napoleon III and his advisors, to complex taxes and bonds. For instance, one anonymous plan called for a 5 percent tax on all property, including railroads, land, and industry, which the author estimated should garner 7.5 billion francs. Perhaps the arrival of tax collectors “at peasants’ homes every year for twenty years, like a memory attached to the Napoleonic legend, will protect us from new adventures,” he wrote. Savvier planners realized, however, that taxation alone could not hope to cover the costs of the war within the requisite amount of time, and only risked destabilizing the government further. The infamous disaster of the forty-five-centime tax during the Second Republic was not forgotten, and the acceptance of income tax in France lay over forty years in the future. Instead, a number of projects elaborated on the use of public loans. Auguste Sarazin, for instance, argued for investments ranging from one to one thousand francs, paid back at 150 percent of their original worth. The catch? The date of maturity was to be determined by lottery over the course of the following fifty years. In order to pay back the loans, the government would still have to find the money through taxes and investments, but most schemers considered this leaden reality to be the topic of a future pamphlet. These plans, pages upon pages filled with seemingly soulless percentages and numbers, convey the desperate desire of the French to put the war behind them, the need to instruct and punish those deemed responsible for the war, and the democratic belief that the humble grocer just might have the solution that the elite and powerful had overlooked. Of all the ideas up for debate, the popular imagination latched onto a campaign for voluntary donations, dubbed the Subscription for the Liberation of the Territories. The campaign aimed not only to pay off the indemnity, but also to demonstrate the ardent patriotism of the French. This effort would help the country “regenerate” by uniting French women and men across the country to work for a common goal and enabling them to see themselves as more than merely the individual investors that Thiers and Pouyer-Quertier envisioned. The subscription began when women from Mulhouse, which had been annexed by Germany, sent 24,000 francs to the French government in December 1871 to show their devotion to France. Shortly thereafter, another group of Alsatian women, including activist Emma Koechlin-Schwartz,

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began a campaign in France itself. Le Moniteur Universel first published the call for donations, which spread to newspapers across the country in January 1872. Local committees sprang up all over the nation to collect contributions, with the support of banks and newspapers of all political stripes. These committees organized casino nights, military parades, concerts, balls, and doorto-door campaigns. The profits from several books and pamphlets published in early 1872 went to the subscription. The Paris committee, headed by M. Buffet, deputy from the Vosges, spearheaded the effort and provided a centralized bank account for donations, but local committees remained completely self-motivated and self-regulated. In order to make paying a ransom appear patriotic, activists for the campaign did not focus on Germany, but rather turned the subscription into a statement of French unity and resilience. They appealed to all French people: men and women, young and old, rich and poor, from all regions, “white, blue, and tri-colored.” As a movement independent of the government, the campaign tried to avoid any political slant. Abstaining was the sign of a “bad citizen” or “egoism.” Women in particular, “capable of heroic renouncements,” were asked to give their jewels and silverware. Fliers appealed to workers and bosses alike. Catholics, Protestants, and anticlericals all used the campaign to demonstrate their allegiance to France. The Red Cross gave two hundred thousand francs, and the priests of Paris chipped in part of their salaries. Very few donors gave anonymously. In contrast to an earlier emphasis on anonymity as the highest ideal for charity, activists deemed public acknowledgment of participation to be essential to the campaign’s success. The bishop of Montpellier refused to allow priests to ask for money as part of the offering during mass “because we think that these collections where each person can hide the amount of his offering would not be as fruitful as the amount contributed made in the light of publicity.” Despite these efforts, hard mathematics demonstrated that the campaign was untenable. With the population at about 38.5 million in 1871, every man, woman and child in France would have needed to give the outrageous sum of 77.9 francs. Raising one million francs per day, it would have taken eight and a third years to raise three billion francs. Subscription supporters were undeterred. In the same edition of La Sarthe as an article explaining the impossibility of the subscription, one journalist exhorted, “The harder the work, the more we need to persevere; the heavier the burden, the more we need to put our heads, hearts and arms to work.” Many committees quickly adopted

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the practice, originated by the Nancy-based committee, of gathering donation pledges, to be paid only if the campaign reached five hundred million francs. This tenacity was born not of irrationality so much as a desire to make a concrete contribution to the nation in its time of trouble, and to push for citizen involvement in affairs ordinarily controlled by the state. Committees in different departments varied considerably in their levels of participation, amounts raised, and particular ways of appealing for donations. The Meurthe-et-Moselle committee, based in Nancy and supported by the municipal government, was particularly active and organized, and it was relatively successful. After setting the goal of five hundred million francs for all of France, the committee decided that the Meurthe-et-Moselle’s fair share was eight million francs (about twenty francs per person), which was higher than average because of the department’s wealth and its motivation to free itself from the German presence. The membership records include priests, a pastor, and a grand rabbi, as well as editors from six competing local newspapers, which indicates that the subscription appealed across religious and political divisions. Class and gender boundaries within the membership were another matter. Members were required to put up one thousand francs each, so not surprisingly businessmen and professionals dominated the committee. The campaign literature paternalistically suggested, “Each head of household should first pay the contributive part of all the members of his family and his servants.” Following a familiar pattern, women formed a separate Ladies’ Committee that performed much of the work. Despite these limitations on committee membership, the organization appealed to a wide range of men and women for donations. The first list of pledges included both publishing company Berger-Levrault, listed at two thousand francs, and Henry Hacquart, enfant de troupe, who donated the relatively impressive sum of five francs. Women also figured on the list, ranging from upper-class ladies to cooks and servants. Later lists indicate that the campaign focused on group settings, such as the workplace (the workshop of M. Thierry, locksmith) and schools (the École Supérieure de Nancy). Nevertheless, the committee’s goals remained out of reach. Nancy ultimately raised 1,250,000 francs and the department raised 2.4 million, well under the hoped-for goal of eight million. In the Sarthe, the campaign was over before it began. From the beginning, reaction was ambivalent. “Good or bad, this subscription is an idea,” commented La Sarthe lamely. No concrete attempts were made to overcome the

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profound religious and political divides in the department for the benefit of the campaign, or to implement the pledge mechanism. La Sarthe reprinted calls from Le Moniteur Universel comparing the campaign to medieval cathedral subscriptions and equating the occupying Germans to the “infidels” of the Holy Land. This religious comparison was not found in the Meurthe-etMoselle or the Hérault, and it did not prove effective in the Sarthe. The Bonapartist newspaper reprinted articles doubting the campaign’s success next to articles calling for more donations, and it published only one list of eight donors. The radical republican La Feuille du Village only raised 5,483.90 francs by March 12. Still squeezed after the two-month occupation, the Sarthe lacked the wealth, motivation, and organizational sophistication of the Meurthe-et-Moselle. The campaign took on a third character in the Hérault, where it weathered criticism from without and from within. Some outsiders doubted that areas untouched by the war would contribute. Activists in the Hérault used this kind of criticism to galvanize support for the campaign: “Because the Prussians did not come to devastate our vines and burn our houses, are we more indifferent to the unhappiness of the invaded populations?” This kind of rhetoric appears to have been effective in Montpellier, at least among the wealthy, where the average donation on the first list reached almost 3,500 francs. However, some inhabitants of Béziers greeted door-to-door “lady” campaigners with curses, angrily protesting, “We are not the ones who brought in the Prussians.” Decades-old resentment of Napoleon III could not be so easily overcome. In the Rhône, a group called La Démocratie du Rhône refused to support the campaign until the National Assembly agreed to dissolve itself in favor of a constituent assembly, as the only means of truly freeing France from the possibility of future occupations. Universal agreement regarding the war could not be easily achieved outside of the occupied territories themselves. Even at its most successful, the Subscription for the Liberation of the Territories failed to reach its goals. The central government delivered the final blow. First, the National Assembly rejected a motion to open its own subscription. Then, a circular from Minister of the Interior Auguste CasimirPerier in late January advised prefects to be sympathetic yet reserved toward the campaign. Finally, on February 23, new Minister of the Interior Victor Lefranc delivered a negative speech to the National Assembly that permanently crippled the campaign. The government did not want to suppress expressions of enthusiastic patriotism, but given the success of the first loan

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and the good prospects for a second one, the Thiers government did not find the subscription necessary. On the contrary, the campaign might complicate ongoing negotiations for an earlier date of liberation, and a failed campaign might only make French power and patriotism appear feeble. The Thiers government was furthermore reluctant to allow the general population to give this symbolically powerful gift to the state. If accepted, the subscription money would have implied that the general population had a say in the negotiations with Germany and in the functioning of the state more broadly. The liberation campaign thus obliged the government to make a choice regarding the participation of ordinary citizens in the international affairs of the new political regime, and thus ironically helped to harden the line between the state and the citizens. Despite the new regime’s repeated criticism that Napoleon III’s foreign policy followed his personal whims, it did not wish to open the debate too widely. On December 18, 1872, the National Assembly unanimously voted to designate the money the government had received—over six million francs—to aid and educate immigrating Alsatians and Lorrainers, a designation that fit much more closely with existing charitable practices. Meanwhile, to raise the remaining three billion francs, the government had opened a loan offering to the international market in July 1872. Nearly a million investors pledged 43.8 billion francs—twenty-six billion from outside France—of which the government accepted 3.498 billion. It was the biggest loan transaction of the nineteenth century. Minister of Finance Léon Say managed the financial wizardry behind the complex final payments, and French bankers, particularly Alphonse de Rothschild, profited nicely from the resulting commission. Confidence in the French government’s ability to handle the financial burden had come a long way both within France and internationally. The Convention of March 15, 1873, determined the final schedule of payments. Citizens of the remaining occupied departments could look forward to the end of the occupation by the late summer, six months ahead of schedule. The removal of Thiers from executive power in May did not disrupt the timetable. Newspapers across the country reported on the liberation of the last four departments throughout the summer, day by day, town by town. As far away as Cette, the police ordered cafés to be illuminated and allowed them to stay open an extra hour. Yet the French could not celebrate the final evacuation with unrestrained joy. The prefect of the Meurthe-et-Moselle warned the mayors of his department that public festivities might “provoke difficulties or complications” with

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the departing German forces. Furthermore, continued the prefect, the withdrawal was not a victorious moment: “Your co-citizens cannot fail to understand, Monsieur the Mayor, how much public rejoicing would be misplaced, after the misfortune that we have undergone and while our patrie is by consequence left mutilated.” Early on the morning of August 1, while the last four thousand German soldiers marched out, the inhabitants of Nancy stood in silence around Place Stanislas: “The rather considerable crowd, which circled the square, stayed calm, impassive. Not a cry was heard, not a word was said. Nancy remained dignified and resigned up to the last moment.” Once the Germans left, however, it was another matter: “The French flag . . . appeared on the balcony of City Hall as soon as the city gate had been crossed. No need to add that it was warmly welcomed.” The citizens of Nancy anticipated the arrival of French troops on August 5 almost as much as the departure of the Germans. Mayor Auguste Bernard issued updates on their arrival time, counseling patience and calm. It was too long for some sixty to eighty youths, who paraded around the city in carriages on the evening of August 3 to distract themselves from the wait. Finally, the French soldiers pulled into the train station. Charles de Saint-Vallier wrote his farewell to Mayor Bernard and the municipal council of Nancy. The last remaining Germans left Verdun on September 16. The invasion, finally, was over. Citizens all over the country gave Thiers most of the credit for removing the Germans ahead of schedule. The Special Superintendent of Police at Pangy-sur-Moselle (Meurthe-et-Moselle) reported in November 1872, “They recognize unanimously that there is no man in France, not even perhaps in Europe, who has so much experience, who is . . . as well-versed in economic and financial questions as Monsieur Thiers.” When the revised plan for the final payment and liberation was celebrated in March 1873, Thiers was always praised. Le Mans renamed a street and square after him. This gratitude culminated in a statue of Thiers inaugurated in Nancy in 1879. But subscription volunteers, mayors, and investors all over the country believed that the liberation and the immediate physical recovery of France were also due in large part to “the country, over all, whose accumulated savings have furnished and will furnish again a large part of the ransom.”

R

Postwar charitable activities remind us that military defeat and occupation engender more than just hatred for the enemy. These charitable organiza-

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tions sought to create a narrative of the Franco-Prussian War that emphasized French national unity. In reality, the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune had unleashed simmering socioeconomic, political, and religious conflict, and the varying extent of the occupation exacerbated regional differences. Yet the associations described in this chapter tried to bridge—or deny—these deep divisions, and they highlighted only the patriotic calls for national unity and integrity. Organizations based in Nancy and the Meurtheet-Moselle traded on their position at the crossroads of the war, on the new border, in their drives for national support. They considered Alsatians and Lorrainers to be French only, and the liberation campaign called for the aid of all French people—in occupied territories or not, rich and poor alike, across religious and political divides. Postwar charitable activities thus helped retroactively to redefine the Franco-Prussian War. But what should we make of the lackluster outcome of the liberation campaign? Instead of simply judging it a failure, we can profitably use it to gauge the fluid and complicated relationship between the state and associations in the immediate postwar period. The outcome of the liberation campaign demonstrates that the work of civil society remained largely contingent upon the will of the government. War-related associations were by no means completely independent of the state, the cushion that Tocqueville hoped would help ease the transition into a democratic republican government. Prefects, deputies, and former officials from the Second Empire led them, and they depended on state administrative and financial resources. The liberation campaign tried to extend charitable giving toward the French nation, and this proved to be too much of a stretch. It ironically gave the new regime an opportunity to reaffirm the exclusion of ordinary citizens from France’s international affairs and to engage with citizens as individuals, not as members of an association. The Thiers government made it clear that international negotiations concerning war fell under the government’s jurisdiction; organized citizen action only got in the way. The powerful state ultimately carried the day. Yet these postwar charitable activities attest to the continually growing vitality of late nineteenth-century French civil society, which proved much more active than Tocqueville had predicted. Associations did not seek freedom from the state—rather, they eagerly sought state approval and assistance —but they performed work that the state could or would not do itself. They attempted to ease the logistical difficulties and friction caused by displaced people and immigrants when the Thiers government shied away from provid-

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ing immediate support because of its delicate position with Germany or because it was unprepared to take on these new responsibilities. These associations were not entirely new. The organizations providing aid to Alsatians and Lorrainers developed out of existing charitable practices and, in a few cases, out of existing charities. Much of the aid they offered resembled the kind of charity given to the poor and marginalized in the past. But these associations targeted a new population—those displaced by war—and put their money to novel purposes, such as train travel into the interior of France or even colonization in Algeria. Organizational patterns began to emerge that built upon and developed earlier models of charity. The upper social strata dominated the central committees, but the leadership also appealed to women and men across classes. Women formed separate ladies’ committees and emphasized the moral aspects of their work, but they also took the initiative in the campaign to liberate the territories. These women depended on institutions that men dominated, such as banks, newspapers, and the National Assembly, but they nevertheless placed themselves in the forefront of this public campaign and found an audience for their activities. The work of charitable associations during the occupation offers important insight into the amount of power that their members believed to be within the realm of possibility, and the goals they sought to accomplish during these uncertain years. Members of these societies negotiated their rights and responsibilities as citizens in the new, as-yet undetermined political regime. They asserted the notion that individuals ought not to encounter the government separately, but rather should unite in common purpose to achieve their goals. The liberation campaign may have been a brief flash of activity during the unusual circumstance of occupation, but through it, activists honed their arsenal of tactics and strategies for use in future organizations—notably the Red Cross, one of whose national leaders in the 1880s was none other than the cofounder of the liberation campaign, Emma Koechlin-Schwartz. The organizations that blossomed during the occupation of 1871–73 were shortlived and served very specific purposes, but they helped to forge the civilian response to modern conflict. Their efforts were matched and extended by organizations in another field of postwar activity: the commemoration of soldiers.

4

PUTTING THE DEAD TO REST During the tumultuous early months of 1871, many French women took to the highways in search of their wounded husbands or sons. Often they arrived at makeshift hospital wards too late to spend final moments with their loved ones and instead only identified their bodies. The Baroness de Crombrugghe, a Belgian volunteer nurse, recorded in her diary this encounter with a grieving widow: “Two days ago, a young women in mourning arrived at the hotel. She was certain that her husband had been killed at the battle of Spicheren, and she came to reclaim his body. She asked me to help her through the process. It was only after having had the remains of a number of victims exhumed and examining them herself that she recognized the body of the one she sought.” Other mourners, unable to locate the remains of their loved ones, could not even take the small comfort that this horrifying experience offered. When a soldier died, wrote Crombrugghe, he would be thrown “with the other cadavers on a cart, covered with a black flag; [the cart was] driven to one of the city cemeteries, where since September around six thousand French soldiers who died at Metz from wounds or illness have been buried.” Thousands of others were interred on the farmlands and hillsides where they fell, often in mass graves on private property or in communal cemeteries. Those mourning the loss of soldiers in the 1870s found this haphazard and impersonal burial unacceptable. The Ministry of the Interior, mindful of France’s obligations from the Treaty of Frankfurt, tried to set the standard for the commemoration of the dead by maintaining mass, anonymous graves of fallen soldiers. The government drew a distinction between tombs, which held the actual remains of soldiers, and monuments, which only represented the soldiers and their loss. The government claimed control over tombs and usually allowed private citizens to build only monuments. But the government’s efforts fell short of the desires of many French citizens. As early as May 1871, they took it upon themselves to embellish tombs, create monu71

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ments, and hold anniversary masses. They used associations as a tool to help them perform the commemorative activities that would help them to recover emotionally from the war. By the end of the decade a new tradition of commemorative activity had taken root. Along with it, a more sophisticated and robust civil society began to emerge. This chapter and the first chapter in Part II, which also treats commemoration, do not discuss the Hérault because the people of that department did not engage in extensive commemorative activity. This is not simply because battles did not occur on that department’s territory—after all, soldiers from the Hérault died in the war, and soldiers from other areas of the country died in the hospitals of the Hérault. Rather, the people of the Hérault experienced the war differently than their compatriots in the Sarthe and the Meurthe-et-Moselle. For many in the Hérault, the Franco-Prussian War had been perceived more as a positive moment of political renewal for republican municipalities than as a cause of bereavement, and commemoration was not a priority within their understanding of the war’s meaning.

The State Tombs Project By the end of the Franco-Prussian War, about 139,000 French and 52,627 German soldiers had died in battle or due to illness, often as prisoners of war. Most of these soldiers were hastily buried in French territory or in AlsaceLorraine. France and Germany enshrined the principle of concern for soldiers’ burial sites in Article 16 of the Treaty of Frankfurt: “The French and German Governments reciprocally engage to ensure that the tombs of soldiers buried on their respective territories are respected and maintained.” Caring for the enemy’s tombs was, according to the official French report, a responsibility shared by “civilized nations.” In France, the task was entrusted to the Ministry of the Interior, not individual communes or private associations. This provision marked a clear difference from the treatment of the dead in previous wars. During the Napoleonic Wars, soldiers were either buried hastily in unmarked mass graves or not at all. Governments did not step in later to rebury them formally. Two overarching concerns shaped the French government’s tombs project: the need to meet Germany’s expectations, and the desire to centralize and homogenize war commemoration. The unstable French government saw the proper care of the tombs of German soldiers as an important part of its

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attempts to maintain France’s status as a civilized nation in the eyes of Germany and to keep peace in Europe while rebuilding internally. French ministers of the interior insisted that any communication between communes where Germans were buried and the Germans themselves be passed up from the mayor to the prefect to the minister of the interior, over to the French minister of foreign affairs, and then on to the German side. The mayor of Toul was roundly criticized for directly contacting the Germans himself concerning their tombs. More generally, government officials had a stake in defining the power of the state as an entity separate from private organizations and above private interests. Achieving these goals proved a daunting task due to the large numbers of men and burial sites involved. Initially, any negotiations over ownership of burying grounds or payment for use of the land occurred on a case-by-case basis. In Nancy, for example, the city ceded to Germany, without payment, land where Germans were buried. Leaving soldiers buried in privately owned fields, however, presented a problem: even if the state were to buy the necessary few square meters, policing the tomb to ensure proper maintenance would be almost impossible. The law of April 4, 1873, proposed by Minister of the Interior Marc de Goulard, provided the French government’s concrete plan for concentrating, marking, and maintaining the tombs of the war dead in accordance with Article 16. The law called for the central government to acquire land to house permanent soldiers’ tombs, either the land where they were already buried (often mass graves already existing in communal cemeteries) or new territory nearby. The scattered tombs of French and German soldiers buried on private property were to be exhumed and concentrated in these new graves after a delay of five years, following the decree of 23 Prairial of the year XII, after which the owners of property that had been temporarily occupied by a tomb would be compensated. The law also stipulated that the tombs be maintained through annual subsidies to individual communes. The entire project was overseen by Councilor of State Henry Durangel and administered through the prefects, subprefects, and mayors. Goulard modeled the law on its German counterpart, passed on February 2, 1872, which regulated tombs in Alsace-Lorraine. The French government clearly believed this was a case for central intervention, as a project in the general interest affecting public health. In addition, the government wished to take responsibility for its agreement in the Treaty of Frankfurt without adding an extra burden to communes that had already borne the brunt of the invasion and occupation.

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In this process, the government—with the help of mayors and prefects— decided which parcels of land to buy, arranged for the exhumation, concentration and reburying of remains, and calculated compensation for the temporary use of private land. In Lunéville, for example, 283 French and German soldiers were reinterred in separate mausoleums in the municipal cemetery. The municipal council of Lunéville ceded one of the plots to the state for free, but the town was paid three thousand francs for the second plot. Local funeral companies and gravediggers performed the work. They were selected as being “capable, honorable, and the most disposed to conform to the orders of the Administration and to the exigencies of the delicate operation. It was the only way to avoid diplomatic difficulties and to assure the victims of the war of the respect due to their mortal remains.” However, if a family had already constructed a large monument on a tomb buried on private property, the government did not reinter the remains. In 1877, the Ministry of the Interior took the additional step of surrounding each tomb with an iron fence and affixing a plaque engraved with the words Tombes Militaires. Loi du 4 Avril 1873. An iron cross decorated the top of the fence, in contradiction to the Ministry’s own report that the government had decided to avoid “anything that could be considered as implying an inequality in treatment toward any religious confession.” Still, Grand Rabbi Libermann of Nancy was able to prevent the body of his son from being exhumed and marked with a cross. The French and German governments also agreed to bury Protestant French and Germans separate from Catholics whenever possible. The task of building over 12,000 meters of iron fencing, transporting them to 1,652 tombs in almost as many different villages, and constructing these fences on site was so daunting that four private companies refused to accept a contract with the government. Nevertheless, the government official in charge of the operation insisted that the construction of the fences be handled by a single organization. An agreement was finally reached with the Féstugière brothers of the Haute Marne. The government did not simply entrust this task to the individual villages or departments concerned for two reasons. First, it was too difficult to come to an agreement among the departments. Second, the project included the maintenance of German tombs as well as French. As one official wrote, “The German Embassy is following the operation with constant attention. The slightest misstep in precaution would not fail . . . to create diplomatic difficulties.” The goals of maintaining central control and avoiding the anger of Germany remained ever-present.

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The extensive and costly tombs project laid to rest 87,396 soldiers, about half of the 191,627 who died on both sides. Of these soldiers, the Ministry of the Interior was able to determine that 37,859 were French and 21,876 were German. The law applied to 1,438 communes in thirty-six departments, stretching from the Manche to the Jura and up into the Nord. The cost of buying land, exhuming and reburying remains, building the iron grills, and constructing twenty-five ossuaries totaled 2,287,896.21 francs. As was the case with funds for postwar rebuilding, by far the most money was spent on the Seine: 721,919.97 francs, almost one-third of the total. In the Sarthe, 5,914 soldiers were laid to rest in eighty-nine communes, and 9,860 were buried in seventy communes in the Meurthe-et-Moselle, making them the sixth and seventh most expensive departments, respectively. The Hérault did not fall into the scope of this undertaking since no battles were fought on its territory, which indicates that the project did not concern itself with soldiers who died in hospitals and instead focused on those who perished in battle. Once the initial work was completed, around 1880, the French government continued to support the maintenance of both French and German tombs through periodic surveys and minimal annual subsidies to individual villages. The National Assembly voted only ten thousand francs toward tomb maintenance in 1880. The Meurthe-et-Moselle, for instance, received 278.50 francs annually throughout the 1880s, which was divided among twenty communes. More importantly, the government monitored the treatment of German tombs. The French Ministry of the Interior allowed the Germans to build monuments in French territory and tried to ensure that the French populace would not defile them. Neglect caused concern in the highest levels of the French government. The subprefect of Briey had to leave notices at monuments in St-Ail-Habonville that “France asks the French to respect this monument.” Nevertheless, transgressions did occur. A wreath of oak leaves left by Germans was taken from the monument to a Hessian Division near Vernéville. Unknown hands removed the eagle atop the German monument in Mars-la-Tour so many times that by 1888 it was decided to leave it off. The German ambassador to France, Prince von Hohenlohe, kept an eye out for other possible problems. Although the particular decisions made by the Ministry of the Interior depended on the inclination of the man holding the portfolio, the goals of maintaining central control over the tombs and keeping Germany content held for the forty-four years between 1871 and 1914. The French government fulfilled its duty as stated in the Treaty of Frankfurt. The dead were buried,

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and the bushes around their graves stayed pruned. The tombs were fenced off by government decree, removed from any connection with the people who walked by them every day. For thousands of French citizens, it was not enough.

The Sarthe: “All are equal before death” In January 1875, Abbé Charles Morancé, former chaplain to the 33rd Mobiles of the Army of the Loire, visited a field outside the village Chemin-auxBoeufs (Sarthe), where exactly four years earlier he had witnessed one of the closing battles of the war. As he later wrote, “I wanted to see again my Chemin-aux-Boeufs in the snow and cold . . . to kneel at the places where they fell. . . . I wanted to come alone. This dismal place, without a horizon, has for me a gripping solemnity. I recognized the old fir tree that sheltered me for several hours. . . . I love its knotty trunk, its rough bark, its deformed arms.” For Morancé, this sorrowful visit into the past was solitary and intensely personal. Yet Morancé ultimately did not keep his pilgrimage private, but published his account in a memoir. Overwhelmed by emotion and memory, men like Morancé were moved to express sorrow and find solace within a community of mourners. The most visible manifestation of public mourning came in the form of monuments and the ceremonies that surrounded them. Although the practices of building monuments and posting the names of the combat dead date from at least the Year II (1793), they first became widespread in France immediately after the Franco-Prussian War. By 1878, villages and private committees nationwide had erected 349 funeral monuments, and families had constructed a further 88, with additional monuments in Germany, Switzerland, and Belgium. In some regions, such as the Nord or areas that saw intense battle, the number of monuments marking the Franco-Prussian War built by 1914 is comparable to that of the Great War, relative to the number of deceased soldiers. But why choose the medium of monument construction? What gap did monuments fill that individual visits to personally important sites, like Morancé’s pilgrimage to the knotty old fir tree, could not? The culture of commemoration in the 1870s developed within the context of the revival of Catholic pilgrimages and increasing interest in publicly honoring local and national heroes. In addition, over the course of the nineteenth century, the French developed new practices concerning death that focused less on preparation for the afterlife and more on the sorrowful separation of

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the dying from their family. This shift was accompanied by the growth of the funeral industry and by the regulation of cemeteries, which became places for quiet contemplation amid individualized graves. These new practices were not compatible with the anonymous mass tombs necessitated by warfare, and the government tombs project did not fill the gap. As one observer noted, “The work of the State did not at all suffice to satisfy the zeal of the public. . . . Departments, communes, societies, individuals, each formed leagues and associations to give homage to their own and to perpetuate the memory of the local sacrifice.” These monuments and ceremonies addressed a need for spiritual comfort and contemplation in the face of so much suffering. As Jay Winter has argued, mourners pass through several stages of bereavement, from discovery to support and consolation, followed by commemoration. Mourners’ physical presence at the monument or tomb, which did not figure into the government’s plan, played a crucial role in the grieving process. The dead were not buried and cordoned off, but called forth. The significance of postwar commemorative practices extends beyond the process of mourning. The same practical and organizational skills used in the campaign to liberate the territories—building social networks, raising funds, and working with the church, newspapers, and municipal governments— facilitated the construction of monuments. This work further illuminates the cautious relationship between individuals, organizations, and the state in the 1870s. The emotional and personal exigencies of mourning did not necessarily free commemoration from political and religious conflict; rather, the powerful sentiments of grief intensified debates, created unusual alliances, and hardened gender roles. Unlike in the American South after the Civil War, women after the Franco-Prussian War did not become the primary caretakers of commemoration and mourning. In France, men were the custodians of the passage from life to death in both the secular and the sacred realms. In their capacities as politicians and priests, men dominated commemorative activities, from the decisions about where and when they were held, to presiding over masses and delivering speeches. Men led the performance of mourning for other men without expressing concern that they might appear feminine or unmanly. Women could symbolize loss, as grieving mothers or physical representations of the lost provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, but they did not provide solace with actual words. Instead, by creating decorations or providing food for the day’s festivities, women played supporting roles.

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The Oeuvre des Tombes for prisoners of war became first major effort to commemorate French soldiers on a broad scale. Of the 370,000 to 400,000 French soldiers who had been held in Germany, at least 17,000 died in captivity, accounting for about one in eight deaths on the French side. Just after the war, two Cettois, a M. Saint-Pierre and Father Joseph, a former military chaplain to the prisoners of war, founded the Oeuvre des Tombes en Allemagne in Cette to mark these French graves. Much of the money for the project came from the Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires, the original Red Cross organization in France. Working smoothly with the German Ministry of War and over 150 German municipalities, the Oeuvre des Tombes constructed over 170 mausoleums. The central French government supported the Oeuvre des Tombes so long as it limited itself to the care for tombs located in Germany and to prayer services. When it attempted to mark the burial sites of French soldiers in France itself, the government stepped in, guarding its claim to be the sole protector of these spaces. The Oeuvre des Tombes backed away from the effort, but it maintained that the government’s project could not sufficiently preserve the memory of those who died. In the mid-1870s, the Oeuvre des Tombes evolved into the Oeuvre des Prières pour les Victimes de la Guerre, which encouraged local priests in France to establish annual prayer services for soldiers who had died in service. Not all commemorative organizations could be dissuaded from constructing monuments, and through their work these associations either cemented together—or chiseled apart—political and religious alliances. Commemoration in the Sarthe focused on the shock and sadness engendered by invasion and two-month occupation of early 1871, but it quickly became another site for political contestation between conservative Catholics and republican anticlericals. Beginning with anniversary masses held in 1872, Catholic leaders took the initiative in interpreting the war as a warning to anticlerical forces. In Le Mans, Father Stanislas spoke about France’s difficulties and, as L’Union de la Sarthe reported, he “showed us in all that the hand of God. He made us see the extinguished faith, the old French traditions lost, egoism in place of patriotism and the invading demoralization of society. If we want to be reborn, if France wants to recapture its past splendor, it must return to faith.” The radical republican, anticlerical La Feuille du Village disagreed: “But whose fault is it? Certainly not the republicans’ fault.” Political tensions heightened with the placement of a major monument in Le Mans in the same year. The memorial committee aimed to recognize “all

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the children of the Sarthe . . . all those who, under any title, in any fashion, wanted to fight, devote themselves to the common good, [or] die for the patrie. . . . All are equal before death. We ask that the names of simple soldiers be inscribed on this monument just like those of officers or generals, with the same characters, in the same space. . . . No useless distinctions. Inequalities of this kind put distance between classes.” The monument not only recognized those who died, but also attempted to put political and class difficulties exacerbated by the war and Paris Commune behind them. Instead of assigning blame in the manner of politicians, the proponents of this monument wanted to acknowledge the sacrifices of all the soldiers, whether they had died under the Second Empire or the Government of National Defense. Not everyone in the Sarthe could bridge that gap. The conservative L’Union de la Sarthe published Bonapartist La Sarthe’s appeal for donations, emphasizing the attempt at political unity, but the radically republican La Feuille du Village did not, out of disgust for a war initiated by the empire. The winning design, by local artist Cosnard-Fortin, featured an elongated pyramid, topped by a cross and inscribed with the words, “To the soldiers of the Sarthe! Dead for the defense of the patrie,” followed by the names of all the soldiers. Cosnard-Fortin called his creation a monument of “sadness and mourning,” and the cross “the symbol of sacrifice . . . that will give [the soldiers’] devotion and their glorious deaths a particular Christian character.” Care to include all fallen soldiers became the standard for several monuments and plaques in the Sarthe. Although the organizers of such commemorative efforts tended to be non-republican, non-democratic Catholics, they nevertheless emphasized the unique contribution of each of these men to the war. The democratization of commemoration therefore reflected not simply a political change, but a valorization of the individual while simultaneously enveloping individuals into a group, in anticipation of the chanting of the names of deceased soldiers after the Great War. Prefect Charles-Victor Tassin requested lists from mayors of those who died of combat wounds and helped to gather donations. Donations to La Sarthe from large and small contributors reached about 4,700 francs by February 1872. The placement of the monument, however, became a contentious issue. The monument committee originally chose the crossroads at the Butte-auxCanons, part of the Place des Jacobins. Although this location lay close to the center of town, just down the hill from the cathedral and the old city, it was removed enough from direct traffic to be “in harmony with [the monu-

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ment’s] nature and its painful memories.” Neither a cemetery nor a busy public square, the Place des Jacobins provided space “where one can contemplate and remember.” In early 1873, however, the municipal council refused to approve the choice. Mayor Rubillard, a republican often at odds with conservatives, reported that the republican municipal council was simply annoyed that the site had been selected without their input (though in this case Rubillard disagreed with the councilors). The republicans on the council might also have balked at eliding the differences between the empire and the republic over the causes of the war, and anticlericals might have resisted sanctioning a Catholic monument. The refusal signaled a victory of sorts for the popularly elected municipal council over the traditional notables who backed the monument committee, including the bishop of Le Mans and Prefect Tassin. The commission decided on a new site far south of the center of town, at the crossroads of National Roads 23 and 158, known as the Lune de Pontlieue. The municipal council could not block this selection, since it was owned by the state. Not everyone, however, approved of the decision. A local lawyer and reader of La Sarthe wrote Tassin to object that it would be inappropriate to place such a monument in a public place that sometimes featured public fairs, with “bad actors, strolling players, giant women and all the boom boom of charlatans and their music.” The monument would furthermore block traffic, obstruct the view, and, considering that several battles had been fought at that site over the previous century, risk destruction in a future war. Despite such pessimism, the committee built the monument at the Lune de Pontlieue, with the approval and financial support of the central state. There was no inauguration ceremony. The Sarthe’s intense postwar malaise and disappointment dogged even its commemorative efforts. The monument remained at the Lune de Pontlieue until 1913, when anticlerical councilors delayed funds for its restoration until it was moved to its current location in the South Cemetery. In the Sarthe, concern for the dead motivated commemorative activity during the 1870s, but in practice commemoration could not escape political and religious conflict and did not become a widespread, popular activity.

The Meurthe-et-Moselle: Mars-la-Tour in the 1870s In the Meurthe-et-Moselle, commemorative events were generally more common and more widely accepted than in the Sarthe. Monuments were con-

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structed in thirty-two communes by the early 1890s. It was impossible for inhabitants of the Meurthe-et-Moselle to avoid reminders of the war, and they felt more comfortable with the idea of seeing constant symbols of battles— and were more driven to create them—than did people in the Sarthe. In the 1870s, commemorative activities developed through the cooperation of local government officials and the Catholic Church, united for this purpose in the face of enemy occupation, during the same period as the flurry of work to help speed the liberation and settle Alsatians and Lorrainers. Groups dedicated to commemoration thus witnessed or had personal experience with the organizational and social skills necessary for the job. Among all the sites of memory in the Meurthe-et-Moselle—indeed in all of France—Mars-la-Tour stood out. This small village of eight hundred people, just west of the German border, became the center of national interest each year on August 16. The date marked the anniversary of one battle within a series of engagements near Metz in August 1870. From its humble beginnings as a brief prayer service in the early 1870s, the anniversary became a day-long ritualized event that attracted up to twenty thousand visitors per year in the 1890s and 1900s. The battle itself was an undecided affair whose aftermath left many in France bitter and frustrated. The French imperial army, under General Achille Bazaine, met and engaged the German forces on the road between Verdun and Metz, outside of the villages of Mars-la-Tour, Vionville, and Rezonville. The battle ranked among the bloodiest of the war, and indeed of French history to that day, killing or wounding about sixteen thousand men on each side. Many believed that the encounter might have become a decisive French victory, turning the Prussian tide, if not for General Bazaine’s incompetence, long believed to be treasonous. As it happened, the inconclusive battle allowed the Germans to continue gaining ground in France, leading to their devastating victory at Sedan two weeks later. The fields surrounding Mars-la-Tour came to be viewed as the burying ground for both the soldiers who died there and the dashed hopes of the French nation. When new borderlines were drawn, Vionville and Rezonville became German, while Mars-la-Tour remained French. The village lived under the threat of occupation for three years, until the final withdrawal of German troops in the summer of 1873. The people of Mars-la-Tour began to commemorate fallen soldiers soon after the war ended. In the early 1870s, most of the village came, “despite the field work,” to attend a funeral service, and then proceeded to the cemetery

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to lay wreaths on tombs and hear the mayor speak. The ceremony emphasized both the mourning of individuals and the sadness of the nation. A collection began for the building of a monument by 1872, and plans began in earnest after the German withdrawal in the summer of 1873. Two committees, one based in Mars-la-Tour and the other in Paris, addressed their appeals for funds to citizens of all of France, for “the gift of the rich, the offering of the poor, and the sou of the soldier,” as well as to the central government, from which they received six thousand francs and two thousand kilograms of bronze. The monument was built just outside the village, on the Metz-Verdun road, four kilometers from the German border. Frédéric Bogino’s sculpture featured four figures facing east, “an allegorical statue of France, standing up, supporting a dying soldier. The soldier, from his exhausted hand, drops his arms, which are gathered by two young children, destined, according to the sculptor . . . to be avengers.” The woman who represented France expressed “resigned sadness and pride.” On the pedestal below was inscribed: À la mémoire des soldats français morts pour la Patrie dans les journées des 16 et 18 août 1870. Two bronze reliefs, added in 1877, each depicted a scene from the battle, one of infantry, the other of cavalry, featuring high-ranking officers such as General Charles Bourbaki, General Louis-Paul de Ladmirault, and Colonel Henri de Geslin. Finally, the monument included in its base a crypt of sixtyfour square meters. In 1876, following the five-year waiting period required for the transfer of remains, around 1,200 to 1,500 French soldiers who had been buried in small plots throughout the commune were laid to rest in oak chests in the crypt. Following the wishes of the commune and the committee, the minister of the interior decided that German soldiers would be buried in a separate, new plot that the commune ceded to the state. Since the structure honoring French soldiers was both a monument, built on local initiative, and a tomb, falling under the law of April 4, 1873, questions arose immediately over how commemoration would occur at the site. Despite its financial support, the central government worried about Germany’s response. The Ministry of the Interior, responding to the prefect’s request for intervention, nearly cancelled the ceremony for the placing of the first stone of the crypt on May 17, 1875, and the inauguration ceremony was postponed from the anniversary date of August 16 until November 2, the Jour des Morts. “It would be impolitic,” argued the prefect, “in the current state of our relations with Germany, to allow an unusual display and to pronounce

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speeches, at the inauguration of a monument on the extreme border and in front of a population all aquiver for having been torn away from France and giving an ear to all the rumors of war with the foolish hope that an immediate war would return them to their country.” To find a compromise, the prefect turned to religious tradition. The ceremony could take place, but only as a sacred occasion, which legitimized the presence of a large group of citizens and thus, it was hoped, would not provoke the Germans: “In the Meurtheet-Moselle a pious custom, conforming as well to the laws of the church, allows our populations to be present at the benediction of cemeteries. Since the monument of Mars-la-Tour is intended be built on top of a crypt that will receive the remains of our soldiers, the intervention of the clergy to bless this sepulture will conform to the traditions of the region [pays]. . . . I demanded, furthermore, that no discourse be pronounced.” Nevertheless, eight thousand people attended. The prefect and the minister of the interior were mistaken if they believed that they could rein in the ceremony at Mars-la-Tour by requiring the cloak of religious legitimacy. In 1876, the president of the monument committee of Mars-la-Tour, François Pierson, bought an annual funeral mass for soldiers who died in the battle, to be held on August 16. The service was to be concluded with a procession to the crypt of the monument for the absolutions of the dead. The physical resting place of the bodies of the soldiers played a crucial role in this matter. By giving the ceremony an explicit and legally authorized religious purpose, the committee of Mars-la-Tour secured the date of August 16 and established their claim over the commemoration of the battle. Similarly, in 1877, the Committee of Paris chose to inaugurate the newly added bronze bas-reliefs on the same day that Abbé Faller and Mayor Lallemant held a ceremony to bless a funerary chapel and commemorative arch in the church in Mars-la-Tour, followed by a procession to the crypt for the absolutions. No objections could be made to this plan, “especially considering that the solemn occasion had an essentially religious character.” This savvy use of the religious establishment was not entirely cynical, however, but derived from a desire to comfort mourners, to help them grieve together, and pray for the future of France. From 1876 on, the anniversary of Marsla-Tour was structured around the mass, procession, and gathering at the monument, a ritual repeated year after year. Meanwhile, in 1875, a new development profoundly influenced the anniversary ceremony: Joseph Faller arrived as abbé of Mars-la-Tour. Defying the

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stereotype of curé-maire conflict in small-town politics, Faller and the successive mayors of Mars-la-Tour (likely Catholic themselves) cooperated over the organization of the event. It was in large part due to Faller’s efforts that the anniversary of Mars-la-Tour became one of the most important annual commemorations of the Franco-Prussian War. A native of Metz, Faller was about forty years old when he arrived at his new post. As he came to know his parish, he took long walks through the former battlefields, gathering items left behind and talking to local citizens and visitors. They shared with him their memories of battle and told him of their losses: “I was here on the 16th, at the edge of this wood,” said one. “I fell there,” said another. “My father was killed near this road,” said a young man. “I have come to look for the exact spot. Take me there, Monsieur le curé.” [Sometimes,] it was women kneeling in mourning. . . . Mothers would tell him which corps their sons belonged to. Since he knew exactly each phase of the battle, he would indicate right away where the child probably passed, where he must have fallen. And side by side with the poor, desolate woman, sometimes leaning on his arm, they would go to trace the path of the ordeal submitted by the child, dead for his country. Faller decorated the church with war memorabilia found on the battlefield and sent by families, covering the walls with flags, plaques, and ex-votos. Over the altar hung the words Aux soldats français morts pour la Patrie à Marsla-Tour, Saint-Privat, Vionville, Rezonville, Gravelotte et autres environs Metz and the date 16–18 août 1870–71 in large red numerals. Two tricolor flags crowned the display. The church became, and still remains, a space devoted to the war of 1870, a “commemorative church” unique in France. Although Faller often gave the privilege of saying mass and delivering sermons on August 16 to other priests, he remained an animating force in Mars-la-Tour for almost forty years. He constantly sought new ways to commemorate the battle of Mars-la-Tour, expanding the day’s attractions to include a museum and several additional monuments. Faller won many admirers for his conciliatory and welcoming manner, his genuine sympathy, and his constancy in both religious duty and patriotism. In 1907, a police report stated, “He is loved and esteemed by all his parishioners, without distinction of opinion, and enjoys a great and sympathetic popularity in the entire region. He is a liberal, serv-

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able man, with nothing to reproach. His attitude, since the beginning of the ‘Separation’ [of church and state] and at the occasion of the inventories, was correct and discreet; he is not interested in politics.” Faller himself became part of the anniversary mystique. Even while he was still alive, his contributions to Mars-la-Tour became part of the story repeated every year when thousands came to the village on August 16. What meaning did the ceremony at Mars-la-Tour hold for those who participated? It is a tricky question, as the ceremony’s unifying purpose discouraged the recording of personal sorrows and individual memories. One speaker went so far as to claim that “our private sadness, however poignant that it may be, gives way to our patriotic sadness” when facing the monument. Yet repeated refrains in the speeches spoken at Mars-la-Tour, coupled with journalists’ accounts of the anniversary events, provide insight into what the ceremony was supposed to accomplish. Historians, including Antoine Prost, have emphasized that monuments and ceremonies following the Franco-Prussian War “expressed the views of that segment of the public that nursed thoughts of revenge” instead of the opinions of the entire nation and its official representatives. Prost draws a contrast between the period following the Franco-Prussian War and the near-universal spread of war monuments after the Great War. It is true that war memorials in the earlier period were overwhelmingly more prominent in areas, like the Meurthe-et-Moselle, that also tended to be nationalistic. Government representatives eyed commemorative ceremonies warily as they promoted an increasingly militarist message. Nevertheless, these anniversary events expressed far more than simply hatred for Germany. At its origins, the ceremony of Mars-la-Tour attempted to make sense out of the suffering that occurred on August 16, 1870. In particular, it focused on a specific set of the soldiers: those who died in battle. The wounded and sick, or those who simply survived, were usually excluded. However, the speakers at the funeral ceremony mourned all of the dead, not just officers or individuals who performed heroic deeds. On the monument itself, the figure of the anonymous dying soldier towered over the bas-reliefs of generals. Death in battle, that most unnatural of deaths, indicated the greatest sacrifice possible for the nation, while also creating an insurmountable barrier between the soldiers and the living. The fascination with death while fighting overshadowed all other combat activities. In order to make sense of these combat deaths, speakers at Mars-la-Tour

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frequently invoked the notion of sacrifice. Yet sacrifice could not be connected with victory, and any discussion of sacrifice threatened to remind listeners that the causes of the war itself remained contentious. After all, writers and politicians spent a good deal of energy in the 1870s pointing out French shortcomings that had led to the defeat. At Mars-la-Tour, however, such rhetoric was swept aside. In order to avoid implying that soldiers died in vain, speakers at Mars-la-Tour tended not to assign blame for the disastrous war at all. Indeed, political debate of any kind rarely occurred at Mars-laTour, although support for the republic generally went unquestioned. The attendance of the subprefect and the deputy of the arrondissement of Briey was practically ex-officio, but speakers avoided using Mars-la-Tour as an explicit political soapbox or as a campaign stop. Occasionally, journalists from outside the region wished the ceremony would become more political and assign blame for the war. In 1875, a reporter for La République (Hérault) objected that the monument of Mars-la-Tour recalled not glory, but the shame of Bonapartism, which prevented the army from achieving a decisive victory. Significantly, this rare interpretation of the anniversary occurred in a newspaper published far away from the battle itself and thus far away from the need to process the devastation of the war. Speakers at Mars-la-Tour intentionally avoided speaking of blame, ignoring political debates that continued in other contexts, in order to more perfectly ascribe the notion of noble sacrifice to their heroic dead. Instead of casting blame, orators at Mars-la-Tour emphasized the soldiers’ eternal rewards. Only faith in the afterlife gave meaning to patriotic sacrifice. At the inauguration ceremony of 1875, M. Noël, the curé of Briey, asserted, “You are not like those who see in death the annihilation of the entire human being, who say with a revolting cynicism that all finishes at the grave. If that were so, what good would it do to consecrate monuments and songs of praise to the memory of our soldiers? what would patriotism, love and devotion to the patrie be? Vain words. It is in the belief in God and in the immortality of the soul, in the hope of eternal recompense, that the noblest aspirations and most ardent patriotism can occur.” In order for the deaths to have some kind of meaning, those who survived needed to remember them and believe that they lived on in another world. But already in the 1870s, some participants at Mars-la-Tour believed they owed their dead not only prayers, but also a stronger France in the future. On the occasion of the inauguration service, Eugène Ory wrote, “Forget-

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ting would be monstrous. It would be an outrage to the remains of the brave men who rest at the feet of the monument. Forgetting would be the shame of the present, and the ruin of the future.” To avoid such a fate, the French, particularly young men facing military service, were encouraged to learn the lessons of the battle of Mars-la-Tour. These lessons were not the nuts and bolts of military tactics or national policies, nor were they specific courageous deeds that young soldiers ought to emulate. Rather, fresh-faced soldiers were to learn vague notions of heroism and the courage to die to preserve national honor. As early as 1875, it was hoped that “future generations” would learn the “immortal teachings” of “heroic sacrifices.” During the 1870s, mourning for the soldiers who died at Mars-la-Tour overshadowed this emphasis on the next generation of soldiers, but such rhetoric set an ominous precedent that grew in importance as the decades passed.

R

It may be tempting to underestimate the significance of Franco-Prussian War commemoration in the 1870s, since it appealed primarily to those segments of the French population that lived near battlefields. Nevertheless, the debates, emotions, and actions surrounding these activities had widespread consequences for French citizens during the first postwar decade. The French government’s involvement in the burial of French and German soldiers, formulated in the Treaty of Frankfurt and the law of April 4, 1873, signaled an increase in the amount of responsibility the state was willing assume for its soldiers. French citizens debating whether or not to accept a new republic and its push for universal conscription knew they could at least count on the government to attempt to give soldiers a proper final resting place. The successive ministers of the interior hoped that their project of creating and maintaining permanent tombs would sufficiently honor those who died during the Franco-Prussian War. However, by focusing on reactions from Germany, and homogenizing and centralizing the project, the government failed to satisfy many of its own citizens. Despite the Ministry of the Interior’s regulations, town committees headed by local elites succeeded in building monuments and holding commemorative ceremonies. Commemorative activity provided a way for those who viewed the war firsthand and lost loved ones in its battles to deal with personal and collective pain. Since the defeat remained controversial, mourners relied all the more on ritualized activities to assuage their personal sor-

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row. Often, French citizens sought this consolation through a belief in the immortality of the soul, expressed in Catholic funeral services and speeches. Prayer, according to the bishop of Montpellier, was “the best form of memory.” Organizers knew how to avoid trouble from the Ministry of the Interior by using forms that were already known to be acceptable, such as funeral services, and by discouraging overt discussions about politics and revenge on Germany. By the end of the 1870s, Mars-la-Tour had firmly established its anniversary event on August 16. The ceremony’s popularity increased due to the village’s location on the German border, the massive scale of the fighting that the village had witnessed, and the organizational and personal skills of the local priest and mayor. Through the years, the anniversary never lost its local impetus or its Catholic core, but it attracted thousands of visitors, including journalists, deputies, generals, and priests. The central state rarely intervened, and the organizers did not ask for its help. Unlike the politically divisive—and less widespread—commemorative activities in the Sarthe, the ceremony at Mars-la-Tour promoted unity and ignored continued debates over the political and military causes for the defeat. Its organizers avoided the civil divisions exacerbated by the Paris Commune and continued in debates over the postwar political settlement. More than any other postwar activity in the 1870s, the commemorative events at Mars-la-Tour carved a space for a relatively autonomous, meaningful, and influential sector of civil society. Yet commemorative organizations operated in a manner that was not quite the same as those working for the liberation campaign or aiding Alsatians and Lorrainers. The organizations that helped build the monuments in Le Mans or Mars-la-Tour operated as free associations, but their activities allowed individuals to feel themselves part of a religious or national community of mourners. Although not overtly political themselves, these groups represented the danger the nascent republic believed to be lurking in unregulated associational activity: the submission of individuals into the Catholic Church, coupled with a potential threat to peace with Germany. It is little wonder that moderate republicans tried to regulate commemoration in the 1870s.

S

By the end of the 1870s, the combined work of liberal associations, government interventions, religious consolation, and time’s passage had helped to put most postwar needs to rest. The dead were not only buried, but had been incorporated into rituals of mourning that helped bring closure. Farms and

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houses had been rebuilt, Alsatians and Lorrainers had settled, and the occupation had ended. Part II examines new anxieties over an anticipated future conflict that developed during the following decades, and the ways in which complex semiprivate organizations tapped into these concerns and tried to help French citizens prepare for war.

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II

PREPARATION

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5

THE COMMEMORATIVE SPECTACLE Anniversary events and monuments helped French people to mourn their dead in the 1870s, but by the next decade commemoration had, for the most part, done its work. Mourners had passed through the stages of bereavement. Commemorative practices no longer held the same kind of emotional power, and they waned during the early 1880s. Yet in the 1890s and 1900s, commemoration of the Franco-Prussian War surged, and, in some cases, became more popular than ever. What need did this resurgent commemoration serve, decades after the soldiers had died? This chapter focuses on three case studies of commemorative practice, each of which gained national attention: the inauguration of a monument to General Antoine Chanzy in Le Mans; the rise of the Souvenir Français, a national organization that erected local monuments to military heroes; and the transformation of the anniversary events at Mars-la-Tour into a commemorative festival. Like other activities related to war, these commemorative practices reveal tensions between the centralized state and the organizations that claimed to speak for individuals. They also demonstrate a change in emphasis from mourning to celebration. No longer contemplative services that focused on the relationship between the living and the dead, commemorative events were transformed into festive spectacles that emphasized—to varying degrees— local and national unity, renewed national confidence, faith in citizen-run organizations, and the transfer of responsibility for France’s well-being to the next generation. In these commemorative events, the future conscript—the young man from small villages and large cities throughout the country—became a primary focus. In the wake of the Franco-Prussian War, republicans no longer valued the militia-style, spontaneous, and emotionally intense people’s army. The GDN had failed to produce another Valmy, and the Paris Commune crushed any lingering desire for an armed citizenry. The new army turned 93

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away from the militia model to create a larger, better trained, and carefully disciplined fighting force. The expansion of conscription in 1872 and the end of most exemptions in 1889 lent immediacy to the prospect of military service for hundreds of thousands of young men each year. Therefore, instead of looking backward to the Franco-Prussian War, commemorative events in the 1880s and beyond looked ahead to an undetermined future conflict. They thus promoted the idea that France could adequately prepare for war.

Chanzy and the Remaking of Le Mans In the 1870s, the republican municipal government of Le Mans had resisted the placement of a monument topped with a cross in the city center. By 1885, when the city of Le Mans inaugurated an ambitious monument dedicated to General Antoine Chanzy and the Second Army of the Loire, commemoration in the Sarthe had changed. Rather than a Catholic memorial built on local initiative, the Chanzy monument was a secularized, national construction promoted by a Parisian committee. Furthermore, whereas the earlier memorial had recognized soldiers who had died under either the empire or the Government of National Defense, the Chanzy memorial belonged solely to the latter period. It thus became politically charged as a republican monument in this divided department. The moderate republican municipal government embraced the project as part of its remaking of downtown Le Mans. The monument’s inauguration featured three days of sports, military maneuvers, and the presence of distinguished national and international visitors. The concept of commemorating a man and an army associated with the city’s defeat was difficult for some citizens to accept, but it was eventually justified as homage to the soldiers and to the rebirth of France. Antoine-Eugène-Alfred Chanzy (1823–83), a native of the Ardennes, headed the Second Army of the Loire during the last months of the war. The Prussians forced his army to retreat to Le Mans, routing it in battle on January 10–12, 1871. Of his initial army of 100,000, Chanzy saw 25,000 casualties and 50,000 deserters at Le Mans. In an effort to ensure that France would at least maintain an army in the field, he retreated west to Laval, but the armistice a few weeks later foiled his plans for a counteroffensive. In February, Chanzy was elected to represent the Ardennes in the National Assembly, where he was one of the few to protest the armistice. Chanzy became a leading member of the left-center, promoting a moderate republic. He was elected as a

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permanent senator in 1875. His war memoir, in which he praised the bravery of his soldiers at Le Mans, reached eight editions by 1885. Chanzy retained his popularity even among those who disagreed with his politics for having “saved the honor of France in the midst of the disasters of the terrible year.” One journalist even suggested that Chanzy could have “held the Republic in his hand” well before General Georges Boulanger made the attempt. Soon after Chanzy’s death in January 1883, a private committee of friends and military colleagues, headed by Admiral Jean-Bernard Jauréguiberry, began raising funds to build a monument in honor of the general and the Army of the Loire. They appealed to “the patriotism of all, without distinction of opinion, and especially call[ed] on the Army and the Navy” to honor the “hero of the National Defense.” The original appeal did not specify Le Mans as the site of this monument, referring only to “a public place in one of the cities that was the theater of [Chanzy’s] heroic resistance to the enemy.” The municipal council of Le Mans quickly voted in April to give two hundred francs for the monument, and by June the committee had chosen the city as its site. The municipal council, with the support of Mayor Louis Cordelet, soon approved an additional five thousand francs and selected the site at the newly renamed Place de la République. The city envisioned the monument as part of the transformation of downtown Le Mans, which had begun in the late 1870s under republican mayors Anselme Rubillard and Cordelet. During the early Third Republic, Le Mans was becoming increasingly dominant within the department, growing from 50,000 inhabitants in 1871 (10.5 percent of the department’s population) to 69,000 in 1911 (16.5 percent). With the arrival of insurance companies in 1828, 1842, and 1883, Le Mans was also well on its way to becoming the insurance capital of France, and the new city center reflected the town’s modest but modernizing aspirations. The Place de la République, centrally located between the heart of the old city and the prefecture, had been known as the Place des Halles until June 1884, when the market stalls were demolished to make way for new banks, commercial centers, and a post office. The city constructed several wide boulevards near the square, connecting the train station to downtown, speeding traffic along the Sarthe River, and running through a tunnel underneath the high-perched old city to link downtown with neighborhoods across the Sarthe River. During this period the city also constructed a tramway (approved in 1882), acquired its first electric lighting (on May 5, 1887, at the Brasserie Grüber), and built a new mili-

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tary and civilian hospital (opened in 1887). The installation of the monument to Chanzy at the Place de la République became part of the process of transforming the downtown into a well-connected gathering place. Not everyone, however, approved of this choice. In fact, the municipal council selected the Place de la République by the narrow margin of eleven to ten, with one abstention. As with the monument at Pontlieue a decade earlier, many citizens objected to the placement of a reminder of the city’s defeat in the heart of downtown. Petitioners against this choice believed that “on the most frequented square of the city, a statue constantly recalling the moments of progress accomplished would be better in place of that of Chanzy, which will always hold open the most disastrous page of our history.” Mayor Cordelet rejected the petition as too late and unpatriotic. At the time of the monument’s inauguration in the summer of 1885, all three major local newspapers still felt the need to justify it. Journalists emphasized that the commemoration was a way of showing respect to all the soldiers who had fought. Furthermore, it symbolized hope for the future of France. L’Union Républicaine (formerly the staunchly republican L’Avenir) wrote: “Why this commemorative monument of our reversals? . . . Because it is good to maintain in the memory of generations, the recollection of these reversals . . . There are some French, unworthy of the name, taken by a sort of gangrene, who deny all, who decry all,— who deny the Patrie, who laugh at the Flag, who insult those who have served and defended it.” Charles de Montesson, a former wounded officer, criticized those who opposed the monument by evoking the harsh conditions of war that common soldiers experienced: “Where were you, dear critic, in January 1871, when Le Mans was taken? Did you carry a sack, cartridges, and a rifle? Did you have hands blackened with powder, an empty stomach, sunken eyes, body bent over by suffering, feet cut open and bloody in the snow?” Columnist FournierCarville of La Sarthe understood the monument to be a symbol of French healing and the potential for unity: “If we can, without offending our dead, hold this fête on the very earth where they sleep, it means time has extinguished the anger triggered by this sad war, it means we can reopen this lamentable history without reawakening the hatred of the first days. Like flowers on tombs, in our fields, hope can be reborn within us; we have ceased to be absorbed in the bitter contemplation of the past. . . . They all have the right to the honor that the patrie owes to all those who fell for her. Victors or vanquished, it does not matter.” L’Union de la Sarthe agreed that the contrast

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between the celebration and the sad memories of the war was striking, but that “it is good for people, and defeated people especially, to remember.” Like the German states after the Napoleonic Wars, France would rise again one day, and fêtes like this one would contribute to the cause. The municipal council and the Paris-based monument committee coordinated the inauguration ceremony with the advice of commemoration activist Auguste Philippoteaux, who, as the former mayor of Sedan, was accustomed to such events. The three-day celebration, August 15–17, included a military parade, a torchlight parade, gymnastics and fencing exhibitions, a banquet, a hot-air balloon, a regatta on the Sarthe River, concerts, fireworks, and the inauguration itself. The celebration took advantage of the fact that August 15 was a traditional Church holiday, the feast of the Assumption, which during the Second Empire marked Napoleon I’s birthday. The Place de la République and the nearby Place des Jacobins were illuminated at night, and café owners requested permission to stay open late. Decorations included banners, one thousand balloons, two hundred candles, twenty thousand colored glasses and two thousand lanterns. The total cost for the three days reached nearly 25,000 francs. Special trains from Paris, Angers, Argentan, Mamers, and Nantes brought visitors—especially former members of the Army of the Loire—to Le Mans. Gymnastics and music societies from surrounding cities Rennes and Cherbourg also attended. The guest list included politicians, appointed functionaries and other local leaders from the prefect to the heads of the post office, the chamber of commerce, and the lycée. The gymnastics exhibition was supposed to have been presided over by ultra-patriot Paul Déroulède, but he refused to attend at the last minute since he had not been invited to speak at the inauguration. But nearly all deputies and senators from the Sarthe made an appearance, from firm republican Anselme Rubillard to die-hard monarchist Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld. Minister of War General Jean-Baptiste Campenon and Minister of the Interior François Allain-Targé represented the central government. The military sent General François Achille Thomassin, commander of the Fourth Army Corps, seated in Le Mans. High-ranking officers who had worked with Chanzy in the Army of the Loire, including Admiral Jauréguiberry, Admiral Benjamin Jaurès, and General Auguste Gougeard (who had served as Léon Gambetta’s Minister of the Navy) attended, as did members of the Chanzy family. The inclusion of one final guest demonstrates the importance of the ceremony in building the foundation for France’s future

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international relations. A partially encoded telegram sent by the Minister of the Interior to the prefects the day before the festivities read, “I have been informed that the —— will travel incognito accompanied by a ——. I ask you to do the work necessary to assure the border crossing and passage of this —— through our territory.” Decoding the key words revealed that the Chef d’État Major General of the Russian Army and his aide de camp would be attending the inauguration. The appearance of “this high personage” in Le Mans apparently did not go completely unnoticed, as some members of the crowd briefly chanted “Vive la Russie.” In a striking absence, however, clergymen were not on the guest list, nor were they mentioned in most of the newspaper reports on the inauguration. Only La Sarthe noted the presence of the Abbé Charles Morancé, who had been the chaplain of the Second Army of the Loire and later of the Fourth Army Corps. The monument itself, paid for by public subscription, was the work of two sculptors, Gustave Adolphe Désiré Crauk and Aristide Croisy. Public opinion judged Crauk’s statue of Chanzy himself to be “inferior.” La Sarthe found that “the pose is theatrical, the resemblance doubtful; the physiognomy, hard and cold.” But Croisy’s sculpted figures around the pedestal, depicting members of the Army of the Loire in pitched battle and experiencing the sadness of defeat, were “splendid.” The monument inspired admiration and taught “the best social and national lesson to our sons,” namely “patriotism pushed as far as heroism, the sacrifice of life, and scorn for death.” Whatever reservations the public expressed about the inauguration celebration, the monument itself was deemed worthy. But one complaint about Croisy’s figures surfaced five years later. As Croisy himself explained in a letter to the mayor of Le Mans, “I have been reproached for not respecting historical truth. In effect, I represented an African Zouave when it was a Zouave under Charette, or Volunteer of the West who should have figured in this group. Some friends of mine, convinced republicans, are the first to ask me to change the thing. They tell me that one of the glories of the republican government consists exactly in this unprecedented fact, to have grouped at this time, around the national flag, all political parties.” African Zouaves had not participated in the Army of the Loire. Croisy requested permission to change the African skullcap into the képi of a Volunteer of the West, which the municipal council granted. Croisy’s original design denied the participation of Catholic troops in the French Army, whereas republican critics wanted to subsume Charette’s Zouaves into the republic.

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The inauguration festivities provided the opportunity for a few dissenting voices. La Sarthe reported the rumors that a counter-demonstration, whose nature was not described, had been threatened during the unveiling of the statue, but that the police had guarded against that possibility. However, after Jauréguiberry’s speech, some members of the crowd chanted “Dé-rou-lède, Dé-rou-lède,” calling for the leader of the Ligue des Patriotes, who had not been invited to speak. Radical Republicans went the furthest, however, in registering their objections. A small group of radicals (seven, according to L’Union de la Sarthe), including Senator Rubillard, held a counter-demonstration at the monument of Pontlieue, a monument that republicans had originally distrusted, instead of attending the inauguration banquet. Rubillard emphasized the contributions of the “obscure soldiers . . . without other ambition”; he underlined the fact that they had died for the republic, evoking Gambetta, Chanzy, and Freycinet—even though many might have fought and died under the Second Empire during the early part of the war. Radicals in the municipal council had recently been discontented with the Opportunist leaders. Some had argued in sessions of the municipal council for the destruction of the monument at Pontlieue, or to have it moved to a cemetery. It is unclear whether this counter-ceremony was a purely political attempt for the radicals to differentiate themselves from the Opportunists, or an objection to an overemphasis on Chanzy, or a protest against the monument’s placement in the Place de la République. However, the fact that Chanzy had supported the unpopular position of continuing the war after the armistice was not overtly discussed in conjunction with the monument. The Chanzy monument at Le Mans illustrates the evolution of commemorative practice during the 1880s. Instead of mediating bereavement, the inauguration functioned as a secularized, republican, festive event promoting French unity and power both nationally and internationally. Outsiders, not a local committee, built the monument. The impetus came from the Parisian monument committee on the occasion of Chanzy’s death, and Le Mans was not the only site under consideration. The monument was built from a national subscription, and the committee selected the artists, who were not local. The municipal council took charge of planning the festivities, with the central government’s full support. But the monument did not capture the popular imagination. La Sarthe mentioned that the city had decorated only two squares—the Place des Jacobins and the Place de la République (which the newspaper referred to by its former name, the Place des Halles)—

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to point out that the populace had not taken the initiative to add decorations elsewhere. The fête attracted an “enormous crowd” and turned the emphasis from the past to the future, but it was a one-time event that did not inspire subsequent annual festivities. The rhetoric of unity could not hide the political and religious fissures in Le Mans. Without citizen organizational support, it did not become an established recurring event. Yet the inauguration of the Chanzy monument indicates the new nature of commemorative practices, which came into a fuller expression in the Souvenir Français and in the later years at Mars-la-Tour.

The Souvenir Français The Souvenir Français, a well-organized, tenacious, and flexible association, was the single force most responsible for creating a national culture of commemoration at the turn of the twentieth century. A group of Alsatians, displaced to Neuilly-sur-Seine, founded this association in 1887 under the leadership of Xavier Niessen. Through the coordination of local committees under a national umbrella organization, the Souvenir Français aimed to preserve the tombs of French soldiers, transmit their memory to later generations, and promote a glorious France. The organization particularly emphasized the responsibility of young soldiers to safeguard the glory of France in a future conflict. It generally supported the republic, distrusted socialism, and encouraged an ideal of masculine heroism grounded in physical courage. In these respects, the organization’s interests bolstered those of the government of the early Third Republic, although the Souvenir Français pursued them less cautiously than the German-conscious Ministry of the Interior, sometimes leaning toward anti-parliamentarian nationalism. The Souvenir Français thus encouraged the development of a story, repeated over and over again at its commemorative events, in which France, through its new generation of soldiers, claimed to be prepared for a future conflict. Since this organization continually pushed for more commemorative activity, its interactions with the ever-suspicious government particularly illuminate the development of French civil society. The Souvenir Français developed an ambiguous relationship with the French government, separate yet overlapping in terms of personnel, aims, and ideals. Many local committee members and officers were also local politicians. The organization offered municipal councilors a 90 percent membership discount. Auguste Philippo-

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teaux, for example, became president of the Sedan committee after serving as mayor and deputy of the city. The first president of the Souvenir Français, General Jules Louis Lewel, had served as Minister of War. From the beginning, however, the Souvenir Français encountered some resistance from the central government. In 1887, the Minister of the Interior, Armand Fallières, nearly denied the group’s request for formal approval. Given the attention the government had already given to the tombs of soldiers, Fallières questioned the necessity of the Souvenir Français and considered it dangerous to allow the organization to meddle—or even to appear to meddle—with the affairs of France and Germany. The potential for scandal and embarrassment in allowing private groups to dig up and decorate the tombs of German soldiers was too great. Within a week, however, Fallières agreed to approve the Souvenir Français on the condition that its statutes include clauses disallowing its involvement in international affairs, along with the standard prohibition of political and religious debates. Fallières had good reason to change his mind. One of his staff members, Clément de Lacroix, both worked for the tombs project as Director of the Service of Military Sepultures and was one of the founding members of the Souvenir Français. The organization grew rapidly. In 1894, just seven years after its formal approval, the Souvenir Français boasted 28,000 members in 381 committees worldwide. It spread beyond Paris and large provincial cities. By the mid1890s, it had committees in all but six mainland departments, as well as in the colonies, including Algiers, Saigon, Senegal, and in German-annexed Lorraine. At the annual meeting in 1895, the organization celebrated a year’s work well done: 23 monuments inaugurated, 24 in progress, 64 anniversaries and funeral services celebrated, 273 wreaths distributed, and 2,119 names inscribed on plaques. By 1907, it claimed eight hundred local committees worldwide. On the eve of World War I, the Souvenir Français was established as a powerful force in the commemorative landscape. The line drawn between what the state believed to be its own territory, and what an organization like the Souvenir Français could do, was continually debated. In the early 1890s, for example, the villages of Bruville and Batilly (Meurthe-et-Moselle) built monuments to the soldiers of 1870 who died in battles nearby. Part of their plans, promoted in part by the Souvenir Français, called for the transfer of the remains of French soldiers from their crypt, which they shared with Germans, to the new monument sites. Twice the Ministry of the Interior rejected this plan (though the monuments were

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approved): it involved illegal exhumation within village borders, disturbed the dead, and established a bad precedent. In 1893, plans published in the organization’s monthly bulletin prompted Minister of the Interior Alexandre Ribot to remind the Souvenir Français that the government had the sole right to transfer remains and maintain tombs. A few months later, Minister of the Interior Charles Dupuy issued a new decree clarifying that the organization could oversee the creation of new monuments, as long as it worked under the auspices of the Ministry of the Interior and in cooperation with the local community. In a separate letter accompanying the decree, Dupuy explained to the prefects that communes were also still welcome to build monuments, with their own money and subject to approval. Government officials received blanket permission to attend Souvenir Français ceremonies. In an explanation to the prefects, Dupuy reiterated that the government wanted to welcome patriotism in the form of monuments, but he continued to discourage any interference in the tombs themselves. Astonishingly, however, in 1911 the Ministry of the Interior backtracked on this stance under Joseph Caillaux’s watch: he approved Batilly’s revived plan to transfer French remains to its monument. The ceremony was carried out under the auspices of the Souvenir Français and Deputy Grandjean in front of six thousand witnesses in August 1911. Thus, over the course of decades, the Souvenir Français persistently nudged the state’s boundaries on private commemoration. The success of the Souvenir Français was due in part to the energy of Xavier Niessen. Born in 1848 in the Bas-Rhin, Niessen fought in the FrancoPrussian War as a franc-tireur and opted to remain French. Immediately after the war he cofounded and administered a society to help his fellow displaced Alsatians find housing and jobs. He later became an archiprêtre but never took his vows, working instead as a freelance language tutor and a teacher at the Institution de la Confrérie Notre-Dame de Sainte-Croix. Once he founded the Souvenir Français, Niessen gave up his profession to become a full-time activist. Although a succession of prestigious military men served as the titular president of the Souvenir Français, Niessen retained control over the organization. With a zeal that one commentator described as “authoritarianism,” he encouraged the creation of new committees, edited the bimonthly bulletin, and spoke at ceremonies across the country. Both Niessen himself and the published bulletin quickly and widely disseminated models of how to have a monument built and hold a ceremony. The Souvenir Français commissioned a model plaque that could be used by any commune

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that could not raise the funds for a monument, a direct predecessor of massproduced monuments erected following the Great War. Through the central organization of the Souvenir Français, Niessen gave to local committees encouragement, plans of action, and himself as a figurehead. Despite the importance of Niessen and the extent of the group’s international coordination, local committees drove the Souvenir Français. They raised funds for monuments and wreaths, and organized inauguration ceremonies and annual events. They ensured that local conscripts would be present to witness and provide greater meaning to their ceremonies. The national organization targeted military men living in a town to initiate a base of support, and it then extended honorary titles to the mayor and others to gain the good will of local elites. Although men served as presidents and officers of the Souvenir Français, women and children could also join. Members either paid one hundred francs up front or made a commitment of three francs per year for five years—easily accessible for middle-class citizens but almost a day’s wages for the average male worker. The organization nevertheless claimed to be open to a relatively wide range of people, in order to fulfill its mission of transmitting the memory of French soldiers to the next generation. Although it was often associated with Catholicism, it held services in conjunction with synagogues in Paris throughout the 1890s. Indeed, several speakers at Souvenir Français ceremonies emphasized the organization’s inclusiveness. At a ceremony in Lunéville (Meurthe-et-Moselle), for example, a speaker expressed his joy at seeing “true French, who all—civilian or military, young or old, rich or poor, with distinction of opinion or party—hearts beating in unison, are inflamed with the same sublime sentiment, love for the patrie.” The strength of the Souvenir Français was its ability to allow local committees to incorporate their own experiences. Monuments to French soldiers specifically celebrated local people and achievements alongside national events. Its members and local officers, after all, shared common experiences from living in the same town or department. Inauguration ceremonies often took place on the anniversary of a battle, and speeches usually reflected on the significance of that event for the people of that town, as well as for the nation. On the twenty-first anniversary of the battle of Sedan, former mayor Auguste Philippoteaux reflected on the day’s importance for his town. During the battle, he said, “the wounded and dying were brought to us from the battlefields, so many that all of our prepared ambulances, our houses, our public buildings, churches, temple, schools . . . were filled.” Philippoteaux

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went on to assure his fellow citizens that “if the name of our city is unfortunately associated with a national disaster . . . we can all raise our heads proudly, having all done our duty on those terrible days! The battle of Sedan was not just a national event, but also a part of the city’s history that local residents could understand differently than other French citizens. Occasionally, monuments acknowledged the heroism of civilians as well as soldiers, as in monuments to the victims of the sieges of Paris and Belfort. Of course, a particular department’s history and experience during the war influenced the popularity of the Souvenir Français in a given region. It is not a coincidence that the organization was more active in the east and north. Still, the enthusiasm of an individual could spur interest: the Gers was the department with the largest number of members in 1893 (3,490), due in large part to the work of one Commandant Veillon. Therefore, in order to understand the goals of the Souvenir Français, it is necessary to place it in the context of its individual local committees. The Souvenir Français was almost nonexistent in the Sarthe and the Hérault, winning fewer than one hundred members in each of these departments by 1894, although it became a consistent presence at the few commemorative events that occurred in the Hérault during the 1900s. The people of the Hérault did not have a strong impulse to commemorate without having witnessed the battles of the Franco-Prussian War, though of course soldiers from that department died in the conflict. In the Sarthe, the small groups that were interested in commemoration tended to work on their own rather than within the umbrella of the Souvenir Français, a symptom of the relatively less complex associational life in the department. In the Meurthe-et-Moselle, however, where commemorative activity was robust, the Souvenir Français boasted over five hundred members in 1894. Popular Deputy (later Senator) Alfred Mézières, one of the original vice-presidents, boosted membership. The Souvenir Français sponsored or cosponsored numerous ceremonies, monuments, and plaques in the Meurthe-et-Moselle. In the industrial town of Pont-à-Mousson, the organization inaugurated a plaque honoring the 1er Regiment de Chasseurs d’Afrique in 1897. The committee in Lunéville purchased a wreath for the tomb of German soldiers in 1898, demonstrating their acknowledgment of universal human suffering. The Souvenir Français also became an annual fixture at the ceremony at Mars-la-Tour. In the late 1890s and early twentieth century, the Souvenir Français in the Meurthe-et-Moselle became the home of reactionary nationalists. Niessen himself avoided

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overtly political stances, but his members did not always do so. The police carefully reported on speeches by Souvenir Français representatives, noting any antirepublican or antigovernment statements. The prefect discouraged Souvenir Français activity in Lay-Saint-Christophe in 1911 because the board of the association was “composed in totality of elements notoriously known as reactionaries and clericals.” In a speech at a banquet in 1900, a general in Ville des Saintes (Charente-Inférieure) made anti-Dreyfusard remarks. A local Souvenir Français president, M. Branchard, delivered a speech in 1902 criticizing the government’s policy of laicization of education, crying, “They want to inculcate our children with the socialist and anarchist virus, make them hate the army and make them sans-patrie.” The Souvenir Français came to challenge the role of the central government more forcefully than individual local efforts could. It united and encouraged similar forms of commemorative activity, while allowing local experiences and personalities to shape their expression. It extended commemorative activity into areas that did not have it—such as the Gers—and intensified activity in areas where it already existed. The Souvenir Français helped solidify the notion that the state could not handle all aspects of commemoration on its own. Furthermore, although the Souvenir Français fostered remembrance of the Franco-Prussian War, its purpose was not to mourn but to inspire future generations to unify and sacrifice for the sake of France. The organization therefore helped to forge the myth that participation in commemorative events constituted in itself a form of preparation for a future conflict, and it invited individuals in communities large and small to see themselves as part of this process.

Mars-la-Tour: from Mourning to Celebration and Beyond The pinnacle of post-1870s commemorative practice came in the area of the country most attuned to the possibility of a future war. In the decades following the Franco-Prussian War, a system of forts, redoubts, and earthworks turned French Lorraine into one of the most highly militarized regions in the world. The Séré de Rivières system, named for the general who designed and oversaw much of its construction between 1874 and 1910, ultimately included 166 forts and cost six billion francs, all in the name of protecting France from a future German invasion. Within this new landscape, tiny Mars-laTour continued to hold annual ceremonies to mark the battles fought in

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and around the village in August 1870. Mars-la-Tour lay exposed near the German border, yet its commemorative activity became ever more insistent, popular, and festive, defiantly proclaiming France to be ready for combat whenever necessary. The anniversary ceremony at Mars-la-Tour increased in popularity as the decades passed. Although attendance estimates varied by as much as 150 percent, no fewer than five thousand were estimated in any given year, and up to thirty thousand came in 1908 and 1910. Reports agree that attendance was high in 1885, the year of national coverage of the Chanzy monument. The years when France found a new ally in Russia, 1891 and 1892, were also particularly popular. Bands played the Russian national anthem to signal the end of France’s long isolation. Major anniversary years, such as 1895 and 1910, also warranted large audiences. Attendance spiked for more mundane reasons, too: in 1891, August 16 fell on a Sunday, and the harvest had not started yet that summer. In the 1890s and 1900s, a network of associations, local government offices, church offices, and private businesses organized this anniversary. Financial support for the festivities came from private donations, which were processed by the municipality. Abbé Joseph Faller wrote letters to local and national newspapers to encourage people to come and donate money. Each year, two young women, dressed in Alsatian and Lorrainer costume, gathered contributions. Later, the Oeuvre de Mars-la-Tour, founded in Paris by Senator Hippolyte Langlois (Meurthe-et-Moselle), also raised money. The Ministry of the Interior provided funds to keep the monument in top shape due to its location on the border. Private companies, from the railroad to postcard sellers, supported and profited from this anniversary. In terms of its organization, the anniversary at Mars-la-Tour resembled the cooperation of local charities, commune, and church that established schools in the early nineteenth century, anticipating the work of large private companies and mass associations that drove the early tourism industry at the outset of the twentieth. Over the years, the anniversary day added new elements, including a museum, a statue of Joan of Arc, a new church organ, a chapel, and stained glass windows portraying battle scenes, all causes and consequences of Mars-laTour’s enormous popularity. Abbé Faller’s museum, built from funds raised at the anniversary events and inaugurated in 1902, grew out of Faller’s original collection of battlefield memorabilia. Portraits, flags, uniforms, arms, and

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large shells—2,060 items in all—lined the walls or lay in display cases. In 1910, on the fortieth anniversary of the battle, Faller was named a knight of the Legion of Honor in recognition of this work. The anniversary, frequently referred to as a “national pilgrimage” or even a “pious pilgrimage,” shared much in common with contemporary pilgrimages, from its incorporation of railroads and a standardized itinerary to its message declaring the immortality of the soul. The anniversary of Mars-la-Tour became a full day’s event, cast as a journey with particular stages. This mode of telling the story was particularly useful to journalists on assignment in Marsla-Tour. They, like most of the participants, came from outside the village for one day out of the year, arriving on the train in the morning. Those who came early enough could walk a few kilometers to nearby Bruville, which timed its funeral mass to allow participants to return to the one at Marsla-Tour. Next came the procession to the monument to hear speeches by religious and political figures. Members of dozens of associations and clubs marched together, including the Souvenir Français, the Cercle Français de Luxembourg, and the Anciens Combattants de Gravelotte, as well as other athletic, musical, and veterans groups. After the speeches, many spectators visited the museum, while a few dozen dignitaries attended a banquet at city hall. At nightfall, “the mysterious hour when we think of all those who have fallen for their country,” visitors—and journalists—boarded trains back to Nancy, Metz, and their ordinary lives. The average visitor, however, did not actually participate fully in all of these finely narrated events. The parish church, a modest structure rebuilt in 1840, could not hold thousands of people. In an era before amplified sound, it was not possible for all to hear the speeches around the monument. Some did not even attempt to hear the speeches, since they knew the transcripts would be published. Instead of participating in the formal aspects of the anniversary, many visitors used the day to see family and friends, or to enjoy a picnic. In later years, postcard sellers and the post office were swamped with customers sharing the experience with their friends and family. A local guidebook provided a tourist map of battlefields and monuments. The anniversary became unmoored from its unifying and solemn ritual and evolved into a festival, where each participant could pick and choose from an array of activities. The festivities at Mars-la-Tour thrived in the late nineteenth century in part because of the Meurthe-et-Moselle’s prosperity and dynamism. After

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the war, deep iron mines were discovered around Briey, in the northern arrondissement from the former Moselle—including Mars-la-Tour—which was tacked on to create the Meurthe-et-Moselle. A new process for removing phosphorous, developed in the early 1880s, made the manufacturing of steel less expensive. Although the economic crisis that began in 1883 hit the region hard, by the 1890s the Meurthe-et-Moselle had integrated itself into a global economy that was driven by increasingly faster and more reliable transportation networks, expanded banking systems, and colonization. The department benefited from the protectionist tariff system that Lorrainer politician Jules Méline orchestrated in 1892. By 1898, three-quarters of metallurgy in France took place in the Meurthe-et-Moselle. The iron that built buildings, monuments, and even the symbol of French modernity, the Eiffel Tower, emerged from the Aciéries de Pompey in the Meurthe-et-Moselle. Materials from the mines of the Meurthe-et-Moselle fed factories throughout French and German Lorraine, Luxembourg, and the Liège basin. Unlike most of the rest of France, the Meurthe-et-Moselle’s population grew handily during the early Third Republic, from 365,000 in 1871 to 564,700 in 1911, due to the influx of Alsatians and Lorrainers and foreign immigrants, particularly Italian miners, who made up one in nine inhabitants by 1911. Attendees of the annual late-summer gathering at Mars-la-Tour, who enjoyed the wealth, leisure, and transportation to make the journey, saw more to celebrate than to mourn. Not everyone approved of these changes. As with the 1885 monument to Chanzy in Le Mans, critics argued that ceremonies surrounding Franco-Prussian War monuments were becoming overly festive, forgetting their solemn origins. The museum, wrote a journalist for L’Étoile de l’Est, only served to distract viewers with buttons and spurs, instead of evoking the “soul of the dead, floating above the living.” Unfortunately, the ceremony had devolved into “a pretext for drinking binges and political sermons.” Defenders of the event disagreed. From their perspective, the anniversary had not lost its essential mission of honoring those who died at Mars-la-Tour. Commandant Jouatte, a veteran of the battle, found his return to Mars-la-Tour to be an emotional experience that erased the intervening years. Veterans, he said, “still hear bullets whistle and cannon roar.” At this point, Jouatte broke off, overcome by emotion. “Excuse me;” he continued, “If I paused, it is because I am thinking how thirty years ago, at the exact hour that I am speaking, I fell myself, hit by a Prussian shell!” Such was the physical and emotional tug that the anniversary event continued to exert.

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But increasingly, Mars-la-Tour lost its purpose of healing the emotional wounds opened during the Franco-Prussian War. In the late 1880s and 1890s, it became more common for speakers to emphasis unity, Catholic patriotism, and preparation for a future conflict. The controversial orator Monseigneur Charles Turinaz, bishop of Nancy and Toul, a native of the border region of Savoie, spoke openly about his desire for revenge on Germany and his support for Catholicism. He never criticized the government directly, but he moved the crowd with his “storm of flaming, disorderly words” and his theatrical presentation: “His cross trembles, hits the altar. . . . One would say it was the blow of a hammer on a coffin, the coffin of 7,000 soldiers . . . He is like a bishop of former times, jumping on his horse with his cutlass and axes!” In this interpretation of the anniversary, young conscripts were encouraged to fight bravely not only because of the example of the soldiers of the Franco-Prussian War, but also because of the honor they might achieve, both in this world and the next. The subprefect of Briey declared that “if one day, [the conscripts] are asked to make a similar sacrifice . . . they too will have the right to recognition and public veneration.” Turinaz once spoke of the “essential difference in the afterlife” that would exist between the soldier who died dutifully and the one who died in retreat or as a traitor. We have no way of knowing whether or not soldiers at Mars-la-Tour died with courage or cowardice, but speakers were sure that “the defeated of 16 and 18 August did their duty; they saved honor.” Women and older men, who did not expect to become soldiers in the next conflict, were obligated to do their part by maintaining French unity. Mars-la-Tour was supposed to be a lesson to all of France, especially concerning the rift over religion in the secular republic. Turinaz pointed out the union of “religion and la patrie, the cross and the national flag, God and France” at Mars-la-Tour. The alliance between religion and patriotism was made concrete in the commemorative church, where “flags and military emblems were most happily married with religious subjects.” The anniversary of Mars-la-Tour was not a day for “sterile quarrels” that might waken doubts about why there had been a battle in the first place. Even in 1912, when Bonapartism had very few remaining defenders, L’Éclair (Hérault) found it in “bad taste” for Senator Gustave Chapuis (Meurthe-etMoselle) to blame the Second Empire for the loss of Alsace-Lorraine. Like the women who raised money to pay for the liberation of occupied territories during the 1870s, the attendees at Mars-la-Tour were supposed to ignore the

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political, social, and religious fissures in French society. The participants were to remember the dead in order to prepare for the future. With the increasing talk of a future conflict simmering under these claims of French unity, the participation of Germans at Mars-la-Tour became more precarious. Thousands of Germans—both German military personnel and civilians from annexed territory, some of whom experienced the battles as French nationals—attended the event each year. The Germans even built a monument to their dead in Mars-la-Tour in the early 1870s (it was rebuilt in 1909). Yet Mars-la-Tour also attracted the attention of those who still harbored the desire for revenge, such as an anonymous journalist from the royalist-nationalist Le Nouvelliste de la Sarthe, who dreamed of the resurrection of the dead as soldiers ready to face the Germans again, “this time for revenge and victory!” German and French officers were therefore expected to keep their distance from one another. In 1902, a French lieutenant was criticized and reported to the police for showing a group of German officers around the village and having his picture taken with them on the border. But despite the government’s apprehensions about overeager Lorrainers on both sides, no major incidents between French and Germans occurred at Mars-la-Tour in over forty years. Beginning in the mid-1890s, speakers began to report that France had achieved its goals. Rejuvenated and strengthened, morally and physically, the nation was respected internationally once again, as evidenced by its alliance with Russia and its colonial gains. With its reorganized army, France could “say with confidence to the invaders: you shall not pass!” At Mars-laTour, gnawing fears of degeneration due to declining population, alcoholism, syphilis, and tuberculosis—so prevalent among French urbanites, politicians, doctors, and social theorists—were denied or shunted aside. Speakers at Mars-la-Tour believed instead that they had played an important role in the renewal of France. If the ceremony had helped to mitigate grief and provide support for those experiencing bereavement in the decade after the Franco-Prussian War, then it had done its work by the late 1870s. The continued force of the event’s popularity into the twentieth century, encouraged by railroads, newspaper reports, and the increasing distance from the Franco-Prussian War, changed it from mourning rite to patriotic festivity. Even though the wide number of activities related to the anniversary fragmented the experience, the rhetoric of French unity became stronger than ever. By underscoring a French common

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purpose, the fidelity of the army’s newest recruits, and the event’s relative independence from the central government’s control, the anniversary at Marsla-Tour helped to crystallize the myth that French people could, through their own power, prepare for a future conflict. In hindsight, this symbolic preparation was concluded in the spring of 1914, when Abbé Faller, beloved village priest, died and was buried in his commemorative church.

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In the natural course of the healing process, mourning must eventually fade into something else. By the 1880s, memorials to the soldiers who died in the Franco-Prussian War no longer primarily served the purpose of mediating bereavement. Yet, in some cases, commemorative practices continued on for decades. In honor of General Chanzy, the municipal council of Le Mans held a republican inauguration festival in the revitalized city center and claimed to symbolize French unity, but this did not evolve into a lasting and popular commemorative event. Two other forms of commemorative practice bore more fruit. The Souvenir Français asserted its right to commemorate soldiers in the manner it saw fit, even if the government objected at times to its nationalism, its claim over soldiers’ remains, and its appropriation of military displays for its own ends. By participating in the Souvenir Français’s commemorative ceremonies, communities passed on their local memories to the next generation of conscripts. The festivities at Mars-la-Tour promoted national unity—against the odds—and the power of young conscripts to redeem France. Building monuments and attending ceremonies allowed ordinary citizens to feel that they were participating in the rebuilding of France. These rituals solidified the belief that the French people, independent of their government, could in fact prepare for a future conflict. At the same time, French men and women all over the country were beginning to do just that: to train their bodies, gather materials, and arm themselves with the medical knowledge they believed would be necessary to serve the nation when the seemingly inevitable conflict would come.

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GUNS, GYMS, AND CITIZENSHIP While commemorative practices oriented many French citizens toward a future conflict and inspired the idea that they could and should take responsibility for France’s fate in war, French young men participated in gymnastics and shooting societies, which trained their bodies and minds for military service and created an ethos of service, discipline, and responsibility to the state. The Third Republic’s rhetorical, financial, and logistical support for gymnastics and shooting societies—which I refer to collectively as “training societies”—helped to mold disciplined, republican citizens and establish the culture of physical activity as preparation for compulsory military service. Training societies did not have a strong foothold in France before the Franco-Prussian War. In 1869, there were only thirty-six gymnastics societies nationwide, three-quarters of which were located in the eastern departments. The few societies that were active at that time were associated with the German states, where the gymnastics movement had already spawned 2,183 clubs. Only a handful of shooting societies existed in the Meurthe-et-Moselle and the Hérault, and there is no evidence of any in the Sarthe. After the Franco-Prussian War, the number of training societies in France dropped to about twenty, since many of them were located in annexed Alsace-Lorraine. In the Sarthe or the Hérault, there is no evidence for new training societies founded between 1871 and 1882. The rhetoric surrounding the French defeat during the 1870s did not encourage their creation. As we have seen, debates over who was to blame for the defeat pointed to politicians and generals, not the common soldier. No observers blamed the physical performance or the shooting skills of individual soldiers for the loss. But during the 1880s, with recovery work completed, many French people began to rethink the meaning of the Franco-Prussian War. By this time, many French citizens came to believe that national defense must be prepared during peacetime. Furthermore, the responsibility for this preparation ex112

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tended beyond the state to all French citizens. Successive conscription laws, expanded and strengthened in the 1880s, made male sacrifice as soldiers a more prominent part of male citizenship. In the same decade, a new notion entered mainstream discussions: that noncombatant women and men should contribute to a national war effort even before hostilities commenced. Thousands of French men and women, believing at times that war with Germany or Britain was inevitable, became increasingly preoccupied with preparations for the defense of France. Training societies fit this need. Beginning in the 1880s, their numbers rose sharply nationwide, to 251 in 1882 and 900 in 1891. They experienced phenomenal growth during the early years of the twentieth century. Between 1900 and 1913, French citizens participated in at least 37 training societies in the Sarthe, 93 in the Hérault, and 194 in the Meurthe-et-Moselle. Most training societies presented themselves as a means of preparing young men for the rigors of military service to the state: “to form young, able people animated with patriotic sentiments and capable of rendering service to the country,” “to prepare defenders of the Patrie,” and to create “robust soldiers.” The men who joined knew that they would likely serve in the army. Their preparation made the rigors of later military service less of a shock. In an imitation of military discipline, members of gymnastics societies, in their gaiters and caps, followed whistled orders, submitted to roll call, and respected hierarchy. Furthermore, civilian members of societies rubbed shoulders with active soldiers. Some shooting societies were civilian only, but often they were “mixed” groups of civilians and soldiers based in town. The Société de Tir du 122e Régiment of Montpellier had over a thousand civilian and military members in 1891. Joining a shooting society entailed an acceptance of military companions as well as the use of the army’s equipment and facilities. Training societies normalized physical exercise along with militarystyle discipline, equipment, and companionship.

Adolescence and Association Who participated in training societies, and why? Membership across departments was almost exclusively male; only one woman in the Sarthe, the Hérault, or the Meurthe-et-Moselle can be identified as having been a member of a shooting society. Training societies appealed to a wide range of male citizens, but they particularly flourished in urban areas and attracted adolescents. Europeans in the late nineteenth century increasingly believed that ado-

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lescence was a distinct stage in the life-cycle, in which young people prepared for their adult roles while remaining economically, socially, and intellectually dependent on adults and thus protected from serious consequences of their actions. It is difficult to provide precise definitions of childhood, adolescence, and adulthood as they have been understood historically, but most historians agree that by the turn of the twentieth century, “adolescence” was no longer reserved for middle-class males who attended secondary school but could apply to working-class males and females as well. The spread of training societies helped to encourage this solidification of a liminal period between childhood and adulthood. These associations were not for children; nowhere are boys under age twelve mentioned as members. Those over twelve, the age at which most French males completed their schooling, could join gymnastics associations in their own right. A schoolboy wrote the statutes for La Languedocienne, a gymnastics society in Béziers, in his notebook preprinted with the multiplication tables and a map of France. Shooting societies sometimes created a special category of “pupils” for youths who had not yet gone into the military. Adolescents could therefore join shooting societies, but only at a lower, tutelary status. The upper age limit is harder to place. Although many young workers would have seen themselves as adults after completing an apprenticeship around age eighteen, two other ages appear more important in training society membership data: age twenty, when young males were conscripted into the army and thus transitioned from “pupil” to “member” status upon completion of service, and age twenty-five, when men could marry without parental consent. Age data for founding members suggest that gymnastics organizations did not attract many members above the marriageable age of twenty-five. Shooting societies, in contrast, drew in older members as well as pupils. For young men from a variety of backgrounds, these societies helped ease their transition to adulthood, prepare them for military service, and solidify the values of acceptable social interactions, all under the guidance of adults and republican institutions. Participating in athletics allowed young men who did not yet have the means to be financially independent or start a family to assert their position in French society, apart from women, family, and the workplace. Training societies also offered a corrective to the dangers of modern industrial society. Commentators argued that the nation and the family were in danger due the falling birthrate, alcoholism, tuberculosis, prostitution, and suicide, not to mention the perils of a sedentary lifestyle caused by too much

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luxury, education, and cerebral activity. At the heart of these social ills was the male body. Scholars today, notably Christopher Forth, have identified the tension between nineteenth-century notions of virility and civilization. Civilization, believed some observers, came about from the denial of physical needs and brute desires, in combination with the elevation of intellectual activity alongside luxury and refined manners. Ironically, other observers believed that those same cerebral and refined characteristics caused the weakening of the male body and thus led to the flabby degeneration of civilization. Most commentators at the time did not perceive this contradiction. Advocates of training societies believed they had found a response to the crisis of masculinity, one that provided the simple solution of building up muscle and discipline. Male physical strength, to their minds, formed a bastion against the degenerative forces that threatened the entire nation. They ignored the possibility that such activities, in their focus on the tough and disciplined male body, might undermine a more cerebral definition of civilization. The young were perceived to be particularly important in this battle. While adolescent females were expected to prepare to give birth and raise children, their male counterparts were to train for combat. Since the percentage of French citizens under age twenty-one was smaller than in any other European country, it was particularly important that these precious young men be as fit as possible for military service and be socialized to support the republic. Male adolescence in the context of the early Third Republic therefore could not be dissociated from military service. The links between adolescence, training societies, and military service became most explicit in public conscription rituals. Members of training societies of Nancy joined the conscripts of the class of 1890 to place a wreath on the monument to the soldiers who had died in 1870, a striking contrast with non-nationalistic conscript rites prior to 1870. A young shoemaker named Vuillaume spoke of their “duty and right” to serve France in the future. In the 1900s, training societies became increasingly cozy with veterans’ organizations. For example, they participated in various local ceremonies in 1913 when veterans received a medal commemorating their efforts during the Franco-Prussian War. In Le Mans alone, fifty-two training societies from surrounding departments witnessed the distribution of medals. Let’s look more carefully at the youths attracted to training societies. For a shooting society to thrive, it required a critical mass of its members to find the time and resources to meet several times a month during the spring and

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summer, and to participate in competitive demonstrations at the end of the season. Urban associations, therefore, benefited from the greater leisure time, better transportation, and higher concentration of possible members found in cities. Furthermore, urban participants, severed from traditional forms of entertainment and looking to create new roots, sought additional physical activities in order to attain a properly masculine physique. Societies formed in the prefecture first and generally spread next to subprefectures, then the capitals of cantons, and finally to small villages. Urban societies lasted longer than rural ones, too. The few rural-based societies that existed in the Hérault, for example, ceased to be active within a few years of their founding. Nationwide, the departments with the most training societies included the Seine, the Nord, and the Gironde, which were densely populated and highly urbanized departments. More training societies flourished in the highly urban Meurthe-et-Moselle and Hérault than in the largely rural Sarthe (see Table 6.1). Rural Corrèze ranked last in the number of societies. It is more difficult to pinpoint the influence of class on young participants in training societies. Although the bourgeoisie dominated voluntary associations more generally in the early to mid-nineteenth century, the petite bourgeoisie formed societies centered on the values of “steady employment, patritable 6.1. Correlation between Urbanites and Training Societies  urban, 1911

 urbanites, 1911

 training societies, 1900–1913

60

336,000

194

Hérault

60 (1906)

250,000

93

Sarthe

28

100,000

37

Meurthe-etMoselle

Sources: Meurthe-et-Moselle: François Roth, Encyclopédie Illustrée de la Lorraine. Vol. 4:1. “L’Époque contemporaine: De la Révolution à la Grande Guerre” (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, Éditions Serpenoise, 1992), 183. Hérault: Jean Sagnes, “Gauche Marxiste et Gauche Jacobine en Bitterois à Travers les Campagnes de Marcel Cachin et Louis Lafferre en 1906,” in Droite et Gauche de 1789 à Nos Jours (Montpellier: Centre d’Histoire Contemporaine du Languedoc Méditerranéen et du Roussillon, 1975), 236. Sarthe: André Lévy, dir., La Sarthe des Origines à Nos Jours (Saint-Jeand’Angély: Éditions Bordessoules, 1983), 295. Note: All of these numbers include school-based societies. AD M-et-M, 4 M 64, 4 M 66, 4 M 77– 84, 1 R 9; AD Hérault, 1 M 1107, 4 M 859–860, 4 M 916–920; AD Sarthe, 1 M 189, 1 M 519–522, 4 M 208–209, 1 R 30–32.

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otism, and the cultivation of physical strength” beginning in the 1860s. But there is evidence that young working men also participated in training societies. In 1914, “all” active members of La Cettoise (a shooting and gymnastics club) were “young people from the working class.” The Union des Jeunes Gens of industrial center Pont-à-Mousson (Meurthe-et-Moselle), which included shooting and gymnastics among its activities, explicitly aimed to recruit young working men. The impetus for societies in the Hérault tended to come from people who had a slightly higher status than the members they sought to attract—teachers and clerks, for instance. Reformers who supported the gymnastics movement hoped it would turn young men away from alcohol. Due to government subsidies, active members paid a relatively small but not negligible annual fee, often five to ten francs, which men with steady employment could afford. Participating in training societies with the aim of eventually defending France became an important factor in the development of male adolescent identity in late nineteenth-century France. This social reality meshed well with the republican emphases (oversimplified as they were) on creating Frenchmen out of peasants and on tapping into the nouvelles couches sociales —the lower middle-class, white-collar worker, trying his best to fit in to the bustle of modern urban life.

The Republic’s Efforts to Get Guns into Schools The early Third Republic fostered adolescent loyalty to the state with financial and logistical support for training societies. The Ministry of War offered the use of army shooting ranges, rented out old issue rifles at discount prices, and financed prize money for competitions. In 1885, the Ministry of War published a thirty-two-page pamphlet providing guidelines to help smooth the process of attaining formal government approval for the societies, writing acceptable statutes, and drawing up membership lists. The republic furthermore encouraged physical activity and military preparation in schools. Republican advocates of gymnastics and shooting as extracurricular activities saw the physical training of young people as the unproblematic complement to their intellectual development. Immediately after the war, Léon Gambetta hoped to “put the gymnast and the soldier next to the teacher, so that our children, our soldiers, our fellow citizens, will all be able to hold a sword, to use a rifle [ . . . and] to valiantly undergo any hardship for the Patrie.” His call

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gained traction in the 1880s. “Make us men, and we will make them soldiers,” declared General and Senator Chanzy to Minister of Public Instruction Jules Ferry in 1882. With the republic more secure, the state attempted to do just that. To be sure, the Second Empire had introduced compulsory physical education to benefit national security, first requiring physical training in lycées in 1854 and in all secondary schools in 1869. But enforcing physical education proved difficult. Teachers were often unprepared to teach physical education, and the benefits of exercise seemed distant to the students and their families. Many schools did not do the required activity at all. However, republican Ministers of Public Instruction Jules Ferry (1879–81, 1882, 1883) and Paul Bert (1881–82) renewed the state’s commitment to physical education in schools as an explicit response to the war and the new principle of universal military service. The law of January 27, 1880, mandated physical education in all boys’ primary schools. In 1882, physical education became law for girls’ schools as well, to develop the girl as a future mother, wife, and contributor to the nation. Gymnastics was particularly appealing for its regimented, synchronized motion performed in large groups to the rhythmic, energetic beat of trumpet and bass drum. Uniform, highly disciplined, group public displays ranked higher in importance than competition with other groups or individuals. Republicans found this mode of athleticism attractive because it provided a minimum of physical training for all, and it promoted unity, equality, emulation, and preparation for national defense. These efforts soon contributed to the wider acceptance of physical culture. The republican government furthermore encouraged the continuation of physical education outside of normal school hours. In 1882, Bert formed a commission on military education, including Ferdinand Buisson and Paul Déroulède, which promoted “the teaching of military exercises and arms maintenance . . . distribution of arms . . . fêtes, shooting reviews, [and] excursions.” On July 6, 1882, President Jules Grévy decreed the creation of batallions scolaires, school battalions, as an extracurricular activity for young men over age twelve that included shooting practice for those over age fourteen. At its high point in 1886, 146 school battalions functioned throughout France, with two each in the Meurthe-et-Moselle and the Sarthe, and seven in the Hérault. But this modest success faded by the early 1890s, with the decline of Boulangism and the rise of socialism. The practical difficulties of finding adequate instructors and equipment, and the rising competition with sports, stunted their growth. However, many school battalions evolved into

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independent gymnastics societies. Thus, the republican government of the 1880s ultimately succeeded in making physical education a standard part of the French curriculum, which in turn promoted the spread of non-schoolrelated gymnastics and shooting societies during the 1880s and 1890s. In 1907, in the wake of the first Moroccan Crisis and the passage of the two-year law decreasing the duration of formal military training (1905), Minister of Public Instruction Aristide Briand renewed the republic’s call to form sociétés de tir scolaires. The name change from the batallions scolaires of the 1880s placed a stronger emphasis on republican sociability while retaining the mission of teaching older school boys to shoot. Briand, the future proponent of international peace, argued that most male schoolteachers could tap into their own military training to provide sufficient basic shooting instruction for their young charges. The societies also aimed to help keep students on school grounds and away from cabarets, at least for one day a week. Still, the response was spotty. The state could encourage associational life, but it could not and did not wish to force people to cooperate. Although shooting societies for adults flourished in the Hérault, state-sponsored shooting societies for school-age boys flopped. By late November, only about 45 percent of communes in that department had responded to the request, which landed right in the midst of the 1907 mass agricultural demonstrations. Of the 150 communes that even bothered to respond, over ninety could not form these school shooting societies, primarily due to lack of funds from the municipal council or the small number of boys in school old enough to participate. The Hérault’s tradition of sociability could only extend so far. In the Sarthe, only fifteen schools around the department had formed official societies by 1908, although sixty-four others offered some kind of shooting instruction. In the Meurthe-et-Moselle, however, shooting instruction in schools was relatively strong. The Normal School of Nancy founded its shooting society in 1907, which no doubt encouraged its graduates to continue the activity with their own charges. By 1909, 73 schools in the arrondissement of Nancy, 57 (almost half ) of the communes in the arrondissement of Toul, and 106 of 152 in the arrondissement of Lunéville boasted shooting societies. Nearly all of these were founded after 1900, though they arrived sooner to Nancy (where most were founded between 1900 and 1905) than in Toul or Lunéville (where most began between 1905 and 1909). Wealthier and positioned on the frontier, communes in the Meurthe-et-Moselle found money to train their boys to shoot.

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In tandem with the sociétés de tir scolaires, the Ministry of War encouraged training societies to focus on military instruction for adolescent boys. In November 1908, the ministry created the Brevet of Military Aptitude to honor the physical achievement of these boys. The Brevet helped conscripts advance more quickly through the ranks in order to mitigate the loss of time in service due to the recent two-year law. A holder of the Brevet could become a noncommissioned officer in just nine months. The decree inspired the creation of more societies for military preparation throughout the nation. By 1913, 20,030 boys had earned the Brevet. The Third Republic actively used all the means at its disposal, from obligatory primary education to incentive-based encouragement of independent associations, to foster a republican model of citizenship in young French men and to promote the ultimate act of service to the state.

Politics and Surveillance The Third Republic’s support of training associations came with a cost: surveillance. Even before the ascendancy of the republic, shooting organizations aroused the suspicion of the conservative government of the early 1870s, as did other organizations that arose in the wake of the Franco-Prussian War. After all, they dealt with the very touchy subject of military preparation, and might have irritated Germany. In the 1870s, the government of Thiers and of MacMahon discouraged or downplayed organizations that encouraged ordinary citizens to have any bearing on military or international affairs. The state interpreted associations’ imitation of French military discipline not as deference, but as a possible threat. Furthermore, shooting societies put firearms in the hands of citizens in a country that had just repressed the Paris Commune and had tried very hard to keep track of all stray rifles. When the Union des Sociétés de Gymnastiques de France was first founded in 1873, the government viewed it as a new potential source for communard Fédérés. In the same years, republican politicians viewed free association with suspicion, as an untrustworthy layer of influence between the state and individual citizens. As the Commune faded into history after the amnesties in 1879 and 1880, and the state needed to build popular support for increasingly stringent conscription laws, the ascendant republic ceased to consider training societies to be a threat, so long as they conformed to certain regulations. A society had to require its members to be French citizens, to wear uniforms and in-

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signias that differed from those of the French army, and to hold its meetings only with the permission of the military authority. As we have seen, the republican government provided institutional and financial backing that allowed for the growth of gymnastics and shooting societies, and the societies repaid that investment by conforming to the republican ideal of a citizenry committed to the defense of the nation. Training societies in the 1880s were strongly associated with republicanism, although they appeared to have been open to all and maintained an apolitical facade. Some were moderate, promoting the citizen-soldier, while others were warrior-like, xenophobic, and chauvinistic. A national umbrella organization for gymnastics associations, the Union des Sociétés de Gymnastiques de France (USGF), established in 1873 by Eugène-Moïse Paz, found support from Paul Déroulède’s Ligue des Patriotes. Déroulède was also responsible for the first national shooting competition in 1884 and the establishment of the Union Nationale des Sociétés de Tir de France in 1886, though the organization soon had enough adherents and financial support to function independently of the Ligue des Patriotes. In the 1880s, however, even these relatively xenophobic societies could still be considered largely in keeping with the concept of republican citizenship. But in the 1890s, Catholics began to found rival, parallel associations under the guidance of priests. The Fédération Gymnastique et Sportive des Patronages de France, founded in 1903, had 1,000 affiliated clubs by 1911. These Catholic associations were particularly prevalent in the Meurthe-et-Moselle, once again drawing on the department’s highly developed associational life and wartime experience. As of 1909, in the arrondissement of Briey, where training societies were popular in newly formed mining communities, five of the twenty-four societies fell under the sway of the local clergy. La Jeanne d’Arc de la Cathédrale de Nancy, founded in 1906, sounded like many other societies in its dedication to the formation of “robust men and valiant soldiers,” but due to its association with the church it clashed with La République Ouvrière, another military preparation society in Nancy, which drew on the same population of factory workers. The curé of Benney (Meurtheet-Moselle) constructed his own shooting range, supposedly in order to undermine the fledgling republican school shooting groups. He arranged to hold target practice every Sunday starting at 3:00 p.m. for young men who attended church regularly. In response to this new perceived threat, the radical republican government sought to use republican-leaning associations as a shield against their

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Catholic and reactionary counterparts. The republic no longer feared that associations would necessarily provide a dangerous layer of interference between the individual and the state, as they had in the 1870s, but rather believed that the “correct”—republican—ideology could make some associations useful to the state. In order to curb what they saw as dangerous clerical and reactionary organizations, the radical republican government enhanced their surveillance of shooting societies through periodic questionnaires based on the reports of police informants, even though the passage of the Law of July 1, 1901, had enshrined freedom of association as a pillar of the Third Republic. After the law passed, many associations made it easier for the state to monitor them by making an official declaration, which allowed them to act as a legal entity. To fill in the gaps, police commissariats reported on the political character of the presidents of these societies, noting whether or not they were “incontestably republican” in their speech and behavior, even pointing out one man’s “second civil marriage.” Republican functionaries and police did not stop to explain what precisely they meant by “reactionary,” nor did they question the premise that clergy-led organizations warranted suspicion. The government responded favorably to requests for prize donations to societies deemed sufficiently republican, and negatively to those like the Société Mixte de Tir de Gignac (Hérault) whose “president and vast majority of members are clearly hostile to the Government.” Republican politicians attended banquets and tournaments sponsored by republican organizations in order to give sanction to their work and discourage clerical influence. Minister of the Interior Georges Clemenceau even sent soldiers to the 1909 shooting competition in the Sarthe to maintain order. He also wanted keep an eye on participants affiliated with the Camelots du Roi, the youth auxiliary branch of the Action Française, a nationalistic and authoritarian organization. Between 1909 and 1914 only two or three reactionary or Catholic organizations functioned in the Sarthe, but the government was sure to withhold financial support from them, instead providing swift approval of new competing republican societies.

The Fête Fédérale Française: The Normalization of Militarism Training societies came into their fullest fruition at national events. The tone of the Eighteenth Fête Fédérale Française of the USGF in Nancy in June 1892 was strongly militaristic. The Fête was intended to demonstrate the strength and unity of the French Republic, both domestically and internationally.

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“War is imminent and France wants it!” declared the preface of one souvenir book. Although the author intended to dismiss the idea of France’s bellicosity as the fabrication of the German press, the very fact of his discussion only served to undercut his argument. Another observer claimed, “Nobody pronounced the sacred word ‘revanche,’ but you could see it in everyone’s eyes . . . on the tip of every tongue . . . and in the furrowed, dreaming brow already on the children raised in the cult of memory.” Certainly revanche was not discussed openly at the fêtes, but if ever the spirit of revanche simmered just under the surface, this was the moment. The stakes were high at a time when the republic faced challenges from socialists on the left and the new nationalist right. Nancy, after all, had elected Boulangist candidate Maurice Barrès in 1889. Republicans, both moderate and radical, hoped to use the Fête to confirm the republic as the true locus of French patriotism. In turn, a strong republic would reassure Russia that its trust in France was not misplaced, securing France’s emergence from a long period of diplomatic isolation. Beyond all this, the Fête provided young men the opportunity of an exciting, enjoyable trip away from home with friends. For participants and the general public alike, the Fête made the patriotic and militaristic aspects of training societies appear all the more normal and accepted. A glance at the Fête’s attendees demonstrates the importance of training societies. Gymnastics had become popular enough by this time to force politicians and religious leaders to take notice of the Fête and use it as a venue to bolster their own status. President Sadi Carnot made a special stop in Nancy, accompanied by republican senators and deputies. Barrès attended Carnot’s banquet. The bishop of Verdun, the head of the Jewish Consistory, and the head of the Reformed Consistory all made their appearances. Only the bishop of Nancy and Toul, Charles Turinaz, the bishop of revanche and opponent of the Third Republic, conspicuously declined to attend the president’s banquet. With its blend of athletics and politics, civic pride and private enterprise, the Fête complemented the bustle of activity characteristic of Nancy at the turn of the century. A constant influx of Alsatians and Lorrainers, foreign immigrants, and ever more military personnel swelled the population from about 50,000 in 1871 to 73,000 in 1881 and 120,000 thirty years later, making it the thirteenth largest French city. One observer wrote in 1907, “Anyone who left Nancy fifteen years ago and came back now would be astonished. . . . An American-style Nancy has, in a few years, grown up, conquering the

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deserted hills and the large plain from Préville to Jarville.” Yet the new Nancy did not erase the old. Both the medieval city and the neighborhoods built in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries survived, so “three Nancys exist side by side.” At the turn of the century, the sound of the bells ringing from Saint Joseph’s Church mingled with the horn from the tramway. Nancy teemed with all this prosperity and history, yet the military’s defensive Séré de Rivières system, with all of its 166 strong points, deliberately sacrificed the capital of the east to an invading German army. Many of the festival attendees surely realized that Nancy’s success was precarious, yet they defiantly participated in the events by building a series of decorative arches throughout the city. At the request of Mayor Hippolyte Maringer, fifteen committees each built their own arch with money they raised themselves. Sponsors for the arches included “Two Alsatian Factories,” the barrel makers Fruhinsholz, and the glassworks Daum, famous for its innovations in the Art Nouveau style. Combining art with industry, the artists associated with Art Nouveau fashioned iron, wood, and glass into curving, graceful objects inspired by plants, insects, and animals. This time, they used their skills to display their devotion to their adopted city. At the Place du Marché, a giant wooden and plaster display standing at least as tall as the adjacent church of St. Sébastien featured Marianne on top, with the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen at her feet, praising the military, justice, the vote, the family, and youth. These displays underscored the triumph of the republic and the special place of Nancy, lying as it did on the begrudged German frontier. The Fête allowed observers to declare that France had reemerged as an international force. Eighteen of the 125 gymnastics societies were foreign, including the much-heralded Czech Sokol, whose ethnic oppression under the Austro-Hungarians was believed to parallel that of Alsatians and Lorrainers in the German Empire. University students organized a concurrent international university fête, although they did not invite German students to attend. The most important foreign visitor was the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovitch of Russia, cousin of Tsar Alexander III. His “surprise” visit—he just happened to be in nearby Contrexéville (Vosges)—caused much excitement and pride. Observers believed that the fêtes played an important part in solidifying the alliance with Russia. “How many times,” wrote Goutière-Vernolle, “have our enemies told Russia that our alliance is worthless because it is without certitude; that our government, that our politics, that our conduct were variable? . . . Today, all these declamations seem

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in vain. Our domestic politics, our party struggles, our battles at the tribune, our game of ministerial massacres are without any influence on our national sentiment, on our military organization, on our loyalty to dear friendships.” The Fête demonstrated that “France, said to be panicky, is calm; France, said to be torn apart, is united; France, said to be isolated, is supported.” Amidst all this political and diplomatic showmanship, the gymnastics demonstrations undertaken by two thousand participants underscored a determination to turn away from the defeat of 1870 and look forward to the future.

R

Training societies offered a mix of physical challenges, discipline, and republican ideology that helped to naturalize the notion of sacrifice for the nation and for the republic. Starting in the 1880s, individual men believed they had the responsibility to prepare themselves during peacetime to participate in war. This preparation took the form of developing their bodies physically to endure the rigor of military service. Such training was regarded as an unproblematic corrective of degeneracy and overcivilization. Proponents of training societies did not discuss the possibility that their emphasis on the physical might undermine the very civilization they sought to defend. From the 1880s forward, successive republican governments believed that shooting and gymnastics societies would help form of the kind of citizenry that would help France succeed in the next war. The normalization of gymnastics and shooting through school and extracurricular activities paved the way for the spread of independent training societies. These associations took on a renewed urgency after the first Moroccan Crisis (1905) and the two-year military law, when the state encouraged more adolescent activity in the form of school societies and created the Brevet of Military Aptitude to make up for lack of time in the military. Republican government officials were interested in promoting training societies in particular not because they wanted to develop a layer of independent civil society between individuals and the state, but rather because they wanted to foster a direct line of development for young men, turning these youths from adolescent boys into citizen-soldiers. For republican promoters of school-based training societies, physical development and intellectual development did not contain any contradictions at all: both contributed to citizenship, something that republicans believed had to be instilled and learned over a long period of time. Members of these associations did not encourage

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debate, discussion, or cooperative inquiry to form a more perfect republic. Instead, they rewarded discipline, following the rules, and unity of form. Did these men also have fun and socialize in the course of the events? Of course. Such was the power of training societies to develop and normalize the kinds of social relations that encouraged the defense of the republic. This effort found fertile ground in departments like the Meurthe-etMoselle, where the influence of German and Alsatian and Lorrainer immigrants (before or after 1870), the history of sophisticated associational life, the large urban population, the experience of the Franco-Prussian War, and the fear of a future conflict encouraged men to found and join these societies. Although Catholic and republican associations developed separately and in competition with one another, training societies affiliated with either side were stronger in the Meurthe-et-Moselle than elsewhere. The Hérault, despite its relative distance from the German border, also fostered training societies. In this case, large urban numbers and the department’s tradition of sociability contributed to high levels of participation in these organizations, especially to shooting societies. But republican citizenship was on shakier ground in the Sarthe. As in other realms of associational life, training societies in the Sarthe did not enjoy the same popularity as in the other two departments. Less urban, not as concerned about invasion, and with a weaker tradition of grassroots associations, the Sarthe was the home of far fewer training societies, whether associated with the republic or with the Church. Like so many war-related organizations, training societies resist fitting into a binary between state and private, instead forcing us to examine associational activity as a constant renegotiation between public and private interests. The republican state could not compel men to participate in these groups, but in many instances the aims of the republic matched the desires and resources of its young citizens. The strong development of training societies from the 1880s forward brought a wider range of people—youths— into the service of the nation. Through these organizations, the potential of the next generation of Frenchmen would be best realized: physical strength, courage, and citizen devotion to the patrie. But these associations perpetuated the argument that full citizenship in the form of preparation for a future international conflict was the right and duty of males only. As the next chapter will demonstrate, however, women in the 1880s also became engaged in the project of war preparation.

7

THE RED CROSS “We must have the courage to say that not everyone did his duty, all his duty, in 1870, and that is precisely because no one was prepared.” With this pointed comment, spoken in 1886 at a conference in Lyon, Red Cross activist Dr. Pierre Bouloumié hoped to persuade his fellow citizens to join in his work. Bouloumié’s speech expressed the essential mission of the early French Red Cross: to anticipate a future war by gathering materials and training ordinary civilians to heal sick and wounded soldiers, and thus avoid repeating the physical and national suffering endured in the Franco-Prussian War. Once again, the fate of the conscripted soldier lay at the heart of the new interest in war preparation during times of peace. Just as commemoration ceremonies assured conscripts that their sacrifices would be honored and training societies called on men to prepare themselves physically and socially for military service, the Red Cross pledged medical care to soldiers who became ill or wounded. The Red Cross leadership thus recast the duties of civilian citizens. Bouloumié delivered his speech at a moment of rapid expansion for the French Red Cross. Although founded in 1866, the French Red Cross only became firmly established in the 1880s, helping to drive the new interest in preparing civilians to mobilize for a future, unspecified war. A private organization operating in uneasy cooperation with the state, the Red Cross expanded its operations to encompass over one thousand local committees, 164,000 members, 21,500 trained nurses, and over 27 million francs in assets by 1914 (see Tables 7.1 and 7.2). Scholars have generally considered the French Red Cross prior to 1914 as a prelude to its activities during the Great War, as a side story to the development of the nursing profession, or as an aristocratic and nationalist tool of the increasingly militarized state. Bouloumié’s speech indicates that in its early years, the Red Cross played a much more complicated role in the political, social, and emotional lives of citizens of the early Third Republic. Its promotional material blamed ordinary citizens for shirk127

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table 7.1. SSBM Committees, Resources, and Materials, 1873–1914 1873

1886

1893

Committees

90 men, 1 women

136 men, 51 women

257 men, 552 total 195 women, or 243 men, 188 women

464 men, 410 women (combined in 1909)

Members

—

20,000

45,000

55,000

112,000

Income*

—

34,675

—

350,000

747,469 (1912)

Value of Material

—

—

—

2,793,945

Hospitals/ Infirmaries

—

—

—

115 at least

375 (18,000 beds), plus 78 in train stations

DispensarySchools

—

—

—

43

67, plus 19 affiliated

Nurses Trained —

—

—

—

11,568

Total Worth**

3,519,512

10,337,857

18,785,000 (end of 1913)

—

1907

1914

Sources: Foucault, Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires, 98, 108–10, 118–19, 150; Chambinière, “La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (Croix Rouge): Comité du Mans,” Congrès Provincial de la Société Bibliographique et des Publications Populaires, Session Tenue au Mans les 14 et 15 Novembre 1893 (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1894), 487; AD Hérault, 4 M 914, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel, 4th ser., 44, no. 104 (May 1908), back cover; Alix, Croix-Rouge, 42; Geoffrey, Croix Rouge Française, 21–22. * Membership dues, donations, gifts, and legacies; 1907 figure includes dues only. ** Value of materials, hospitals, dispensary-schools, mobile and fixed ambulances, and cash in francs.

ing their duty during the disastrous Franco-Prussian War and charged individual noncombatant men and women to prepare for a future conflict. Like training societies, the Red Cross fostered personal development that would contribute to this national endeavor. Between the early 1880s and 1914, the Red Cross became increasingly linked with France’s foreign agenda of creating new alliances in Europe and establishing colonies abroad, thus making participation in the Red Cross synonymous with patriotic involvement in the life of the French nation. The Red Cross embodied many of the developments and tensions that we

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table 7.2. UFF Committees, Resources, and Materials, 1881–1914 1881

1888

1892

1895

july 1914

Committees

—

—

142 committees, 110 groups

—

267

Members

1,024

17,000 or 6,000 (1889)

31,400

35,000

52,000

Hospitals/ Infirmaries

—

—

7,600 beds

—

175 with 11,000 beds

Nurses Trained

—

—

1,080 total

—

10,000

Aid Distributed

—

—

850,000 total since 1881, plus 155,000 for public disasters

—

—

Total Worth*

—

—

—

9,000,000

Sources: Letulle, Conférence, 13; Mary-Durand, La Femme Hospitalière, 7; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, UFF, flyer, n.d. [late 1892]; AD Sarthe, 1 M 235, UFF, letter, Paris, April 13, 1895; UFF, Croix-Rouge Française: Union des Femmes de France; Cinquantenaire, 1881–1931 (Paris: Charles-Lavauzelle, 1931), 30, 37. * Value of materials, hospitals, dispensary-schools, mobile and fixed ambulances, and cash.

have seen in other war-related associations, but it became more prominent and longer lasting than the others. Due to the nature of its mission, the Red Cross operated under special regulations issued by the president of the republic and the ministers of war and the colonies; the law of July 1, 1901, did not affect its operations. Nevertheless, the Red Cross maintained a separate identity, independent of the state and, by its very existence, critical of the state’s inability to protect its citizens in times of national crisis. Still, as was the case for training societies or commemorative efforts, we must avoid creating a simplistic dichotomy, pitting a manipulative state against an authentic public, and emphasize instead the push and pull between states and citizens, a power relationship that was weighted toward the state, but was not one-sided. As with training societies and commemorative organizations, the fact that this particular government was an uneasy republic complicated the relationship between associations and the state. Although Red Cross organizations worldwide did not require the existence of republican institutions to survive, the rise of the Red Cross in France coincided with, and benefited from, the

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ascendancy of moderate republicans in the 1880s. Unlike some organizations, the French Red Cross avoided engaging in overtly political activities. Still, many of its members promoted patterns of thought and behavior conducive to the solidification of the republic, such as egalitarianism and citizen participation in public life; other members rejected republican political institutions altogether. Rival branches of the Red Cross engaged in conflicts over the character of the Third Republic, particularly during the anticlerical battles of the 1880s. Building on the active roles that women filled during the liberation campaign, the Red Cross offered a particularly prominent role for women in public life, at a time when women were only beginning to gain acceptance as public contributors to the well-being of the nation. The Red Cross leadership believed that women could offer maternal tenderness and compassion beyond the capabilities of men, and they thus envisioned women’s primary role in war to be as caregivers. Red Cross leaders articulated this sexual difference more strongly than the leaders of other associations had in the context of postwar work during the 1870s. Opinions differed, however, over the extent to which women should be trained to fill the caregiver role, as well as the ability of women to lead the organization. Through debates on this question, the Red Cross became a forum for exploring the concept of citizenship and inclusiveness in the nation during the early Third Republic. Finally, at a time when centralization remained the dominant (but not unquestioned) organizational paradigm, the Red Cross offered a more complex model. The French Red Cross operated on three levels: national, through a central committee; regional, corresponding to each of the eighteen military regions, plus Paris and Algeria; and local, through semi-autonomous departmental and municipal committees. The Red Cross of Nancy, a particularly active local committee, both conformed to and challenged the example of its central committee. Adding to the complexity is the fact that three separate organizations (each with its own central and local committees) claimed the banner of the Red Cross. Internal organizational dynamics and rivalries shaped the Red Cross as much as foreign and domestic developments. As a semi-independent organization working within a republican society that worried increasingly about war, the Red Cross offered a new definition of a good citizen, one that both men and women could embrace: a patriotic caregiver of the soldier.

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The French Red Cross and the Franco-Prussian War A group of Genevan philanthropists founded the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) in 1863 with the aim of providing care for sick and wounded soldiers during international conflicts. Two men propelled the early ICRC: Henry Dunant, whose Un Souvenir de Solférino described the horrors of soldiers dying without adequate medical care during the 1859 French campaign in Italy, and Gustave Moynier, a lawyer and well-connected activist with the skills to make Dunant’s vision of a volunteer medical corps a reality. The ICRC organized its first international conference in October 1863. The following year, twelve states signed the Geneva Convention, which required neutrality for ambulances, hospitals, and their workers and chaplains in times of war. France became the first nation to ratify the agreement that September. Two years later, in 1866, the Duke de Fezensac founded the first Red Cross society in France, the Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (SSBM). Despite this promising start, the Red Cross exerted little influence in France during the late Second Empire. Though Napoleon III shrank before the horrible suffering at Solferino and wanted to show good faith in the Geneva Convention, he scoffed at the interference of volunteer groups like the Red Cross. The SSBM itself did not seek to spread beyond the small circle of Parisian high society, limiting its activities to an exhibit at the Universal Exposition of 1867 and a few charity balls held at the Opéra, which raised about five thousand francs but did little to help the organization prepare volunteers or gather materials. Hampered by disorganization within and distrust from outside, the SSBM assumed a daunting responsibility when France opened battle against Prussia in July 1870. It attempted to increase its male and female volunteers, solicit donations, and organize mobile and stationary hospitals all over the country as quickly as possible. Conflict between professional medical staff and volunteer caregivers occurred immediately. The volunteers’ faith in the powers of noble motives could not compensate for their lack of training and supplies. As of mid-September, the siege of Paris isolated SSBM headquarters from the rest of the country. Complaints arose that dishonorable men had acquired the SSBM’s distinctive armbands in order to avoid military service and scavenge casualties under the protective symbol of the Red Cross. French citizens living near battle sites quickly learned that if they displayed a flag

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emblazoned with a red cross, they would not be required to billet troops. Furthermore, the French army viewed the Geneva Convention with disdain and distrusted Red Cross volunteers near the battlefield. The Prussian army sometimes bombarded ambulances and executed medical personnel, disregarding their neutrality. French volunteers bitterly noted that the Prussian Red Cross appeared well-funded, organized, and respected. “Prussian military leaders spared no expense,” reported one observer, “in facilitating the healing of the sick, to hasten their return to the domestic foyer.” French doctors could not make the same claim. The SSBM nevertheless proved to be effective at treating sick and wounded soldiers. During the course of the Franco-Prussian War, it raised approximately twenty-two million francs’ worth of money and supplies, formed over three hundred committees, and spent nine to twelve million francs caring for at least 110,000 soldiers. Voluntary committees often formed locally and were later brought under the Red Cross umbrella. For instance, the committee of Le Mans began work on August 16 and became affiliated with the Red Cross in October. Using private donations, the committee helped organize 150 small hospitals in homes, schools, seminaries, convents, and public buildings. Individual volunteers made important contributions to this effort. For instance, the aptly named M. Auberge—the liaison between the Red Cross, the municipal authorities, and the Germans in Le Mans—managed to protect convalescing soldiers from capture and imprisonment. Furthermore, along with the ICRC, the SSBM helped track the large number of French prisoners of war and brought them supplies and mail. The SSBM also ran an information bureau for the families of missing soldiers. Coralie Cahen, a volunteer from the SSBM who had nursed soldiers admirably during the war, undertook several trips to Germany after the armistice in an effort to release French prisoners. During the Paris Commune, the SSBM declared neutrality and provided care for both sides, though some of its members despised the “abominable” uprising. The SSBM smoothed the return of wounded soldiers hospitalized throughout the country; gave money and prostheses to disabled veterans; aided orphans, Alsatians, and Lorrainers; and contributed 200,000 francs to help pay off the war indemnity. The Red Cross thus afforded ordinary civilians ample opportunities to perform extraordinary acts of courage and sacrifice that eased the physical pain of the war for thousands. But most of these activities ended by early 1872. During the 1870s, when neither the government of Moral Order nor the increasingly

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influential republicans wished to pursue aggressive international policies, the Red Cross remained largely inactive.

Three Rival Organizations As was the case with training societies, no single factor determined the complex organizational history of the Red Cross during the early Third Republic. Neither major international events, nor the changing domestic political climate, nor internal organizational dynamics alone can fully explain the character of the Red Cross or the activities in which it engaged. Ultimately, the French Red Cross encompassed not just one organization, but three, each with a central committee in Paris directing a network of regional, departmental, and local committees, and working with the French government, the ICRC in Geneva, and sometimes each other. The Red Cross reemerged from obscurity in 1879, when Dr. Auguste Duchaussoy founded the Association des Dames Françaises (ADF), a new branch of the organization. Duchaussoy had organized mobile hospitals in Paris during the war, and he established an École de Gardes-Malades et d’Ambulancières—the first of its kind, he claimed—under the authorization of the Minister of Public Instruction in April 1877. The ADF differed from the SSBM in that it was not limited to the upper class, it aimed to attract female volunteers, and it focused on training, not just fundraising. Furthermore, the ADF set itself apart from the SSBM’s conservative orientation and emphasized the apolitical, lay, and patriotic nature of its effort. Duchaussoy was confident that he could receive support from the ascendant republic and from patriotic and civically minded women. But dissent quickly grew within the ADF. Emma Koechlin-Schwartz—the leader of the 1872 campaign to raise funds to pay off the war indemnity, promoter of French-language schools in Alsace, and cousin of Paul Déroulède— along with Dr. Pierre Bouloumié, protested that Duchaussoy’s organization was still too limited: it welcomed only “ladies,” it curtailed the amount of instruction, and it did not allow women a say in the leadership. Mutual accusations of overambition and ballot switching during the organizational elections of spring 1881 led to a permanent split that left personal wounds as many as thirty years later. Koechlin-Schwartz and Bouloumié left the ADF to create the Union des Femmes de France (UFF). The existence of the ADF and UFF spurred the leaders of the SSBM to reinvigorate their organiza-

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tion and created a decades-long three-way rivalry. The three organizations all claimed to be part of the Red Cross, but they functioned independently of one another for over twenty-five years. As we shall see, the rivalries among the three organizations molded their respective characters and memberships. Throughout the early years of the Third Republic, the French Red Cross organizations became allied ever more closely with the government and the military. Although the Red Cross existed for the very purpose of calling attention to the government’s shortcomings, it needed state support to survive and accepted whatever it could get. Thus, unlike politicians, its promoters rarely, if ever, cast blame on any political group for its handling of the Franco-Prussian War or mentioned the state’s lukewarm reception of the SSBM. On the other side, the government took its greatest interest in the Red Cross during periods of major foreign policy shifts. By the 1880s, Opportunist republican pursuit of colonial conquests in Tunisia, Madagascar, and Indochina encouraged government regulation of the Red Cross. In a series of decrees issued during the mid-1880s (July 1884, December 1886, and January 1887) the government placed the three organizations on equal footing under the authority of the military’s Service de Santé. Medical decisions, including triage, were subject to the same regulations as the Service de Santé. The Red Cross became further entwined with the state during the years of rapprochement with Russia. On October 19, 1892—the same year as the military convention with Russia that led to the formal military pact of 1894—President Sadi Carnot, Minister of the Navy and Colonies AugusteLaurent Burdeau, and Minister of War Charles de Freycinet issued a new decree that redefined the purpose of all three societies. It established a consultative body, the Commission Supérieure, which included military personnel and the civilian presidents of each of the three societies, as well as a Commission Mixte for each society, which required the regional delegates to work closely with a military doctor. The 1892 regulations also called for the Red Cross societies to found auxiliary hospitals as a second line of aid after the military’s own Service de Santé. The decree of 1892 should be understood as part of Freycinet’s efforts to implement some of the reforms identified as key to avoiding a repeat of 1870, including the end of exemptions to conscription and improvements to the army’s command structure. As a civilian minister of war, Freycinet particularly valued the contributions of noncombatants to the national war effort. Duchaussoy welcomed the decree as “a new step made on the path of unity and coordination of all the material and moral

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forces of the nation, that is, in the only path of salvation for France.” The decree knitted the Red Cross organizations more closely to each other and the state, providing a guideline for their future activities. The next major shift in the Red Cross’s activities and organizational structure came fifteen years later. The French intervention in Morocco in 1907–08, following on the heels of the First Moroccan Crisis (1905) and the Algeciras conference (1906), became the first conflict in which the Red Cross sent its trained female volunteers to tend to the sick and wounded outside of France. Also in 1907, the three Red Cross organizations united their efforts with the creation of a Central Committee of the French Red Cross, and the SSBM created a new category of membership that required an annual fee of only one franc instead of six. The Minister of War approved these changes, but unlike the 1892 decree, this reorganization appears to have come at the impetus of the organizations themselves. The ADF and the UFF wanted admittance to international meetings of the Red Cross, which they could only gain by uniting with the SSBM. The Red Cross accordingly became more open to a broader range of members, yet more tightly linked to the state’s imperial pursuits. The three organizations further coordinated their efforts in a 1913 agreement outlining their plan for public disasters. Thus the French Red Cross carved out space for itself between the state and atomized individuals, but—like many war-related associations during the early Third Republic—it did not aim to free citizens from the state so much as help shape the state’s policies. The Red Cross’s relationship with the state was closely wedded to the state’s foreign policy interests, but it did not evolve precisely in tandem with international events. Neither the Schnaebelé crisis of 1887, nor the 1898 showdown with Britain in Fashoda, nor the Entente Cordiale six years later, nor even the Second Moroccan Crisis of 1911 led to new activities and regulations (though the latter crisis may have encouraged greater public involvement). The Red Cross societies maintained their autonomy, and, as their mission makes clear, they saw themselves as separate from but working with the state.

The Mission The Red Cross garnered support by both stoking fears of international conflict and offering a comforting means to cope with them, drawing in particular on the experience of the Franco-Prussian War. As discussed in Chapter Two,

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during the 1870s, in the first flush of anger and betrayal, blame for the failures of the French army fell on politicians and generals: imperial leaders had failed to prepare France for combat and had led the country into a disastrous war, while the republicans had foolishly continued the fight. If commentators in the 1870s drew attention to the shortcomings of ordinary citizens, they usually focused on moral or spiritual failings. Beginning in the 1880s, as the Third Republic reached firm ground, Red Cross activists developed a similar but more secular argument: the inaction of ordinary citizens, not just their moral failings, had critically undermined the French effort in 1870–71. With only a slight shift in rhetorical emphasis, the Red Cross could appeal to both strongly Catholic and secular-oriented individuals. But in either case, the Red Cross developed a new and powerful message. Blame for military defeat no longer fell on the army and state, but rather on civilians. The Franco-Prussian War helped legitimize the Red Cross in the eyes of the French state and its citizens. The narrative that the Red Cross told about itself during the Franco-Prussian War was analogous to the narrative of France itself—the possibility of greatness was undermined by a lack of tangible preparation and moral weakness, while future glory depended on the spiritual and concrete commitment of thousands of individuals in communities across the nation. With the proper preparation, self-sacrificing volunteers would be the key to the full realization of the Red Cross and thus the physical—and spiritual—salvation of France. Bouloumié and others drew a clear distinction between the selfless, patriotic volunteers of the Red Cross and those who did nothing to help the cause—a crucial difference that, they believed, could tip the balance in a future conflict. They gave no hint of the care that some groups took to screen out undesirable volunteers, or the problems that had arisen with adherents with less than noble intentions. Rather, Red Cross volunteers were described uniformly as hard workers who blossomed under the dangers of war and overlooked internal disagreements. With this assumption guiding their reflections on the Franco-Prussian War, Red Cross activists could ascribe its problems with gathering materials, money, and trained personnel to a simple lack of volunteers. Mgr. Touchet believed that “without the memories of 1870 and 1871, [the Red Cross] would not have been half as successful; with this escort, on the contrary, you can hope for everything from the country . . . even that it will welcome you in its most humble towns.” Red Cross promoters oriented their mission along nationalistic lines, as providing patriotic support for the army. They did not want to prevent the

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next war; they wanted to win it. Echoing the aims of the ICRC, the French Red Cross societies were not interested in saving men from being killed in battle. As Dr. Maurice Letulle argued, “Those are necessary victims of war.” The goal was, rather, to help “the wounded and the sick, that is those who [have] the absolute . . . right to medical care, as they are no longer combatants.” War, however undesirable, was inevitable, and it was better to be prepared to face it than to pretend that it could not happen. Volunteer medical service would have a positive effect on soldiers, who would be “firmer in the struggle” knowing that they would be cared for if wounded. The Red Cross aimed not only to alleviate suffering, but also to bring victory. The Red Cross volunteer was to serve a French cause, not a humanitarian one; the word humanité appeared rarely in the organization’s speeches and pamphlets. The government decrees regulating the Red Cross societies made it plain that the organization was to serve France before serving an international community. Although members could use some of their resources to help other nations, any cooperation with foreign aid societies was subject to the regulation of the Minister of War, and no non-French citizen could participate. The French Red Cross saw itself in direct competition with its German counterparts. UFF promoter Maurice Letulle contrasted the number of German societies (forty in 1870, sixty in 1889, although the size of these societies is unclear) with the number of French ones (one and three, respectively), in order to galvanize support. Red Cross speakers also usually neglected to mention that Red Cross volunteers during the Franco-Prussian War had sometimes decided to remain true to the concept of neutrality by caring for German soldiers. It is never suggested in Red Cross promotional material that volunteers in French colonial wars aided native soldiers on the other side. The Red Cross thus drew attention to anxieties concerning France’s position in Europe and offered itself as the solution.

Membership The three French Red Cross organizations agreed about what needed to be done, but differed over who should be included in this work. Aristocratic, conservative Catholics dominated the central committee of the original Red Cross, the SSBM, during the government of Moral Order of the early 1870s and beyond. Its presidents included the Duke de Nemours, son of former King Louis-Philippe, and the former President MacMahon. In contrast,

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the ADF and UFF, founded during the years of republican ascendancy, were open to a broader social spectrum. Bouloumié declared that the UFF “was not preoccupied, in any case, with the political opinions or religious beliefs of its members.” On the contrary, it preferred “people known for their bienfaisance” to those who were notorious for their “political activity, of whatever color.” The UFF’s name, the Union des Femmes de France, as opposed to Dames, was explicitly chosen to “appeal to the maternal sentiment and consequently to all women,” not just those of the upper class. Although the leadership remained firmly in the hands of middle-class women, the UFF attempted to include working-class volunteers. It offered two schedules of training sessions for volunteer nurses in Paris, one that met at night for those who worked during the day, and another that met during the day for those with a busy social schedule in the evening. This schedule may seem unrealistic for the workers and condescending toward the nonworkers, but on paper at least the UFF tried to incorporate women of all backgrounds. The most salient difference between the SSBM on one hand, and the ADF and the UFF on the other, is that the latter two specifically targeted women and encouraged their participation in the public life of the nation. The ADF and the UFF successfully established a space for a civil society that at least partially transcended the typical nineteenth-century bifurcation that assumed men’s dominance in the public sphere and women’s place in the private sphere. One UFF supporter said his organization was “a Society of women, and not at all of men, uniquely created by women, for women.” By contrast, the SSBM’s Ladies’ Committee disbanded after the Franco-Prussian War and only resurfaced in 1882, in response to the competition posed by the other two organizations. The French government took the ADF and UFF seriously, despite their having female copresidents and cofounders; the ADF’s Mme. Foucher de Careil and Coralie Cahen and the UFF’s KoechlinSchwartz were decorated with the Legion of Honor. The consultative Commission Supérieure, founded in 1892, included all présidents et présidentes of the organizations. These organizations saw women as partners with men, contributing to the same goal. The ADF and UFF argued that women were imbued with special characteristics that made them ideal nurses for wounded soldiers. As UFF promoter Dr. Mary-Durand stated, “Woman is equal to man on many points; she is superior to him when it comes to charity.” The Red Cross valorized and sought to exploit the supposedly female qualities of “patience” and “abnegation” for

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the good of the French nation. Men were believed incapable of providing the same “delicate . . . and tender heart” necessary to leading a hospital. The ADF and UFF argued that women had something to offer the nation due to their capacities as nurturers, derived from physiological difference, and that women as mothers had a particular interest in ensuring that the sons of the nation survive combat. Therefore, Red Cross advocates believed that women’s participation in the organization was analogous to men’s obligation to serve in the military. During earlier conflicts, up through the Franco-Prussian War, women had assumed a variety of roles in the defense of France, including soldier, spy, and auxiliary food supplier, as well as nurse and mother. During the late nineteenth century, although women were expected to participate in even greater numbers, their prescribed duty in times of war narrowed. The female soldier and auxiliary were weeded out through increased military regulation, and the patriotic civilian female fighter was cast in a negative light after the Paris Commune raised the spectre of the female incendière. The Red Cross contributed to this change. After the 1892 decree, Duchaussoy declared, “The patriotic duty of women [as nurses] in case of war has not yet been inscribed in law, but it is already well understood and well disciplined.” By the eve of the Great War, the “Angel of Charity,” the volunteer nurse, emerged as the dominant ideal of feminine patriotism. Moreover, the decrees of the mid-1880s and of 1892 expressly prohibited men who had not fulfilled their military service duty from joining the Red Cross societies. Men had the dual responsibilities of serving in the army and providing for their families, which made it more difficult for them to participate in voluntary organizations than for women. The ADF and UFF used this hardening of gender distinctions to make their case for women’s involvement in their work more firmly. Like many bourgeois charitable associations since midcentury, the ADF and UFF emphasized religious pluralism. The leadership of both organizations included women with varying religious backgrounds, and they invited religious leaders from the Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish communities to speak and pray at their ceremonies. Yet they eschewed anticlericalism, as their statutes called for the appointment of chaplains of all recognized religions, and they did not uniformly accept free thinkers. Even if this cooperation was more symbolic than concrete—we do not know about the religious affiliations or attitudes of members—it signaled a desire to reject the conflict between secular republicanism and conservative Catholics. This symbolic stance

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in the composition of the leadership also highlights the Red Cross’s form of organization. As an association, it contradicted both the republican Jacobin notion of the direct relationship between the individual and the state, and the hierarchical pattern modeled after the Catholic Church. It is no surprise that the very branches of the Red Cross most adhering to the model of free association, the ADF and the UFF, would also controvert the secular-sacred conflict. Nevertheless, in the context of the struggles over the role of the Catholic Church in the Third Republic during the 1880s, the UFF came under heavy criticism for its refusal to espouse Catholicism and for the threat it posed to nuns who served as nurses. Conservative Catholics took statements such as Duchaussoy’s argument that “many patients prefer the care of a lay woman, for many diverse reasons” as a veiled threat. Louis Veuillot’s ultramontane Catholic newspaper L’Univers interpreted the ADF and UFF’s desire to be ecumenical as an anticlerical position. Veuillot wrote of these organizations that “born with the republic of republicans, they are justly suspect.” The newspaper lost a libel case in 1892. Both the ADF and the UFF encountered resistance among the clergy; some priests would not hold masses they sponsored, and the bishop of Soissons refused to name chaplains for the ADF committee in the Aisne. Neither anticlerical nor resolutely Catholic, the ADF and UFF espoused a religious pluralism that baffled many contemporary observers and cautions us to avoid a simplistic understanding of the nineteenth-century religious culture wars. Yet by the time of the anticlerical Law of Associations (1901) and the Separation of the Church and State (1905), such attacks on the ADF and UFF had died down. The close association among the three Red Cross organizations after the decree of 1892, as the SSBM increasingly sponsored masses for deceased soldiers, helped defuse some of the tension. Supporters of the ADF and the UFF extolled their relative inclusiveness to make their cause appear all the more noble. “When the patrie calls you in tears,” intoned one doctor for the UFF, “. . . it will not ask you which church or chapel you belong to, nor whether you came out of the workshop or the theater.” The UFF tried to deny the charges that it was too republican and not Catholic enough, but ultimately its best defense, as its supporters claimed, was its unwavering drive to prepare for war.

Preparation The Red Cross planned to act at the outbreak of hostilities. Just as armies in the late nineteenth century placed a premium on rapid mobilization, by 1888

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the UFF had created a plan for concentrating and deploying aid workers and materials within five days of a declaration of war. The ADF instructed hospitals with one hundred beds to save up twenty thousand francs, enough to function for one month, and to engage twenty-three to twenty-five personnel, including fifteen trained nurses (either volunteer or professional). General Hippolyte Langlois, senator of the Meurthe-et-Moselle, estimated that the country required twenty thousand nurses for a coming war. The three French Red Cross organizations did not differ significantly in their preparation for this rapid mobilization: they gathered materials, trained nurses, set up dispensaries and small hospitals, and communicated regularly with the military (see Tables 7.1 and 7.2). They depended on volunteers for all of their actions. Following the guidelines presented in the government decree of the 1880s and 1892, they prepared to create permanent and mobile hospitals, well behind the front lines and in the wake of the moving army, to supplement those of the Service de Santé. After 1892, they all pursued the goal of creating a hospital in each of the military regions of the country. The ADF led the way in promoting instruction for female volunteers. Duchaussoy’s École d’Ambulancières et de Gardes-Malades, founded in 1877, was attached to the ADF in 1893. The ADF built a hospital in Paris in 1895 for the express purpose of providing women a space to train apart from male medical students. The UFF began holding nursing courses in ten arrondissements of Paris in 1881, and the SSBM began lessons the following year. Both single and married women participated, initially in Paris and then in the provinces. All three societies offered several levels of study, ranging from a few months to two years, accompanied by exams and certificates. The Red Cross did not aim to prepare professional nurses, as did reformers such as Anna Hamilton. The courses were not designed to turn volunteers into “female philosophes” or “women-doctors,” but rather, as explicitly stated in the training manual, to keep volunteers at a low level of medical knowledge, so they would not challenge authority in the wards. Male doctors designed training curricula and taught free courses covering basic anatomy, hygiene, and hospital administration, as well as practical knowledge, such as how to clean and dress a wound. Neither the government nor established medical schools regulated the courses, and the certificates did not carry any weight within the Service de Santé. After completing their lessons, some volunteers went on to work in a hospital or other care-giving establishment, while others left their contact information in case they would be needed during a future war.

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In the decades between the Franco-Prussian War and the Great War, the French Red Cross contributed primarily to France’s imperial projects, sending money and equipment to support French soldiers fighting in the African and Asian colonies. The SSBM additionally sent aid during the SerboBulgarian War (1885–86), the Spanish-American War (1898), the Boer War (1899–1902), and the First Balkan War (1912). The SSBM also helped arrange for nursing nuns—but not lay volunteers—to go to China in 1900 during the Boxer Rebellion. They did not send their own trained nurses overseas until 1907, when the SSBM and the ADF sent volunteers to Casablanca to accompany the French army’s colonial expansion. According to Langlois, this change occurred solely because “events in Morocco and Algeria [forced] the French war administration to have recourse to the feminine personnel of the Red Cross.” Red Cross volunteers gained acceptance when colonial wars close to home necessitated them. With no war in metropolitan France and a growing stockpile of supplies and personnel to justify, the French Red Cross organizations expanded their mandate beyond aid to wounded soldiers. At the end of soldiers’ period of service, the Red Cross gave small donations to veterans to help them find housing and jobs as they readjusted to civilian life. In 1887, the organization estimated that the total amount distributed to veterans, widows, and orphans by all of its committees since the Franco-Prussian War had been two million francs. If the soldiers did not return, they were not forgotten, either. The Red Cross’s involvement with commemoration began with its contribution of fifty thousand francs to the Oeuvre des Tombes, which marked the grave sites of French prisoners of war who died in Germany. The SSBM’s masses for soldiers fallen in service, held in cathedrals in cities nationwide, became annual traditions beginning in the 1890s. ADF and UFF representatives also made frequent appearances at commemorative ceremonies. These activities kept the possibility of war in the public eye into the early twentieth century. The French Red Cross furthermore added services for civilians, including public lectures, free dispensary services, and drives against tuberculosis. In December 1908, an earthquake and tidal wave in Sicily destroyed the city of Messina and killed at least 75,000 people, galvanizing Red Cross organizations worldwide, including those of France, in the largest international aid mission to that time. Building on this experience, the French Red Cross societies distributed aid in Provence after an earthquake in 1909 and helped after the flooding of the Seine and the Loire the following year.

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But despite the expansion of its mandate, the French Red Cross never lost its focus: preparation for war on French soil. Both the SSBM and the UFF grew steadily during the three decades prior to 1914 in terms of income, membership, establishments, and net worth. In July 1914, the UFF boasted fiftytwo thousand members, including ten thousand women trained as nurses, and nine million francs in its war chest. The SSBM’s most striking growth occurred between 1907 and 1914, the period after it lowered its membership fee, which saw the Second Moroccan Crisis and the new emphasis on aid to the victims of natural disasters. In those seven years, its membership and annual income more than doubled, and the number of hospitals it was prepared to mobilize more than tripled. Worth almost nineteen million francs in 1913, the SSBM encompassed 112,000 members, male and female, including over 11,500 who had completed some degree of training in its dozens of dispensaryschools (see Tables 7.1 and 7.2). This growth occurred through the work of volunteer committees all over the country.

The Nancy Committee of the SSBM Only two provincial committees of the SSBM, in Lyon and Compiègne, actively met prior to 1870 (although ten others existed on paper). Most of the three to four hundred local committees formed during the Franco-Prussian War dissolved shortly after the crisis passed. By early 1872, about 180 committees remained; only half of these existed a year later. But over the course of the following decades, the number of local committees increased rapidly, to a total of over 870 by 1914. The Nancy committee of the SSBM offers a rare look into the local operations of the Red Cross prior to the Great War. The ICRC is notoriously secretive about its records. Local Red Cross chapters in France do not allow access to their archives, if they have been maintained at all, sometimes professing ignorance that their organizations even existed prior to 1914. Historians must rely on published material or departmental archives, and fortunately such documentation exists on the Nancy SSBM. This unusually robust organization benefited from the city’s extraordinary vibrancy and unique position within France during the early Third Republic, along with its experience working with immigrating Alsatians and Lorrainers and supporting the liberation campaign. But it could not be forgotten that Nancy had been occupied for three years during and after the Franco-Prussian War and was not protected by the Séré de Rivières system. Local citizens remained

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keenly aware of the city’s precarious position just a few kilometers from the new German border and knew that Nancy was more likely than other cities to experience war and occupation again. All of these factors helped the Red Cross in Nancy flourish. A close examination of the membership and activities of the Nancy SSBM therefore allows us to appreciate the possibilities for civil society in the early Third Republic in particularly fertile ground, while recognizing that the SSBM of Nancy represented an unusual case that cannot be generalized to the rest of the country. The Nancy committee of the SSBM represented all of the Meurthe-etMoselle except for the arrondissement of Lunéville, which maintained its own committee. A group of retired army officers and local notables founded the Nancy committee in the late 1870s, probably 1879, and soon claimed ninetysix members. Dissatisfied with their numbers, the board invited “principal authorities and notable inhabitants of our city” to a meeting where they listened to military music and speeches, and gave generously to the cause. Several newspapers picked up the story, spreading the word further. The strategy worked. Membership tripled to 285 in 1880, reaching nearly six hundred by the end of the decade (see Table 7.3). During the 1880s and 1890s, the committee focused on building its savings and stockpiles of medical equipment and linens. Beginning in 1888, it arranged for several hundred beds to be used in case of war. The committee recruited doctors, pharmacists, accountants, chaplains, and nurses to be called in case of need. In 1888, the sisters of the Congregation of Saint Charles agreed to work with the Red Cross, and three years later the sisters of Saint Chrétienne joined as well, not as individuals but as members of the congregation. The committee furthermore engaged about fifty male volunteers annually to serve as stretcher carriers. In 1904, the Nancy committee began to train its own volunteers in earnest with the opening of a dispensary-school for the “nursing ladies” of Nancy, which trained about fifteen to twenty nurses annually and gave free consultations to impoverished civilian patients. In 1907 the committee sent one nurse, Mme. Colin, to Casablanca as part of the first overseas mission of SSBM-trained nurses, and its members distributed soup after the floods of 1910. Meanwhile, the committee allocated a portion of its revenue as aid to veterans of the Franco-Prussian War and colonial battles. The total amount given could hardly have supported more than a handful of men for any length of time, but the aid saw a few dozen veterans through as they tried to find jobs and homes upon returning to France. After reaching a peak of over

table 7.3. Nancy SSBM Membership, 1880–1910 1880

1888

1904

1910

Banking / Business

74 (24, 27)

87 (15, 21)

38 (+ 8 businesses) (7, 16)

16 (3, 8)

Doctors & Faculties of Medicine

10 (3, 4)

26 (5, 6)

21 (4, 9)

17 (3, 9)

Pharmacists

7 (2, 3)

6 (1, 1)

3 (0.5, <0.5)

2 (<0.5, <0.5)

Engineers / Inspectors / Architects

12 (4, 4)

22 +1 also titled (4, 6)

13 (2, 5)

10 (2, 5)

Government Officials

25 +3 also titled (9, 10)

32 +1 also a doctor, +2 also titled (6, 8)

13 +1 also a doctor (3, 6)

7 +1 also a doctor, +1 also titled (2, 5)

Notaries

9 (3, 3)

18 (3, 4)

9 (2, 4)

9 (2, 5)

Legal Professions

26 +1 also titled, 46 +1 also titled +1 also a mayor (8, 11) (9, 10)

25 (5, 10)

16 (3, 8)

Noble

10 (3, 4)

13 (2, 3)

6 (1, <0.5)

9 (2, 5)

Newspaper Editors

6 (2, 2)

3 (0.5, 1)

0

0

Religious Personnel

5 (Cath., Prot.) (2, 2)

7 (Cath., Prot., Jewish) (1, 2)

8 (Cath., Prot., Jewish) (2, 3)

9 (Cath., Prot., Jewish) (2, 5)

Military Personnel

18 +2 also titled (6, 7)

31 +1 also titled (6, 8)

17 (3, 7)

24 (4, 12)

Professional School/ University Professors (not medicine)

14 (5, 5)

32 (6, 8)

15 (3, 6)

5 (1, 3)

Students

3 (1, 1)

0

0

0

No Profession Listed

44 (14, 16)

55 (10, 13)

52 (10, 22)

60 (10, 31)

Other

10 (3, 4)

34 (6, 8)

20 (4, 8)

9 (2, 5)

Total Male

273 (88)

412 (72)

240 (45)

193 (34)

Female (no professions listed)

38 (12)

164 (28)

293 (55)

383 (66)

Total

311

576

533

576

Source: SSBM Nancy, AGA 1880, 1888, 1904, 1910. Note: In cells in which there are two percentages, the first is the percentage of total; the second, percentage of men.

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5,100 francs distributed annually to colonial veterans in the mid-1880s, this expenditure fluctuated between 2,000 and 3,700 francs, in part at least due to demand (see Table 7.4). The SSBM also raised over 41,000 francs for aid to the soldiers fighting in Tonkin and Madagascar in 1885. To support all this activity, the Nancy committee focused much of its attention on fundraising. The French government promised to pay local committees one franc per day per soldier treated, plus 25 centimes per meal, but required each Red Cross establishment to provide its own materials and to pay for the burial of those who died in its care. The Nancy committee also reciprocated with the Central Committee in Paris: it sent one-fifth of its membership dues to Paris, but received in return two-thirds of the cost of its material purchases. In 1882, for example, they exchanged a payment of 606.40 francs for 7,988.90 francs towards materials. Despite this outside help, local committees like the one in Nancy had to raise much of their money on their own, either through membership dues or fundraisers, such as balls, concerts, table 7.4. Nancy SSBM Expenditures, in Francs, 1880–1913 1880

1883

Colonial Vets

638*

1,000*

FPW vets

—

—

Materials Purchased

—

Sent to Tonkin or Madagascar

—

1884

1885

1887

5,154

5,108

—

—

491

210

None+

—

—

—

2,936

41,250 raised, 24,404 sent

—

1889

1891

1893

1903

1909

1913

Colonial Vets

2,507

1,998

3,617

2,885

2,375

3,694

FPW Vets

420

488

597

383

—

—

Materials Purchased

—

823

850

—

—

—

Dispensary

—

—

—

—

9,645

—

Total cash

—

—

—

103,247

—

58,181

Sources: SSBM Comité de Nancy, AGA 1880–93, 1903, 1909; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4. *Colonial conflicts and the Franco-Prussian War; 1883 also includes money to widows. +Published Dr. Gross’s first-aid book.

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or masses. In 1909, a successful sale and lottery held at the Hôtel de Ville, organized by the Ladies’ Committee, netted 14,800 francs. Local artists and firms donated over two hundred items for the lottery. The total amount of money saved by the SSBM of Nancy by 1903 topped 103,000 francs, the year the committee opened its dispensary-school. Given that in one year (1909) the dispensary cost the organization over 9,600 francs, that activity alone may account for the drop in total cash assets to 58,000 francs in 1913. In that year, 45 percent of the income of the SSBM came from membership dues, 36 percent from diverse revenue—primarily fundraisers—and 14 percent from reimbursements from the Central Committee, for a total of 10,571.60 francs. The SSBM therefore relied upon its members in order to operate. In 1889, a year when nationalism ran high and Nancy elected Boulangists Maurice Barrès and Alfred Gabriel to the Chamber of Deputies, the SSBM boasted 617 members, a level it sustained through at least 1910. Membership was not open to all comers. It required the sponsorship of two members and a minimum of six francs per year (until the aforementioned 1907 SSBM policy change), social and financial capital that cut out a wide swath of the population. Therefore, the Red Cross generally attracted the elite of the Nancy community, especially businessmen, bankers, government officials, lawyers, judges, doctors, and professors. Many of these men had been involved in community service in the past, including mobile hospitals and other associations related to the Franco-Prussian War. Of the fifteen leading members of the local committee to raise funds to pay off the war indemnity, nine were members of the Red Cross of Nancy during the 1880s. Eugène Lederlin, professor at the Law Faculty in Nancy, and publisher Jules Norberg both had chosen to leave annexed Strasbourg for Nancy, and they served on the Comité de Secours aux Alsaciens-Lorrains in Nancy. Norberg became a longtime Red Cross member, and Lederlin held the position of vice-president and then president of the SSBM of Nancy for over thirty years. Between 1880 and 1910, membership characteristics of the Nancy SSBM changed significantly. Male membership shifted away from businessmen and government officials (declining from 27 percent to 8 percent and from 10 percent to 5 percent, respectively) to medical and military personnel (increasing from 4 percent to 9 percent and from 7 percent to 12 percent, respectively). The growth in military personnel represented a qualitative as well as quantitative change; in 1880, no generals or commandants joined the Red Cross, whereas by 1910, eleven of the twenty-four military personnel held those

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ranks. Furthermore, the military influence within the organization increased between 1888 and 1910. In 1888, no officers served on the governing council, which doctors dominated (holding six of eight seats), whereas the council of fifteen included five military members by 1910, the same number as doctors. This shift reflects the increasing number of military personnel in the city and indicates a greater orientation of the SSBM of Nancy toward the interests of the army. At the same time, the role of women in the SSBM of Nancy increased dramatically. The membership roll for 1880 listed men and women together, with women making up 12 percent of membership (38 of 311). The next year, women were listed separately but were counted among the ordinary members. In 1882, however, “lady” members became a separate category. Although women could be included in the category of founders, ordinary female members became a special category, “lady subscribers,” whereas male members were labeled simply as “member subscribers.” This distinction suggests a perceived sexual difference in members and discomfort with female participation in public life alongside men in such great numbers. After the Central Committee of the SSBM created a Ladies’ Committee in 1882, it encouraged its departmental committees to do so as well. The Nancy SSBM formally created a Ladies’ Committee in 1886, with separate statutes placing women in leadership positions; they were dedicated to gathering bedding, dressings, and other materials. In case of war, they were to oversee the distribution of resources, provide “moral support” to the sick and wounded, and keep watch over the wards and kitchens. Nursing was a low priority. The percentage of women members crept up slowly through 1887. Then, after a membership drive in 1888, women jumped to over 30 percent of all ordinary members. Women increasingly adopted the Red Cross as a means to help their city and their families during the seemingly inevitable war to come. Whether they were listed as members alongside men (1880) or as a separate Comité des Dames (1889, for instance), most female members were identified as “Madame” or “Mademoiselle.” None were listed with religious titles. The women religious who joined as members of a congregation remained listed as a group in a separate notation that does not indicate their numbers. By 1904, women surpassed men among ordinary members, 293 to 240 (55 percent); in 1910—after the 1909 reintegration of the Ladies’ Committee into the regular committee, following the Central Committee’s directive—women outnumbered men 383 to 194 (66 percent). Women increased their interest in

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the Nancy SSBM despite the creation of a local UFF by 1908. The growing numbers of women in the committee, the tasks they were assigned, and the praise of them by the male officers all imply that women did more of the actual committee work than did male members, who often only made an annual monetary contribution. The Nancy SSBM itself attributed its increase in membership, donations, and general standing in the community to the Ladies’ Committee. Despite its affiliation with the conservative SSBM, the Nancy committee reached (or at least, gestured) across religious divides. From the outset, the SSBM welcomed pastors as well as priests as members and volunteer chaplains, and by 1888 included the grand rabbi. Politically, in contrast to the national leadership and character of the SSBM, the Nancy committee appealed to republicans more than their opponents. In fact, four of the six candidates on the republican list for the Meurthe-et-Moselle in 1885 had been members of the SSBM in 1884, while none of the six conservative candidates had joined. The organization was patriotic but not outwardly bellicose or revanchiste. The membership of the SSBM did not overlap closely with the leadership of other nationalist-leaning groups. Only three of the twenty-one founding members of the revanchiste Union Patriotique de l’Est also subscribed to the Red Cross in the year they established their association, 1888. Of eleven identified leaders of the Souvenir Français in the east, only two joined the SSBM of Nancy by 1910. Only one of the fifteen leading members of the Nancy chapter of the Société des Vétérans des Armées de Terre et de Mer belonged to the SSBM. However, the SSBM also sponsored an annual mass presided by revanchiste Bishop Turinaz of Nancy and Toul. By 1910, nationalist deputies from Nancy, Louis Marin, Colonel Émile Driant and Count René Ferri de Ludre—all supporters of the three-year military service law—were members. Nancy’s particularly active branch of the SSBM indicates that organizational experience, lived memory for past failures and successes, and anticipation of concrete future needs all contributed to the formation of a robust civil society on the local level in the early Third Republic. The SSBM of Nancy thrived because of the city’s experience with the Franco-Prussian War and its extraordinary vibrancy during the early Third Republic, which was complemented by support from the central organization and the state. Its leaders learned from the Franco-Prussian War that they could not improvise a tight organization with sufficient supplies and volunteers after mobilization. They needed to prepare in advance for a war that they expected to fight in

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their own department, or risk another defeat and occupation. The people of Nancy had direct experience with organizing charitable and patriotic work. They knew how to work smoothly with the government, and how to appeal to community leaders without becoming divisive. They adjusted to the idea of increasing the involvement of women. Instead of bowing to the pressure of the national SSBM and the criticisms leveled against its rivals, the UFF and ADF, they adapted their local organization to the political and religious context of their city by welcoming Protestant and Jewish members. They allowed members to feel that they were making important contributions simply by donating a small amount of money and by gathering linens. By the early twentieth century, the work of such departmental committees put the French Red Cross in a vastly different position than it had been in 1870.

R

Proponents of the Red Cross, primarily middle-class activists, identified the strengthening of weak or broken bodies, one by one, with the restoration of France to its former glory following its dismal performance during the Franco-Prussian War. Every French person—male or female, young or old, rich or poor—was responsible for helping the nation in its time of need. The government could not and should not handle this task alone. This idea developed in the 1880s, as the Third Republic became secure, when the rhetoric of commemoration was shifting focus from the dead to living, universally conscripted soldiers, but also when candidates for the National Assembly put war readiness at the bottom of their campaign promises. In many respects, the Red Cross reflected and sustained the interests of the Third Republican state. The Red Cross became increasingly tied to the military’s Service de Santé, and at times—notably in 1892 and 1907—it adjusted its regulations and goals to reflect the republic’s foreign policy objectives. Furthermore, the Red Cross fostered values that sustained the interests of the French state during the early Third Republic. It internalized the belief that the well-being of the nation must begin with civic virtue and the sacrifice of all classes of individuals, and it encouraged people to feel invested in the government as the guardian of France and French soldiers. Insofar as it allowed people to claim ownership over the direction of the nation, the Red Cross indirectly promoted participatory republicanism. The Red Cross’s model of citizen participation mirrored the one proposed by the French republican state. Its most inclusive organization, the UFF, promoted cross-class

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solidarity, not class conflict, with the upper classes firmly placed in leadership roles. In addition, the Red Cross reinforced gender stereotypes—men as fighters and women as caregivers—that sustained the dominant belief that women ought to remain excluded from the most robust and participatory forms of republican citizenship. Still, the Red Cross was not simply a tool of the state. It mobilized a semiautonomous civilian corps of thousands of volunteers. Its organizational structure and activities reflected its own internal aims and rivalries as much as the state’s foreign and domestic policies. Although the Nancy SSBM anticipated incorporation into the Service de Santé when the nation went to war, it did not directly answer to the state in its daily operations for thirty-five years. In addition, the Red Cross pushed for female leadership at a time when few in power countenanced political participation for women. In naming the special characteristics that women could offer the nation and in providing an opening for women to shape French public life and their own personal development, the ADF and UFF clearly marked themselves as different from both the state and from the postwar associations of the 1870s. The UFF and ADF posited religious pluralism, at a time when the choice was usually offered only between Catholicism and secularism. The Red Cross thus embodied a particularly important increase in the sophistication, influence, and national integration of French civil society, all in the name of war readiness. With its influence felt both within the French military and in towns across the country, the Red Cross played a unique and important role in the evolution of French civil society during the early Third Republic. The continual increase of Red Cross membership and activities from 1879 to 1914 attests to a mounting preoccupation with national defense among a large segment of the population. Ultimately, the Red Cross reoriented the average citizen’s responsibility for the nation’s well-being, claiming that all citizens had a moral obligation to undertake concrete measures for the preparation for a future war. Thousands of French women and men heeded this call. In the summer of 1914, the moment they had long dreaded—and awaited—finally arrived.

CONCLUSION In the immediate aftermath of the Franco-Prussian War, French citizens wanted their postwar problems addressed. The process of bereavement, they believed, required more ritual and monument construction than the state had planned. They claimed that Alsatians and Lorrainers deserved to be treated as refugees worthy of charity, and that citizens should help to pay off the war indemnity and thus end the occupation. These citizens formed associations that promoted their interests and challenged the state to take more responsibility for the war’s damages. These associations were successful in some areas, notably in commemorating the dead and in providing charity for Alsatians and Lorrainers. However, they tended to work with a single goal in mind, and they ceased to function once they completed their task or once the task proved unworkable, as in the case of the liberation campaign. These war-related associations could not operate with complete independence from the state, which had already made itself the accepted bureaucracy in matters of civil standing, burial, the military, and public land use. The state was also well-equipped to give administrative support and credibility to activities such as the distribution of seed to the neediest farmers. But the French state was not particularly interested in encouraging war-related activities. In the 1870s, the central government consistently tried to minimize the possibility that citizens might be able to organize themselves to help the nation recover from the war. Despite attempts in Paris and the provinces to use the war to forge a new relationship between citizens and the nation, the state (even as it evolved itself ) tried to define postwar recovery in narrow terms, to prevent any insult to Germany, and to maintain tight control over those reconstruction activities that it deemed appropriate. French politicians struggling for control over the state defined the war as a political event, from its origins in the Second Empire to its prolongation under the Government of National Defense. The rhetoric of the ascendant republic, with its focus on 152

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peace and its criticism of rule by one man, did not address the postwar needs and desires of provincial citizens. In the midst of domestic political conflict and international instability, the state under Thiers and later MacMahon handled the influx of Alsatians and Lorrainers gingerly, discouraged the campaign to liberate the occupied territories, and attempted to prevent an annual commemoration at Mars-la-Tour. By the end of the decade, the first wave of attention given to the Franco-Prussian War subsided. By the 1880s, the Franco-Prussian War had receded far enough into the past for French citizens to reassess their roles during the war and reorient themselves toward the future. For those who still cared to listen, the war offered a simple lesson: national defense must be prepared during peacetime, and all citizens must contribute—women and men, young and old, rich and poor. With the solidification of the Third Republic, the establishment of near-universal conscription in 1889, and the creation of a new alliance with Russia in the early 1890s came a growing belief that French citizens needed to prepare for a future conflict even before hostilities commenced. Athletic displays and festivities related to commemoration became increasingly celebratory, while still promoting French unity. They extended one-time actions into long-term goals or annual events, adding pedagogy and patriotism to charity. Local committees operated within a larger and increasingly coordinated national framework. Long-lasting organizations such as the Red Cross and the Souvenir Français differed from the ephemeral societies of the early 1870s because they looked toward the future, respecting the dead but directing their attention toward living citizens and soldiers. These organizations anticipated that their plans might not be fully implemented for decades, so they heightened the connection between generations, enabling a transfer of memory and responsibility to the upcoming group. They focused primarily on the strength, health, and honor of young male conscripts, a segment of the population that did not fall under the purview of traditional charities, but that seemed to be the appropriate objects (and subjects) of associations concerned with the anticipated coming of war. These young men would prepare themselves physically and socially for military service and could expect medical treatment and commemoration in the event of wounds, illness, or death. Two other kinds of associations complemented this effort and testified to the growing influence and sophistication of civil society. By the 1890s, natalist associations showed concern about the nation’s ability to meet the challenge

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of a future war. Mothers and infants, long the objects of charity, now became the locus of fears about France’s stagnant population growth. In 1896, demographer Jacques Bertillon founded the Alliance Nationale pour l’Accroissement de la Population Française to lobby for government policies that would encourage families to have more children. As with the advocates of the Red Cross or training societies, natalists focused on the long-term well-being of the nation, particularly its potential soldiers, and believed that the crucial role for citizen association lay in pushing the government to support its goals. The rising tourism industry also worked with and prodded the government to address citizen interests. Founded in 1890 and growing to 104,000 members by 1906, the Touring Club de France became a powerful organization representing cyclists and automobilists. The Touring Club and other boosters of regional tourism (including private companies, notably Michelin) pressed the Ministry of the Interior’s Office National du Tourisme to promote hotel hygiene standards and to post signs and directions between and within towns. It is tempting to see the Touring Club’s efforts as a complement to the work of war-related associations. All of these organizations relied upon the assumption that wartime was extraordinary and that when it came, it should be ameliorated, contained, and commemorated. War would interrupt the ideal of leisure for automobile owners tooling through the terroirs, depending on secure knowledge about safe, pleasant roads and lodgings. And the anniversary events at Mars-la-Tour suggest that war commemoration and tourism could mutually support each other. After 1918, the Touring Club’s stance was ambiguous. While it promoted battlefield tourism within France, its narratives describing the colonies did not mention uprisings or bloody suppressions. Tourists may have been willing to visit the trenches outside of Verdun, but they did not want to contemplate the disruption and horror of war while sipping their cocktails at fancy hotels in Saigon. During the early Third Republic, civil society did not simply function as an autonomous layer between individuals and the state, in the liberal pursuit of private interests. Indeed, the aims of the Red Cross, training societies, and the Subscription for the Liberation of the Territories—as well as natalist and even tourist associations—all indicate that French civil society was more concerned with shaping the state’s actions and holding it accountable than with securing freedom from the state. French citizens recognized that a stronger and more influential public would arise not just from the direct interaction of individuals with the state, but also with the aid of organizations in which

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individuals acted in concert toward a common goal. At the same time, the relationship between these associations and the state encouraged an ethos of state service. Citizens’ expectations of what they could demand of their state grew in tandem with the knowledge of the sacrifices that they could be asked to make. War-related organizations therefore created trust, connections, and social habits among citizens, binding them more firmly to the republic through association. These associations created a new definition of French citizenship, one that emphasized patriotic preparation for war in advance and included women and adolescent males in important, public roles. Many French citizens believed that the common pursuit of preparation for war transcended the republic’s profound social, religious, and gender divisions. This was especially the case in the Meurthe-et-Moselle, where the combination of location, experience, fear, and associational strength all pushed citizens to make war preparation a significant part of their activities, whether at the annual ceremony at Mars-la-Tour or in their daily lives as Red Cross volunteers or members of a gymnastics club. Anxieties about war and its capacity to destroy bodies, tear apart families, and bring national humiliation cut across social divides. Rhetoric about the Franco-Prussian War retroactively focused on the conflict’s unifying aspects rather than on the social tensions it exacerbated. Men and women both believed that action in public organizations was necessary to bind the wounds of that terrible year, even though women played different and often subordinate roles. Religious and secular authorities, both in large cities and small villages, promoted commemorative events to heal and inspire. The Nancy branch of the SSBM welcomed women and men of all classes. The republican state cautiously welcomed these associations, recognizing that civil associations could bolster the republic. To be sure, the ministers of state still worried about any activities that might anger Germany, but state representatives permitted and encouraged (to varying degrees) training societies, the Red Cross, and even the Souvenir Français, so long as these groups adhered to republican values. After the 1901 Law of Associations, the republic encouraged such associations to register as legal entities and monitored both registered and nonregistered associations for their ideological content. State decrees explicitly set the parameters of Red Cross involvement in the Service de Santé, even though local chapters ran the day-to-day operations. As free association expanded, national leaders legitimized and constrained it, molding it to the aims of the republic. However, the state never fully absorbed and

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replaced war-related associations, the way it built from and then abolished congregational schools or used private mutual-aid societies as a stepping stone toward state social insurance programs. During and after World War I, the Red Cross and memorial construction continued to occupy an ambiguous space between the private and the public. The committees that oversaw monument construction, like those after the Franco-Prussian War, relied to varying degrees on local notables, municipal government, and priests, as well as veterans’ associations. According to the law of October 25, 1919, the state did not require that each commune put up a memorial, though it supplied funding for those that applied for monies. The Souvenir Français continues its commemorative work to the present day.

Consequences for the Great War There is no greater illusion than fear, No greater wrong than preparing to defend yourself, No greater misfortune than having an enemy.

The link between the Franco-Prussian War and the Great War is not revanche. It is that the first war fostered the belief that the citizens of a nation could and should prepare for a future conflict. After the Franco-Prussian War, French citizens struggled to recover from the devastating defeat and, in later decades, tried to ensure that the same disaster would not happen again. Preparation for a future conflict became one of the salient features of the early French Third Republic. The willingness to prepare for war in times of peace did not necessarily indicate a desire for a war of revenge. Instead, it reflected a drive for self-preservation and devotion to the French nation. By 1914, French citizens had created a civil society capable of mobilizing civilians for war. As it turned out, however, French citizens could not have imagined the intensity and the duration of the war that they faced in 1914. Did preparation make a difference? Of course, to some degree it did. The French Red Cross eased the suffering of thousands of soldiers and helped ensure that food packages reached French prisoners of war. But advance preparation could only last for so long. How many wounds could the Red Cross’s stockpile of bandages bind? How well did the minimally trained Red Cross volunteers fare when confronted with 329,000 French deaths in just the first two months of war? The Great War quickly swallowed up these efforts in its overwhelming scale. The discipline learned in gymnastics associations seems particularly pa-

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thetic and naïve in the face of the brutal operations at the Battle of the Marne and stalemated trench warfare. But on another level, these organizations shaped the Great War because they created a society in which war could be more readily accepted, not only in 1914 but again and again over the course of the war. Jean-Jacques Becker asks, “Why were the French so ready to make sacrifices in 1914 when they had been so unprepared for them in the past?” One reason is that they had been emotionally and socially preparing for that sacrifice for decades. The Union Sacrée—flawed and incomplete as it was—was not created out of whole cloth in the summer of 1914. The French had rehearsed moments of unity year after year at Mars-la-Tour, as well as at gymnastics festivals all over the country. Civil society, alongside the army and the education system, fostered a culture that largely consented to war when it came. When it became clear by the end of 1914 that victory would necessitate a longer and more terrible commitment, the French accepted the challenge, in part due to the decades of social and emotional preparation undertaken in associations. These organizations fostered the “self-persuasion” that played a key role in the cultural mobilization of France during the first two years of the war. Training societies helped to inculcate a disciplinary ethos resting on “mutual surveillance among men who knew each other well” that helped define the soldiers’ experience in the trenches. As the war continued, 1,806 preexisting and new organizations recognized by the French government mobilized for the war effort. In contrast, Germany’s civilian mobilization during the war occurred primarily in the economic realm. Even during the critical year of 1917, despite the mutinies and the strikes, the French were far from threatening a complete breakdown of law and order, unlike civilian populations in Russia and Germany. Along with other factors, including the general availability of food, the entrance of the United States into the war, and the state’s use of censorship and familial allowances, social mobilization helped French citizens to resist calling for a ceasefire or staging a revolution. In the trenches and in the factories, the French people overwhelmingly chose to continue fighting, even when France’s position seemed lowest. Civil society’s claim to shape the nation’s preparation for war sustained France’s ability to hold on through over four years of conflict. Whether or not this outcome was ultimately desirable is another question. After all, the French willingness to continue the war cost them thousands of lives every week. Attempts to prepare for war helped the French consent to

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and prolong a conflict that turned into a tragedy of world-historical proportions. France’s experiences after the Franco-Prussian War provide a cautionary tale about a society stunned by a sudden defeat that tried to chase after elusive national security. Republican institutions and a robust civil society do not in themselves protect citizens from war’s violence. Lao-tzu’s admonition against preparing to fight an enemy echoes across time and space as a warning to those who anticipate war. The French brand of democratic republicanism did not renounce war, but rather helped to sustain it. The French response to the Franco-Prussian War warns us to take a critical approach to our common human struggle with fear.

ABBREVIATIONS AD ADF AGA AM AN BnF CSAL GDN ICRC M-et-M SPALDF SSBM UFF USGF

Archives Départementales Association des Dames Françaises Assemblée Générale Annuelle (SSBM Nancy) Archives Municipales Archives Nationales Bibliothèque Nationale de France Comité de Secours aux Alsaciens-Lorrains Gouvernement de la Défense Nationale International Committee of the Red Cross Meurthe-et-Moselle Société de Protection des Alsaciens et Lorrains Demeurés Français Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires Union des Femmes de France Union des Sociétés de Gymnastique de France

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NOTES Introduction 1. Letter from Zola to Van Santen Kolff, January 16, 1892, cited in R. A. Jouanny’s introduction to Zola’s La Débâcle (Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1975), 13. 2. Jouanny, “Introduction,” 9. 3. Recent work on this issue includes Richard Bessel, Germany after the First World War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); David W. Blight, Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American Memory (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); John Dower, Embracing Defeat: Japan in the Wake of World War II (New York: W. W. Norton, 1999); Henry Rousso, The Vichy Syndrome: History and Memory in France since 1944, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991); Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 4. Frédéric Piton, Siège de Strasbourg. Journal d’un Assiégé (Paris: Schlaeber, 1900), 179. 5. Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870: La France dans la Guerre (Paris: Armand Colin, 1989); François Roth, La Guerre de 1870 (Paris: Fayard, 1990); Michael Howard, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Invasion of France, 1870–1871 (New York: Macmillan, 1961); Bertrand Taithe, Citizenship and Wars: France in Turmoil, 1870–1871 (London: Routledge, 2001); Taithe, Defeated Flesh: Welfare, Warfare and the Making of Modern France (Manchester, Eng.: Manchester University Press, 1999); Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 6. David Wetzel, A Duel of Giants: Bismarck, Napoleon III, and the Origins of the FrancoPrussian War (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), esp. 72, 94. 7. Roth, Guerre de 1870, 151. 8. Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870, 37–73. 9. Howard, Franco-Prussian War, 3. 10. Piton, Siège de Strasbourg, x–xi. 11. Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 42–43, 76–78; Thomas J. Adriance, The Last Gaiter Button: A Study of the Mobilization and Concentration of the French Army in the War of 1870 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987), 68–69, 77–79. 12. Taithe, Defeated Flesh, 31. 13. Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 52–53. 14. Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 54–56. 15. Quoted in Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 235. 16. Jean-Jacques Becker and Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, La France, La Nation, La Guerre:

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1850–1920 (Paris: Sedès, 1995), 118–20; Karma Nabulsi, Traditions of War: Occupation, Resistance, and the Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 19–65. 17. Piton, Siège de Strasbourg, 205–6. 18. Words of the servant of Hermione Quinet as quoted in Quinet’s Paris: Journal du Siège (Paris: E. Dentu, 1873), 294. 19. Anonymous, Apparition de la Sainte Vierge à Pont-Main, 17 Janvier 1871 (Rennes: Oberthar et Fils, 1875). 20. In a few departments in the east, the fighting ended only on February 17. 21. Roth, Guerre de 70, 508–9; Matthew Smallman-Raynor and Andrew D. Cliff, “The Geographical Transmission of Smallpox in the Franco-Prussian War: Prisoner of War Camps and Their Impact upon Epidemic Diffusion Processes in the Civil Settlement System of Prussia 1870–71,” Medical History 46, no. 2 (April 2002): 247. 22. Guy Périer de Féral’s statistics, cited in Roth, Guerre de 70, 514–15. 23. Roth, Guerre de 70, 508; Piton, Siège de Strasbourg, introduction by Alfred Touchemolin, v–vii. 24. Older studies arguing for the existence of the strong push for revenge tended to focus on the responses of intellectuals to the war, most notably Henry Contamine, La Revanche, 1871–1914 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1957) and Robert Wohl, The Generation of 1914 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979). In recent years scholars have tried to resuscitate the problematic and slippery notion of revanche as part of the cultural imagination, notably Wolfgang Schivelbusch, The Culture of Defeat: On National Trauma, Mourning, and Recovery, trans. Jefferson Chase (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2003), 128, which rests on exceptionally shaky evidence; Michael E. Nolan, The Inverted Mirror: Mythologizing the Enemy in France and Germany, 1898–1914 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2005), 24; and Bénédicte Grailles, “De la Défaite à l’Union Sacrée ou les Chemins du Consentement: Hommages Publics et Commémorations de 1870 à 1914: L’Exemple du Nord de la France” (Unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Charles de Gaulle Lille III, 2000). Two recent volumes cautiously reconsider revanchsime as it appeared in the visual realm: Richard Thomson, The Troubled Republic: Visual Culture and Social Debate in France, 1889–1900 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004); June Hargrove and Neil McWilliam, eds., Nationalism and French Visual Culture, 1870–1914 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005). 25. Jean-François Chanet, “Armée Nouvelle et République Conservatrice, 1871–1879” (Mémoire de recherche inédit, October 2002); Bertrand Joly, “La France et la Revanche (1871– 1914),” Revue d’Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine 46, no. 2 (April–June 2002): 325–47; Allan Mitchell, The Divided Path: The German Influence on Social Reform in France after 1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Mitchell, The German Influence in France after 1870: The Formation of the French Republic (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979); Mitchell, Victors and Vanquished: The German Influence on Army and Church in France after 1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984). 26. Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, trans. George Lawrence, ed. J. P. Mayeur (New York: HarperPerennial, 1969), esp. 189–95, 241–45, 509–30. 27. William Beik, Absolutism and Society in Seventeenth-Century France: State Power and Provincial Aristocracy in Languedoc (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Steven L. Kaplan, Provisioning Paris: Merchants and Millers in the Grain and Flour Trade during the Eighteenth Century (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1984); Kaplan, The Bakers of Paris and the Bread Question, 1700– 1775 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1996); Robert Schwartz, Policing the Poor in Eighteenth-

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Century France (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988); Louis Bergeron, France under Napoleon, trans. R. R. Palmer (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981); Timothy Tackett, Religion, Revolution, and Regional Culture in Eighteenth-Century France: The Ecclesiastical Oath of 1791 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986); Isser Woloch, The New Regime: Transformations of the French Civic Order, 1789–1820s (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994). 28. The novelty, timing, and cultural ramifications of these projects are overstated, however, in Eugen Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870–1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976). See, for instance, Elinor A. Accampo, et al, eds., Gender and the Politics of Social Reform in France, 1870–1914 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); Mary Louise Roberts, Civilization without Sexes: Reconstructing Gender in Postwar France, 1917–1927 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994); Judith F. Stone, The Search for Social Peace: Reform Legislation in France, 1890–1914 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1985). 29. On the state as an independent actor, see Theda Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia, and China (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Farideh Farhi, States and Urban-Based Revolutions: Iran and Nicaragua (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990); James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). Sanford Elwitt argues that the state promoted the interests of bourgeois capitalists in The Making of the Third Republic: Class and Politics in France, 1868–1884 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975). 30. Philip Corrigan and Derek Sayer, The Great Arch: English State Formation as Cultural Revolution (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), 4. 31. On the legal status of associations, see Paul Nourrisson, Histoire de la Liberté d’Association en France depuis 1789, 2 vols (Paris: L. Tenin, 1920); Alan R. H. Baker, Fraternity among the French Peasantry: Sociability and Voluntary Associations in the Loire Valley, 1815–1914 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 36–38; Carol E. Harrison, The Bourgeois Citizen in NineteenthCentury France: Gender, Sociability, and the Uses of Emulation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 22–28; Raymond Huard, “Political Association in Nineteenth-Century France: Legislation and Practice,” in Civil Society Before Democracy: Lessons from Nineteenth-Century Europe, ed. Nancy Bermeo and Philip Nord (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 135–53. 32. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 24. 33. Stéphane Gerson, The Pride of Place: Local Memories and Political Culture in NineteenthCentury France (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003), 9. 34. Huard, “Association,” 135–36, 141–42; Nourrisson, Histoire de la Liberté d’Association, 2:1–57. On political associations in the early nineteenth century, see William H. Sewell, Jr., Work and Revolution in France: The Language of Labor from the Old Regime to 1848 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1980); Maurice Agulhon, The Republic in the Village: The People of the Var from the French Revolution to the Second Republic (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982). On 1848 and the Montagnards, see Peter H. Amann, Revolution and Mass Democracy: The Paris Club Movement in 1848 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975); Ted W. Margadant, French Peasants in Revolt: The Insurrection of 1851 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979). 35. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 180. 36. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 158, 177–80. 37. Judith F. Stone, “Anticlericals and Bonnes Soeurs: The Rhetoric of the 1901 Law of Associations,” French Historical Studies 23, no. 1 (Winter 2000): 111; Sarah A. Curtis, Educating the Faithful: Religion, Schooling, and Society in Nineteenth-Century France (DeKalb: Northern Illi-

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nois University Press, 2000), 18, 34–39; Raymond Grew and Patrick J. Harrigan, School, State, and Society: The Growth of Elementary Schooling in Nineteenth-Century France—A Quantitative Analysis (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991), 94, 96. 38. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen; Gerson, Pride of Place. 39. Sudhir Hazareesingh, The Saint-Napoleon: Celebrations of Sovereignty in Nineteenth-Century France (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004), 38, 46–50. On the growth of associational life during the Second Empire, see also Hazareesingh, From Subject to Citizen: The Second Empire and the Emergence of Modern French Democracy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998); Alain Dalotel, Alain Faure, and Jean-Claude Freiermuth, Aux Origines de la Commune: Le Mouvement des Réunions Publiques à Paris 1868–1870 (Paris: François Maspero, 1980). 40. On associational life during the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune, see Taithe, Defeated Flesh, 170; Martin Phillip Johnson, The Paradise of Association: Political Culture and Popular Organizations in the Paris Commune of 1871 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996); AD Sarthe, 4 R 126, Prefecture Sarthe, Secours aux familles des militaires et gardes nationales, 1870–1873; Olivier Vernier, “La Charité Patriotique dans l’Arrondissement de Grasse Pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871,” Provence Historique 35, fasc. 140 (1985): 205–13. 41. Philip G. Nord, The Republican Moment: The Struggles for Democracy in NineteenthCentury France (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995), 13. See also Nord, “The Welfare State in France, 1870–1914,” French Historical Studies 18, no. 3 (Spring 1994): 837. 42. Pierre Rosanvallon, Le Modèle Politique Français: La Société Civile contre le Jacobinisme de 1789 à Nos Jours (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2004), 326–27. 43. Huard, “Association,” 145–46, 149; Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 22–28. 44. Rosanvallon, Modèle Politique Français, 326–27. 45. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 158. 46. Catherine J. Kudlick, “Giving Is Deceiving: Cholera, Charity, and the Quest for Authority in 1832,” French Historical Studies 18, no. 2 (Fall 1993): 476. 47. Christine Adams, “Constructing Mothers and Families: The Society for Maternal Charity of Bordeaux, 1805–1860,” French Historical Studies 22, no. 1 (Winter 1999): 65–86; Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 158, 167; Paul V. Dutton, Origins of the French Welfare State (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 5. 48. The last significant food riots in France took place in 1853–54. See Charles Tilly, “Food Supply and Public Order,” in The Formation of National States in Western Europe, ed. Tilly (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), 449. On the use of the word “claim” to refer to state sovereignty, see James J. Sheehan, “The Problem of Sovereignty in European History,” American Historical Review 111, no. 1 (February 2006): 1–15. 49. Woloch, New Regime; Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen; David M. Hopkin, Soldier and Peasant in French Popular Culture, 1766–1870 (Woodbridge, Eng.: Boydell Press, 2003). 50. Stefan-Ludwig Hoffman, “Democracy and Associations in the Long Nineteenth Century: Toward a Transnational Perspective,” Journal of Modern History 75 (June 2003): 269–99. 51. Harrison, Bourgeois Citizen, 221. 52. Katrin Schultheiss, Bodies and Souls: Politics and the Professionalization of Nursing in France, 1880–1922 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); Elinor Accampo, Blessed Motherhood, Bitter Fruit: Nelly Roussel and the Politics of Female Pain in Third Republic France (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006), 40–41, 75; Linda L. Clark, The Rise of Professional Women in France: Gender and Public Administration since 1830 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000).

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53. Margaret R. Higonnet and Patrice L.-R. Higonnet, “The Double Helix,” in Behind the Lines: Gender and the Two World Wars, ed. M. Higonnet et al. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), 31–47, esp. 34–35. 54. On women as soldiers and spies, see Henry and Paul de Trailles, Les Femmes de France pendant la Guerre et les Deux Sièges de Paris (Paris: F. Polo, 1872); Joseph Turquan, Les Femmes de France pendant l’Invasion, 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1893); Louise Zeys, Une Fille de la Vraie Alsace: Marie-Antoinette Lix, Lieutenant de Uhlans Polonais, Lieutenant de Francs-Tireurs (Paris: Plon, 1931); Louise Hanon, “Juliette Dodu,” Audiences Solennelles à la Cour d’Appel de Saint-Denis-de-la-Réunion, 2 Mars 1965 (Paris: Imprimerie du Palais, 1966). 55. Robert A.Nye, Masculinity and Male Codes of Honor in Modern France (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Christopher E. Forth, The Dreyfus Affair and the Crisis of French Manhood (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), esp. 6–8; Edward Berenson, The Trial of Madame Caillaux (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), esp. 107–13. 56. Thomas Cardoza, “Exceeding the Needs of Service: The French Army and the Suppression of Female Auxiliaries, 1871–1906,” War and Society 20, no. 1 (May 2002): 1–22. 57. Alan Forrest, “Citizenship and Military Service,” in The French Revolution and the Meaning of Citizenship, ed. Renée Waldinger et al. (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1993): 153–65; Forrest, “The French Revolution and the First Levée en Masse,” in The People in Arms: Military Myth and National Mobilization since the French Revolution, ed. Daniel Moran and Arthur Waldron (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 8–31; David A. Bell, The First Total War: Napoleon’s Europe and the Birth of Warfare as We Know It (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2007), 149.

Chapter 1 1. François Roth, La Guerre de 70 (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 527. 2. Berthe to André, October 12, 1870, in B. Boissonnas, Une Famille pendant la Guerre 1870–1871, 17th ed. (Paris: J. Hetzel, [1877]), 66–67. 3. Madame de Thieulin to Madame de Vineuil, November 30, 1870, in Boissonnas, Famille, 171. 4. Thomas J. Adriance, The Last Gaiter Button: A Study of the Mobilization and Concentration of the French Army in the War of 1870 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987), 11. 5. Bertrand Taithe, Citizenship and Wars: France in Turmoil, 1870–1871 (London: Routledge, 2001), 53–58. 6. Telegrams regarding the movement of Prussians to the Minister of the Interior in AN, F 7, 12677 (folder on the Orne). 7. Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 285, 292–93. 8. Dominique Mallet, Les Prussiens au Mans (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1873), 69, 225–27; “Anniversaire de la Bataille de Parigné-l’Evêque,” La Feuille du Village, January 26, 1872; Fournier, Une Commune de la Sarthe pendant l’Invasion (Angers: L. Hudon, 1873), 41; Armand Surmont, “Les Allemands dans la Sarthe,” Bulletin de la Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe, 2nd ser., 14 (1873–74): 211–334; AD Sarthe, 16 J 124, André Pioger, “À Propos de la Guerre de 1870—Souvenirs d’un Garconnet (1910–1914),” manuscript, December 1970, 4–5; Alfred Rambaud, “La Lorraine sous le Régime Prussien,” Revue des Deux Mondes, May 1, 1871, 158; Anon.,

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L’Oeuvre des Orphelins de la Guerre de 1870 dans le Diocèse de Châlons (Châlons-sur-Marne: Martin Frères, 1894), 30; Karma Nabulsi, Traditions of War: Occupation, Resistance, and the Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), esp. 25, 27, 31–33, 34, 47–48; Stéphane AudoinRouzeau, 1870: La France dans la Guerre (Paris: Armand Colin, 1989), 294–95; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 261–72; Michael Howard, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Invasion of France, 1870–1871 (New York: Macmillan, 1961), 432–38. 9. Bismarck offered the opportunity for elections in October and November, when discontentment with the war would surely have put the GDN out of office (Wawro, FrancoPrussian War, 247). In 1917, the Russian Provisional Government made the same attempt, with results much more disastrous for their regime. 10. André Lévy, dir., La Sarthe des Origines à Nos Jours (Saint-Jean-d’Angély: Bordessoules, 1983), 275–76, 285, 317; Gabriel Désert, “L’Agriculture et les Payans Sarthois au XIXe Siècle,” in Un Siècle et Demi d’Économie Sarthoise: 1815–1966, ed. Maurice Lévy-Leboyer et al. (Caen: Caron, 1969), 71–85. On the national level, 83 percent voted in support of Napoleon III. Gordon Wright, France in Modern Times (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 141–42. 11. Paul Bois, Paysans de l’Ouest: Des Structures Économiques et Sociales aux Options Politiques depuis l’Époque Révolutionnaire dans la Sarthe (Le Mans: M. Vilaire, 1960). 12. The Legitimist list won 3.4 percent, and the Republicans 32.8 percent. The winning coalition included Orleanist Auguste de Talhouët, legitimist Sosthène de la Rochefoucault, Bonapartist Alphonse-Alfred Haentjens, and Eugène Caillaux, the father of later radical republican leader Joseph Caillaux. Stéphane Sauvageon, “Anselme Rubillard, Maire du Mans, 1871–1878” (Mémoire de Maîtrise, Université du Mans, 1988), 20–21; Paul Leuilliot, “Introduction,” in Sarthois pendant l’Année Terrible, 1870–1871: Études et Témoignages, ed. Frédéric Lemeunier (Laval: René Madiot, 1971), xxviii. In March 1871, Haentjens was one of only eight deputies to vote against a resolution blaming the dynasty for the war. When he died in 1884, Baron Haussmann and several members of the Bonaparte family attended his funeral. Robert Collet, Essai sur la Vie Politique au Mans et dans la Sarthe sous la IIIe République, 1870–1939 (Le Mans: Jobidon, 1955), 11; AD Sarthe, 3 M 574, La Sarthe, April 16, 1884. 13. Scholars disagree on how to categorize many deputies elected in 1871. Estimates of the number of republicans range from 150 to 250 of the total (Jean-Jacques Becker and Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, La France, La Nation, La Guerre: 1850–1920 [Paris: Sedès, 1995], 107 n. 19). According to Audoin-Rouzeau (1870, 307), out of 635 seats, republicans took only about 150 (of which 40 were radicals). Centrists took 78 seats, and monarchists gained 400 (of which 180 were legitimist). Gordon Wright estimates 200 republicans, 400 monarchists, and a few Bonapartists (France in Modern Times, 208). David Hanley identifies seven parties in the National Assembly: two republican, two centrist, and four on the right (Party, Society, and Government: Republican Democracy in France [New York: Beghahn Books, 2002], 49–54). On the campaigns of conservatives for peace, see L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, February 3, 1871; Henri Duchesne, “Les Elections,” La Sarthe, February 5, 1871. See also Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870, 308. 14. Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870, 304. 15. H. d’Aspremont, “Retour vers le Passé,” L’Union de la Sarthe, January 4, 1872; E. de B., “Deux Provinces et Dix Milliards Perdus,” La Sarthe, January 8, 1874; L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, September 6, 1874. Also see a denial of this charge by “Le Bonhomme Manceau” in “Un Mensonge,” La Feuille du Village, November 2–3, 1871. 16. Alain Corbin, The Village of Cannibals: Rage and Murder in France, 1870, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1992), 116.

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17. Roads: Le Service Éducatif, AD Sarthe, Les Sarthois et la Guerre 1870–1871: Choix de documents, doc. 62 and 63; hearths: La Sarthe, December 8, 1871; horses: “Nos Chevaux en Allemagne,” L’Union de la Sarthe, September 2, 1875; deaths: Robert Triger, 34e Anniversaire de la Bataille du Mans (Mamers: Typ. G. Fleury et A. Dangin, 1905), 12; claims of damages: Mallet, Prussiens au Mans, 225–27; Bureau de bienfaisance: René Boulangé, L’Union de la Sarthe, January 13, 1872; schools: A. Garnier, Le Lycée du Mans pendant la Guerre contre la Prusse (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1872), 21–24. 18. Henry Contamine, Les Conséquences Financières des Invasions de 1814 et de 1815 dans les Départements de la Moselle et de la Meurthe, Thèse complémentaire, Université de Paris (Metz: Les Arts Graphiques, 1932). Contamine, writing in the 1930s, shortly after the costly reconstruction paid by the French government after World War I, argued that the Restoration government had preserved itself and stabilized the French economy by leaving the departments to pay off their own debts of 495 million francs. 19. The four societies were: the Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe, the Société d’Horticulture, the Société du Matériel Agricole de la Sarthe, and the Société du Comice Agricole du Mans. Quakers also sent cattle and a steam plough to Nancy (Taithe, Defeated Flesh, 56 n. 7). Mayors traditionally held these responsibilities, as middlemen between the state and the population. See Barnett Singer, Village Notables in Nineteenth-Century France: Priests, Mayors, Schoolmasters (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983), 38–39. 20. Carol E. Harrison, The Bourgeois Citizen in Nineteenth-Century France: Gender, Sociability and the Uses of Emulation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 48. 21. By the law of April 14, 1871, popularly elected municipal councils chose the mayor from among their ranks in communes under 20,000 inhabitants (other than capitals of arrondissements and departments). The Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe had many ecclesiastical members and defended the Church politically, scientifically, and culturally. See Cédric Nouet, “Les Relations Franc-Maçonnerie-Église Catholique en Sarthe entre 1870 et 1914” (Mémoire de Maîtrise, Université du Maine, 1996), 62. 22. De Ponton d’Amécourt, “Distribution Gratuite des Semences Provenant de Diverses Associations de Bienfaisance et Notamment de la Société Anglaise dite Des Amis, en Faveur des Cultivateurs Nécessiteux Éprouvés par la Guerre,” Bulletin de la Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe, 2nd ser., Vol. 13 (1871–72): 258. 23. In another example, the Paris-based Société de Secours aux Paysans Français Ruinés par la Guerre gave almost 200,000 francs to purchase 680,000 kilograms of seed nationwide. Five communes in the Sarthe received 7,910 kilograms, and 80,210 kilograms were sent to the Meurthe-et-Moselle, almost all of it to Nancy. Société de Secours aux Paysans Français Ruinés par la Guerre, Rapport General, 31 Octobre 1872, 1871–1872 (Paris: Paul Dupont, 1872). 24. AD Sarthe, 1 M 189, Commissaire de Police, monthly report, Beaumont, September 30, 1875. Similar statements appear in all of his reports through 1877 and in the few reports extant from Beaumont in 1879. 25. “Treaty of Frankfurt, Frankfurt, May 10, 1871, Definitive Treaty of Peace between France and Germany,” article 8, Major Peace Treaties of Modern History, 1648–2000, ed. Fred L. Israel (Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2002), 1:654–55. 26. AD Sarthe, 8 R 48, Minister of the Interior Ernest Picard to prefects, Circulaire, Versailles, April 22, 1871. 27. AN C 2999, 1871. 686,957,719 francs were claimed. One estimate put the actual amount spent by the departments at 821,087,980 francs. See Émile Chantriot, L’Administration des Départements Envahis en 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1916), 57, 91.

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28. Joseph-Théodore Petitbien, Quelques Réflexions sur les Dommages Causés par l’Invasion (Lunéville: Imprimerie Nouvelle, 1874), 2, 5. 29. Anatole Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques et Parlementaires d’un Témoin, vol. 2: Le Principat de M. Thiers, 1871–1873 (Paris: Plon, 1914), 192. 30. Law of September 6, 1871, Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, July–December 1871. 31. In 1874 and 1876, the National Assembly further provided 22 million francs to pay for losses sustained due to defense measures taken by the French military. AM Le Mans, H.3.16 0 663, Loi du 28 Juillet 1874 Ayant pour Objet d’Accorder un Dédommagement à Tous Ceux Qui Ont Éprouvé un Préjudice Matériel et Direct par Suite des Destructions Ordonnés par l’Autorité Militaire Française pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871; Law of August 16, 1876, Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, July–December 1876, 462. 32. The Seine received 146 million out of the 162 million claimed. The Meurthe-et-Moselle claimed 28,737,124 francs in damages but only received a total of 8,744,600 francs to be spread over 669 communes, while the Sarthe claimed 17,618,941 francs and received 5,361,400 for 325 communes. Petitbien, Quelques Réflexions, 10; Chantriot, Départements Envahis, 91; AD Met-M, 8 R 61, Minister of the Interior Buelé to all prefects, November 10, 1873, 14. See Alain Corbin’s essay, “Le Sang de Paris,” in Le Temps, le Désir, et l’Horreur: Essais sur le Dix-Neuvième Siècle (Paris: Aubier, 1991), esp. 222–23. 33. Specifically, Le Mans paid 2,552,207.94 francs out of a total of 2,631,591.77: 739,090.06 for requisitions demanded of individuals, 1,866,501.71 in damages to non-building property, and 26,000 for houses burned. Mallet, Prussiens au Mans, 225–27. 34. Barracks: Jean-François Chanet, “Armée Nouvelle et République Conservatrice, 1871– 1879” (Mémoire de recherche inédit, October 2002), 280–81; missing goods: AD Sarthe, 6 M 408, 409, 410, 1871–78; Champrond went in debt by 3,053 francs in 1871, AD Sarthe, 2 O 57 9, Extrait du Registre des Déliberations du Conseil Municipal, Champrond, August 10, 1871; 1880–82; petitions: AM Le Mans, H.3.16 0 663, mayor of St.-Cloud, to deputies and senators, February 20, 1881. 35. D. Erard, Souvenirs d’un Mobile de la Sarthe. 33e Régiment Armée de la Loire (16e corps), 3rd ed. (1906; Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1911); [Henry-Pierre-Marie Bigot], Vicomte de La Touanne, Histoire du 33e Mobiles (Departément de la Sarthe) (Le Mans: Imprimerie de la Sarthe, 1872); Antoine Chanzy, Campagne de 1870–1871. La Deuxième Armée de la Loire, 8th ed. (1872; Paris: Plon, 1885). 36. AD Hérault, 2 R 681, Charles de Freycinet, delegate to the Department of War, to prefects, military doctors, etc. Circulaire: Instruction pour l’Organisation du Service Hospitalier, en Arrière des Armées, à l’Intérieur, Bordeaux, December 25, 1870; Albert Foucault, La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires, 1864–1934 (Paris: Spes, 1936), 62. 37. AD Hérault, 2 R 682, Charles de Freycinet, Circulaire, January 10, 1871. The cities listed in this paragraph are all included in this circular. 38. Leo A. Loubère, Radicalism in Mediterranean France: Its Rise and Decline, 1848–1914 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1974), 82–83; Gérard Cholvy, dir., L’Hérault: de la Préhistoire à nos Jours (Saint-Jean-d’Angély: Éditions Bordessoules, 1993), 357, 360; Cholvy, dir., Histoire de Montpellier (Toulouse: Privat, 1985), 281–84. 39. Frank C. Huntington, Jr., “Popular Radicalism and the Peasantry in Lower Languedoc, 1830–1914” (Unpublished dissertation, Brown University, 1981), 19, 29–30; Loubère, Radicalism, 227–33. On the Var, see Maurice Agulhon, The Republic in the Village: The People of the Var from the French Revolution to the Second Republic (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

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40. Coup: Leo A. Loubère, “The Emergence of the Extreme Left in Lower Languedoc, 1848–1851: Social and Economic Factors in Politics,” American Historical Review 73, no. 4 (April 1968): 1045; Ted W. Margadant, French Peasants in Revolt: The Insurrection of 1851 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979); plebiscite (1851): Cholvy, Hérault, 355; republicanism: Jean Sagnes, Le Midi Rouge, Mythe et Réalité: Études d’Histoire Occitane (Paris: Éditions Anthropos, 1982), 58; plebiscite (1870): Cholvy, Histoire de Montpellier, 306; Ligue du Midi: Sudhir Hazareesingh, “Republicanism, War, and Democracy: The Ligue du Midi in France’s War against Prussia, 1870–1871” French History 17, no. 1 (March 2003): 48–78; September 4: AD Hérault, 1 M 1042, police reports on the events of September 4, 1874, particularly in Mèze; February 1871 election: Cholvy, L’Hérault, 372–73. Thiers chose to represent the Seine instead of the Hérault. Adolphe Robert, Edgar Bourloton, and Gaston Cougny, eds., Dictionnaire des Parlémentaires Français, Vol. 5 (Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 2000), 496. 41. AM Montpellier, s.c. (sans côte) (9 3 4 to 9 4 1), M. Hays to mayor Montpellier, March 1871. 42. AM Montpellier, s.c. (sans côte) (9 3 4 to 9 4 1), Commissaire central Montpellier to M. Hays, April 2, 1871. 43. AM Montpellier, s.c. (sans côte) (9 3 4 to 9 4 1), M. Chenebaux, curé Fortan (Loir-etCher) to mayor Montpellier, March 23, 1871. 44. AM Montpellier, s.c. (sans côte) (9 3 4 to 9 4 1), central commissary Montpellier to M. Chenebaux, March 29, 1871. Note that St. Pons was not included in Freycinet’s evacuation route of January 10, 1871, but that Lodève was. 45. Les Murailles d’Alsace-Lorraine: Metz, Sarreguemines, Strasbourg, Haguenau, Saverne, Nancy, etc. (Paris: L. Le Chevalier, 1874), 257. 46. This figure was on top of the 3,789,961 francs that cities were already in debt. Cities’ claims of damages, in francs: Jarny, 207,407; Bruville, 194,439; Conflans, 150,000; Toul, 2,377,435; Longwy, 641,868; Lunéville, 1,145,115; Pont-à-Mousson, 439,421; and Nancy, 3,920,251 by April 12, 1871 (2,460,656 for requisitions, 500,000 for public assistance, 131,000 for barracks and hospitals, 706,000 to the Prussian government, and 120,000 in diverse payments). Chantriot, Administration des Départements Envahis, 57–59. 47. Four hundred thousand German troops were said to have passed through the Nancy area. See Rambaud, “Lorraine,” 146. There is some discrepancy on how much the occupation cost Nancy. Alfred Mézières wrote in 1871 that Nancy was forced to provide three to four million francs in the space of only a month to support the Prussian armies besieging Metz, but Chantriot’s 1916 account reports that Nancy gave only 2,900,677 francs through 1873. Mezières, Récits de l’Invasion, Alsace et Lorraine (Paris: Didier, 1871), 17–18; Chantriot, Départements Envahis, 23. On Aingeray, see: Frédéric Esmez, “Un Village du Toulois pendant la Guerre,” Le Pays Lorrain et le Pays Messin 10, no. 8 (1913): 499–501. 48. By 1871, the Meurthe and the Moselle together produced one-third of all iron in France. Ardouin-Dumazet, Voyage en France. 22e sér. Lorraine Centrale (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1917), 74. 49. Jean-Louis Masson, Histoire Administrative de la Lorraine: Des Provinces aux Départements et à la Région (Paris: Lanore, 1982), 446–47. A railroad line linking Nancy with Longwy, without going through German Metz, opened in 1876. François Roth, Encyclopédie Illustrée de la Lorraine, vol. 4:1, “L’Époque Contemporaine: De la Révolution à la Grande Guerre” (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, Editions Serpenoise, 1992), 196. The Nancy-Metz railroad had opened in the early 1850s. 50. Raon-sur-Plaine (Vosges), Raon-lès-Leau (Meurthe-et-Moselle), Igney (Vosges), and

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part of Avricourt (Meurthe-et-Moselle) became French in the Convention of October 12, 1871. Aimé Laussedat, La Délimitation de la Frontière Franco-Allemande: Souvenirs et Impressions (Paris: Société Anonyme d’Imprimerie de Villefranche-de-Rouergue, 1901); Roth, Guerre de 1870, 530. 51. Roth, Encyclopédie Illustrée de la Lorraine, 90, 162. Several other departments elected Gambetta as well. 52. Roth, Encyclopédie Illustrée, 92; Masson, Histoire Administrative, 451. 53. Manfred Botzenhart, “French Prisoners of War in Germany, 1870–71,” in On the Road to Total War: the American Civil War and the German Wars of Unification, 1861–1871, ed. Stig Förster and Jörg Nagler (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 587–96; Matthew Smallman-Raynor and Andrew D. Cliff, “The Geographical Transmission of Smallpox in the Franco-Prussian War: Prisoner of War Camps and Their Impact upon Epidemic Diffusion Processes in the Civil Settlement System of Prussia 1870–71,” Medical History 46, no. 2 (April 2002): 247. The Swiss briefly detained General Bourbaki’s army of eighty thousand after they crossed the Swiss border to avoid German capture on February 1, 1871. Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 298. 54. AD Hérault, 8 R 29, Comité International de Bâle pour Secours aux Prisonniers de Guerre, 1870–1871, Rapports du Comité (Basel: G. A. Bonfantini, 1871). 55. AD Hérault, 3 R 88, letter of April 14, 1871, cited by commissariat of police Bédarieux to prefect Hérault, April 29, 1871; letter published in a Montpellier newspaper on April 27, 1871, addressed from Berlin to M. Saintpierre, president of the Comité de Recours pour les Prisonniers, cited by commissariat of police Bédarieux to prefect Hérault, April 29, 1871. The prisonerof-war camps were a key factor in the diffusion of smallpox during the epidemic that spread throughout Europe in the early 1870s, killing 500,000 people, including 176,977 German civilians. 25,077 French soldiers died of smallpox in 1870–72, in or out of camps. Smallman-Raynor and Cliff, “Smallpox,” 456–60. Numbers of deaths: [Émile] de Marcère, Exécution de la Loi du 4 Avril 1873 Relative aux Tombes des Militaires Morts pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1878), 288; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 509–10. 56. For example, father seeking son in AD Hérault, 3 R 88, commissariat of police Bédarieux to prefect Hérault, April 29, 1871; AM Nancy, (m) H 4–7 Guerre 1870–71, Liste de Blessés Français Recueillis par les Troupes Allemandes Publiée par le Comité International de Genève, ICRC, 1870–71; L’Univers Israélite: July 25, 1871, 456–40; September 15, 1871, 45–47; January 1, 1872, 272–73; Rambaud, “Lorraine,” 149–50; P. Guyot, Les Femmes du Peuple de Nancy et les Prisonniers Français (Nancy: N. Collin, 1872), 12. 57. L’Univers Israélite: July 25, 1871, 456–60; March 17, 1899, 807–08, 811–13; Joseph Turquan, Les Femmes de France pendant l’Invasion, 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1893), 275; ICRC, The International Red Cross Committee in Geneva, 1863–1943 (Zurich: Conzett & Huber, 1943–44), 44. 58. AD Hérault, 8 R 29, Comité International de Bâle, Rapports; La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, May 27, 1871, 627; AD Hérault, 78 J 27, Minutes, Société de Bienfaisance des Dames Protestantes de Lunel, December 7, 1870. 59. Howard, Franco-Prussian War, 449, 451; Foucault, Société de Secours, 62–63, 69. The ICRC published the names of 3,082 German prisoners held in France. AD Hérault, 8 R 29, Comité International de Bâle, Rapports, 93. Fifty-one Prussian officers were held in the Hérault. AD Hérault, 1 M 1029, lists, January 23 and 27, 1871. 60. Charles Bour, Rapport sur le Concours pour le Monument à Élever à Lunéville aux Victimes de la Guerre de 1870–1871, Lu au Comité le 24 Aout 1873 (Lunéville: Chatelain, 1873), 3.

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61. Matthew Truesdell, Spectacular Politics: Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte and the Fête Impériale, 1849–1870 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 136–55. 62. “1871–1872,” La Sarthe, January 3, 1872. 63. Corbin, Village of Cannibals, 94–96.

Chapter 2 1. Arno J. Mayer, The Persistence of the Old Regime: Europe to the Great War (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981), 161–62. 2. Sanford Elwitt, The Making of the Third Republic: Class and Politics in France, 1868–1884 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975); P. M. Jones, Politics and Rural Society: The Southern Massif Central, c. 1750–1880 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985). 3. Pierre Rosanvallon, Le Sacre du Citoyen: Histoire du Suffrage Universel en France (Paris: Gallimard, 1992), 444–46. 4. AD Sarthe, 3 M 566, Léopold Galpin, “À Messieurs les Électeurs de l’Arrondissement de La Flèche,” February 8, 1876. 5. James R. Lehning, To Be a Citizen: The Political Culture of the Early French Third Republic (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Philip G. Nord, The Republican Moment: The Struggles for Democracy in Nineteenth-Century France (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995); Bertrand Taithe, Citizenship and Wars: France in Turmoil, 1870–1871 (London: Routledge, 2001), esp. 121; Eugen Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870–1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976). 6. Raymond Huard, La Naissance du Parti Politique en France (Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques, 1996), 160. 7. Auguste Alexandre Ducrot, La Défense de Paris (Paris: E. Dentu, 1875–78), 3:113. 8. H. Dugast, Souvenirs Intimes de l’Ambulance Mobile de la Côte-d’Or: Campagnes de la Loiret de l’Est (Dijon: J. Marchand, 1871), 236; [Henry-Pierre-Marie Bigot], Vicomte de La Touanne, Histoire du 33e Mobiles (Département de la Sarthe) (Le Mans: Imprimerie de la Sarthe, 1872), 105; D. Mallet, “Le 12 Janvier,” La Sarthe, January 13, 1872; “Bulletin du Jour,” Le Messager du Midi, September 6, 1874; Jean Gaulmier, “Gobineau et la Guerre de 1870,” in Société d’Histoire Littéraire de la France, Les Écrivains Français devant la Guerre de 1870 et devant la Commune (Paris: Armand Colin, 1972), 27, 30; Dominique Mallet, La Bataille du Mans (Le Mans: E. Champion, 1873), viii–x. 9. Ducrot, Défense de Paris, 4:45. 10. Ducrot, Défense de Paris, 4:379. 11. France, Rapport fait au Nom de la Commission d’Enquête sur les Actes du Gouvernement de la Défense Nationale (Versailles: Cerf et Fils, Imprimeurs de l’Assemblée Nationale, 1873–75). La Sarthe followed the progress of the inquiry through the early 1870s. See also Taithe, Citizenship and Wars, 11. 12. On the tortured fortunes of Bonapartism after 1870, see John Rothney, Bonapartism after Sedan (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1969). 13. Jules Favre, Gouvernement de la Défense Nationale (Paris: Plon, 1871–75), 1:6. 14. Quoted in Roger Price, The French Second Empire: An Anatomy of Political Power (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 430. 15. The phrase popped up in commentaries on the war in the early 1870s, often without

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explicit reference to Ollivier. A. Garnier, Le Lycée du Mans pendant la Guerre contre la Prusse (Le Mans: Typographie Édouard Monnoyer, 1872), 6; Les Murailles d’Alsace-Lorraine: Metz, Sarreguemines, Strasbourg, Haguenau, Saverne, Nancy, etc. (Paris: L. Le Chevalier, 1874), preface. 16. Favre, Gouvernement, 1:6. 17. Albert Sorel, Histoire Diplomatique de la Guerre Franco-Allemande (Paris: Plon, 1875), vii. 18. Favre, Gouvernement, 1:10. 19. Quoted in Thomas J. Adriance, The Last Gaiter Button: A Study of the Mobilization and Concentration of the French Army in the War of 1870 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987), 3. 20. Taithe, Citizenship and Wars, 8–9. 21. Achille François Bazaine, Episodes de la Guerre de 1870 et le Blocus de Metz (Madrid: Gaspar, 1883), x. 22. [J. Latour], Le Moyen de Payer Cinq Milliards et de Préparer la Revanche (Toulouse: L. Hébrail, Durand, 1871), 23. 23. For early criticism of the army, see: Jules Chautard, Du Rôle de la Science dans la Guerre de 1870–1871 (Nancy: Sordoillet et Fils, 1871), 7–8; [Latour], Cinq Milliards, 10, 23, 40–41; Gabriel Monod, Allemands et Français: Souvenirs de Campagne Metz-Sedan-La Loire (Paris: Sandoz et Fischbacher, 1872), 124–25; La Touanne, Histoire du 33e Mobiles, 101; Hubert Débrousse, “La Libération du Territoire,” La Sarthe (reprint from Le Courrier de France), February 4, 1872; Jules Claretie, Histoire de la Révolution de 1870–71 (Paris: G. Decaux, 1875–76), 1:184–85, 2:38–39, 47. Although politicians made these criticisms with the intent of achieving the political goal of establishing a republic, subsequent historians of the Franco-Prussian War demonstrate that these initial judgments were often quite sound. On the French army’s lack of preparation and disorganized mobilization, see Adriance, Last Gaiter Button, for a detailed account of the mobilization, arming, and concentration of the French forces. See also Michael Howard, The FrancoPrussian War: The German Invasion of France, 1870–1871 (New York: Macmillan, 1961), 63–71; François Roth, La Guerre de 1870 (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 21–26, 75–87; 163–67; Stéphane AudoinRouzeau, 1870: La France dans la Guerre (Paris: Armand Colin, 1989); Taithe, Defeated Flesh, 32; Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 41–84. On France’s blundering into war without allies, see: Howard, Franco-Prussian War, 57; see also Roth, Guerre de 1870, 141–62, and Wawro, Franco-Prussian War, 16–40, esp. 36. On the incompetence of commanders, especially Bazaine, see: Howard, Franco-Prussian War, 120–82, 182; see also Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870, 100; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 116–18, 167–74; Wawro, FrancoPrussian War, 143, 159–60, 180–83, 186, 188, 194–95, 196, 198, 199–200, 201, 242–45, 249–52, 260. 24. Anatole Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques et Parlémentaires d’un Témoin, vol. 2, Le Principat de M. Thiers, 1871–1873 (Paris: Plon, 1914), 33. 25. Claretie, Histoire de la Révolution, 1:186. 26. On July 2, 1871, when by-elections filled the vacancies created by resignations and the multiple elections of some candidates in January, republicans made strong gains. Ninety-nine republicans won, and only twelve monarchists and three Bonapartists were victorious. See Gordon Wright, France in Modern Times (New York: W. W. Norton, 1983), 213. This includes republicans Eugène Arrazat and Albert Castelnau in the Hérault, who gained votes in rural areas and small towns, as well as in the cities of Montpellier, Béziers, and Lodève. Elwitt, Making of the Third Republic, 64–65. 27. AD Sarthe, 3 M 566, Léopold Galpin, “À Messieurs les Électeurs de l’Arrondissement de La Flèche,” February 8, 1876; also a very similar campaign from fellow republican Anselme

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Rubillard (1st Le Mans), 1876. See also Louis Cordelet (who lost to Alphonse-Alfred Haentjens in 2nd Le Mans in 1876 but later had a long career in politics), in a collection of electoral materials in the BnF catalogued as France, Chambre des Députés (1876–1940), Recueil: Documents Électoraux pour les Élections Législatives (Sarthe-Deux-Sèvres, 1876), and AD Sarthe, 3 M 567, Cordelet, 1876. 28. Documents Électoraux (Gard-Hérault, 1876). Emile Vernhes (1st Béziers) did not mention the war but won anyway. 29. Wright, France, 219. 30. Rubillard (1st Le Mans), Galpin (La Flèche), and Lemonnier (Saint-Calais) were republicans. Monarchist de Perrochel was elected from 2nd Mamers, while Sosthène de la Rochefoucauld was reelected from 1st Mamers and Bonapartist Haentjens held his seat from 2nd Le Mans. 31. Jules Duvaux (1st Nancy), A.-E.-E.Berlet (2nd Nancy), Cosson (Lunéville), and Petitbien (Toul) were republicans. De Ladoucette (Briey) supported MacMahon. 32. MacMahon supporters: Charles Welche (1st Nancy), AD M-et-M, 3 M 83, Welche, “M. Welche devant les électeurs (prof de foi),” 1877; Masson (2nd Nancy), AD M-et-M, 3 M 81, Masson, 1877; Paul Michaut (Lunéville), in Documents électoraux (Manche-Meuse, 1877). On this point across France, see Jean-François Chanet, “Armée Nouvelle et République Conservatrice, 1871–1879” (Mémoire de recherche inédit, October 2002), 318, and Allan Mitchell, The Divided Path: The German Influence on Social Reform in France after 1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991), 153–70. 33. Quoted in Wright, France, 215–16. 34. AD M-et-M, 3 M 81, MacMahon, and anonymous, 1877. 35. For instance: AD M-et-M, 3 M 81, Alfred Mézières (Briey), 1877; Senators Bernard and Varroy in support of republicans in France, in Documents électoraux (Manche-Meuse, 1877); campaign booklet against “Les Candidats de la Coalition Monarchique,” and material for Duvaux (1st Nancy) and Berlet (2nd Nancy) in the same. 36. Jules Duvaux, Adresse de MM. Les Députés Républicains aux Électeurs de Meurthe-etMoselle, (Nancy: E. Reau, [1877]). The response is included in the same document. 37. “Le Radicalisme C’est la Guerre,” Le Journal de Lunéville, September 26, 1877, in Documents électoraux (Manche-Meuse, 1877). 38. Cited in Stéphane Sauvageon, “Anselme Rubillard, Maire du Mans 1871–1878” (Mémoire de Maîtrise, Université du Mans, 1988), 175. 39. Although the net loss for republicans was about forty seats, they retained a one-hundred seat majority. Wright, France, 221; Mitchell, German Influence, 170. In the Hérault, two republicans won office only after the assembly invalidated the initial conservative victory. In Lunéville (M-et-M), Michaut defeated Cosson. 40. See notes 24 and 25 in the Introduction. 41. Bertrand Joly, “La France et la Revanche (1871–1914),” Revue d’Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine 46, no. 2 (April–June 2002): 335; Stéphane Tison, “Guerre, Mémoire, et Traumatisme: Comment Champenois et Sarthois Sont-Ils Sortis de la Guerre? 1870–1940” (Unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Paris III, 2002), 452–65. 42. “Les Annonces des Journaux Nancéiens,” La Feuille du Village, March 6, 1872. 43. Claretie, Histoire de la révolution, x. 44. Frédéric Lemeunier, “Faits Individuels de Courage et de Dévouement à Travers le Département,” in Sarthois pendant l’Année Terrible, 1870–1871: Études et Témoignages, ed. Lemeu-

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nier (Laval: René Madiot, 1971), 381–84; Louise Hanon, “Juliette Dodu,” Audiences Solennelles à la Cour d’Appel de Saint-Denis-de-la-Réunion, 2 Mars 1965 (Paris, n.d. 1966). 45. La Touanne, Histoire du 33e Mobiles, 106–07; Mallet, “Le 12 Janvier” La Sarthe, January 13, 1872; Hubert Débrousse, “La Libération du Territoire,” La Sarthe (reprint from Le Courrier de France), February 4, 1872; Audoin-Rouzeau, 1870, 101. Popular songs and product labels also portrayed noble, heroic soldiers. Bénédicte Grailles, “De la Défaite à l’Union Sacrée ou les Chemins du Consentement: Hommages Publics et Commémorations de 1870 à 1914: L’Exemple du Nord de la France” (Unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Charles de Gaulle Lille III, 2000), 279–86. 46. Amédée Le Faure, Procès du Maréchal Bazaine: Audiences du Premier Conseil de Guerre Réquisitoire, Plaidoirie, Répliques, Jugement. 2 vols. (Paris: Garnier Frères, 1874), 258. 47. See Taithe, Citizenship and Wars and Defeated Flesh for extended discussions on civilian activities during the war, as well as Sudhir Hazareesingh, “Republicanism, War, and Democracy: The Ligue du Midi in France’s War against Prussia, 1870–1871” French History 17, no. 1 (March 2003): 48–78. 48. On revanchisme among men of letters in the 1870s, see Rachel Chrastil, “Who Lost the Franco-Prussian War? Blame, Politics, and Citizenship in the 1870s,” Proceedings of the Western Society for French History 32 (2004): 279–80. 49. Sorel, Histoire Diplomatique, 2:371. 50. Jules Chautard, Du Rôle de la Science dans la Guerre de 1870–1871 (Nancy: Sordoillet et Fils, 1871), 4, 6. 51. Louis Lacroix, Journal d’un Habitant de Nancy pendant l’Invasion de 1870–1871 (Nancy: Vagner, 1873), February 4, 1871, 458–59. 52. Ernest Renan, La Réforme Intellectuelle et Morale, 3rd ed. (Paris: Michel Lévy Frères, 1872), 2–3. 53. La Revue des Deux Mondes, “Introduction,” Index 1873–1874 (1875), iv–v; Gustave Nadaud, Mes Notes d’Infirmier (Paris: Henri Plon, 1871), 167–68; Armand Surmont, “Les Allemands dans la Sarthe,” Bulletin de la Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe, 2nd ser., 14 (1873–74): 334; Camille Laforgue, Le Messager du Midi, January 30, 1872. 54. Arthur de Gobineau, “France in 1870,” in Gobineau: Selected Political Writings, ed. Michael D. Biddiss (New York: Harper and Row, 1970), 203–4. 55. Monod, Allemands et Français, 103, 116–17. 56. Chautard, Rôle de la Science, 5. 57. L’Univers Israélite, October 1, 1871, 67–73. 58. Lacroix, Journal, March 12, 1871, 502–03. 59. AD Hérault, 63 J 37, Archives du Consistoire de Montagnac, Anonymous, “Chrétiens, à Genoux!” May 20, 1871. 60. Julien Bonnel, Notre-Dame d’Espérance de Pontmain (Laval: Chailland, 1884), 144. 61. Gobineau, “France in 1870,” 205–08. 62. Lacroix, Journal, 483. 63. Lacroix, Journal, 496–97. 64. Montvaillant, La Garde Mobile de l’Hérault (Montpellier: Imprimerie Centrale du Midi, 1872), 294. 65. Boisseau, “Discours,” Bulletin de la Société d’Agriculture, Sciences, et Arts de la Sarthe, 2nd ser., 13 (1871–1872): 20. 66. Mitchell, German Influence, 138–39.

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67. Mitchell, German Influence, 143. 68. Chanet, Armée Nouvelle, 435.

Chapter 3 1. Julian Jackson, France: The Dark Years, 1940–1944 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001); Robert O. Paxton, Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order, 1940–1944 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972); John F. Sweets, Choices in Vichy France: The French under Nazi Occupation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). On the occupation of northeastern France during World War I, see Leonard V. Smith, Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, and Annette Becker, France and the Great War, 1914–1918, French sections trans. Helen McPhail (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 43–51. 2. “Treaty of Frankfurt, Frankfurt, May 10, 1871, Definitive Treaty of Peace between France and Germany,” article 7, Major Peace Treaties of Modern History, 1648–2000, ed Fred L. Israel (Philadelphia: Chelsea House, 2002), 1:653–54; François Roth, Guerre de 1870 (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 474. 3. Roth, Guerre de 1870, 530–40; AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, commissaire spécial Pagny to prefect M-et-M, November 30, 1872; Émile Chantriot, L’Administration des Départements Envahis en 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1916), 54–55; Claude Farenc, “Les Suites de la Guerre dans les Départements du Nord-Est,” in La Guerre de 1870/71 et Ses Conséquences: Actes du XXe Colloque Historique Franco-Allemand [Paris 1984 and 1985], ed. Philippe Levillain and Rainer Riemenschneider (Bonn: Bouvier, 1990), 459. 4. Roth, Guerre de 1870, 531. 5. Disorderliness and curfew: AD Eure, “Les Prussiens en France,” Le Moniteur de l’Eure, citing La Liberté, September 2, 1871; AM Nancy, (l) H 4–1 guerre 1870–71, Rapport au Préfet sur la Situation de Nancy au Point de Vue de l’Etat de Siége, June 29, 1871; from Corbenay (Haute-Saône) in AN, F 19 5609, Jules Simon to minister of foreign affairs, September 1, 1871; birthday gunfire: AM Nancy, (e) H 4–2 1870–71, letter Nancy, prefect M-et-M to mayor Nancy, March 15 and 19, 1872. 6. Catholic Germans appear to have posed no problems for the French clergy. AN, F 19 5609, Bishop of Verdun, via the Archbishop of Reims, to minister of public instruction and religion, May 30, 1871; mayor of Pont-à-Mousson to minister of public instruction and religion, April 7, 1871. 7. AN, F 19, 5609, Guillaume, Bishop of Châlons, to minister of religion, January 3, 1872. The curtain solution failed in Cauroy-lès-Hermonville (Marne) as well; see AN, F 19 5609, Archbishop of Reims, “Note sur l’Envahissement des Églises Catholiques par les Troupes Allemandes,” May 31, 1871. Attempts to squeeze the Germans into small schoolhouses for worship failed in Épernay (Marne). AN, F 19, 5609, Guillaume, the Bishop of Châlons, to minister of religion, September 1, 1871. 8. Alfred Rambaud, “La Lorraine sous le Régime Prussien,” Revue des Deux Mondes, May 1, 1871, 158. See also Karma Nabulsi, Traditions of War: Occupation, Resistance, and the Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 19–65; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 537–38. 9. “Treaty of Frankfurt,” article 2, Major Peace Treaties, 1:652. 10. Société d’Alsace-Lorraine, Réunion Générale Annuelle Tenue le 12 Janvier 1873 à la Préfecture de Lille (Lille: L. Daniel, 1873), 5.

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11. Marguerite Georg Baltzer was ruled to have given up her French citizenship by marrying a German, and therefore she and her children could not opt to be French. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1552, Direction des Affaires Civils, Ministry of Justice, to prefect Hérault, September 18, 1872. 12. AN, BB 31 530, Protocoles de la Conférence de Francfort et Convention Additionnelle du 11 Décembre 1871 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1872). French men serving in the French army who wished to serve the German army could opt for German nationality and thus be discharged from the French army ahead of schedule. Twenty-four men serving France in Hérault made this choice. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, prefecture Hérault, Alsatians et Lorrainers, Déclarations d’Option, Liste Nominative, 1872. 13. Jennifer Ngaire Heuer, The Family and the Nation: Gender and Citizenship in Revolutionary France, 1789–1830 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005). AD Hérault, 4 MP 1552, Le Garde des Sceaux, Ministry of Justice, J. Dufaure, to prefects, Circular, March 30, 1872. Once the deadline had passed, young men who came of age could not change the decision taken by their parents. The only exception was for minors who had already served in the French army, whom the German government did not want. AN, BB 31 533, prefect M-et-M to minister of justice, September 12, 1874 (response, October 16, 1874). As of July 9, 1872, 574 members of the French army, mostly under-aged, had opted to leave for Germany. Of these, 392 were stationed in Algeria. Seventeen came from the Hérault, one from the Sarthe, and none from the Meurthe-et-Moselle, which is not surprising since that department was still occupied at the time. AN, BB 31 530, le chef de la divison du sceau, to M. le garde des Sceaux, Paris, July 9, 1872. 14. Jean-Denis Bredin, The Affair: The Case of Alfred Dreyfus, trans. Jeffrey Mehlman (New York: George Brazillier, 1986), 12. 15. AN, BB 31 530, chef de la division du sceau to secretary general, Ministry of Justice, Paris, December 31, 1872. 16. Hélène Sicard-Lenattier, Les Alsaciens-Lorrains à Nancy: 1870–1914 (Haroué: Gérard Louis, 2002), 17, 57. 17. Vicki Caron, Between France and Germany: The Jews of Alsace-Lorraine, 1871–1918 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988), 75; Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 93–94; David Allen Harvey, Constructing Class and Nationality in Alsace, 1830–1945 (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2001), 71–77. 18. AN, BB 31 530, Marie Clair, letter, Écouen (Seine-et-Oise), August 13, 1872. 19. Caron, Jews of Alsace-Lorraine, 50. In keeping with the French republican tradition of legal equality, lists of optants do not include religion. 20. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, Liste Nominative, 1872; AD Sarthe, 6 M 206, prefecture Sarthe, Déclarations d’Option pour la Nationalité Française— État Nominatif. 21. Odette Voilliard, “L’Immigration des Alsaciens-Lorrains à Nancy à la Suite de la Traité de Francfort,” in Trois Provinces de l’Est: Lorraine, Alsace, Franche-Comté (Strasbourg: Le Roux, 1957), 88. Although 8.5 percent of the total population of Alsace-Lorraine emigrated, the number was 12 to 15 percent for urban areas. Strasbourg and Metz alone provided over 14 percent of all Alsatians and Lorrainers registered in the Sarthe, and about 20 percent in the Hérault (in the Hérault, 206 of 1031; in the Sarthe, 49 of 339), yet the populations of Metz (59,000 in 1861) and Strasbourg (80,000 in 1866) made up only about 5.2 percent of the total population of Alsace-Lorraine (2,684,000 in 1866). See Étienne Juillard, Atlas et Géographie de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine (la France Rhénane) (Paris: Flammarion, 1977), 111, 173, 250. Of 1007 optants in the Hérault, 735 lived in Montpellier and 141 in Cette. Surprisingly, the records, although apparently the complete list, do not indicate any Alsatians and Lorrainers living in Béziers, a subpre-

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fecture. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, Liste Nominative, 1872. Over half of the optants in the Sarthe lived in Le Mans, at a time when that city held less than one in nine Sarthois. AD Sarthe, 6 M 206, État Nominatif; population of Le Mans: André Lévy, dir., La Sarthe des Origines à Nos Jours (Saint-Jean-d’Angély: Bordessoules, 1983), 302. 22. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, Rapport Présenté au Nom du Comité à l’Assemblée Général des Membres Fondateurs Tenue le 8 Mai 1873 (Imprimerie Centrale des Chemins de Fer, 1873). 23. Caron, Jews of Alsace-Lorraine, 63–64. 24. Association Générale d’Alsace-Lorraine, Comité de Lunéville, Extrait du Procès-verbal de la Séance du Comité du 29 Décembre 1872 (Lunéville: Imprimerie Nouvelle, n.d. [1872 or 1873]), 2. 25. Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 73–74; [Gourier], Compte-Rendu des Opérations du Comité d’Alsace-Lorraine du Mois d’Avril 1871 au 1er Janvier 1876 (Nancy: Réau, 1876), 11–12. 26. Stephen L. Harp, Learning to Be Loyal: Primary Schooling as Nation Building in AlsaceLorraine, 1850–1940 (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1998), 21–30; AD M-et-M, 8 R 50, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, letter Versailles, August 5, 1873; AM Nancy, (e) H 4–2 1870–71, letter Nancy, prefect M-et-M to mayor Nancy, March 28, 1873; AD M-etM, 8 R 50, État des Communes qui Reçoivent Gratuitement dans Leurs Écoles des Enfants de Famille d’Alsace-Lorraine Refugiées en France, n.d. 27. L’Univers Israélite, July 1, 1885, 631–32; AD M-et-M, 25 J 1, Pasteur George-Gustave Blanck, Rapport sur le Culte Allemand à Nancy, n.d. [1889?]. Although the state paid Blanck’s salary, the Sellière company and other private donors paid for the necessary room and equipment in Pierrepont. AD M-et-M, V 315, minister of justice and religion to prefect M-et-M, June 22, 1876; AD M-et-M, V 315, for the minister of public instruction, fine arts, and religion to prefect M-et-M, March 29, 1893. 28. The government allocated 1,542,689 francs to committees providing general aid to Alsatians and Lorrainers, 2,250,655 francs for the education of Alsatian and Lorrainer children, and 2,235,524 francs for colonization in Algeria. Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 75; CSAL: Gourier, Comité d’Alsace-Lorraine, 11–12. 29. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, 1876, 31. Funding for the SPALDF continues to be mysterious. In 1875–76, for instance, the organization only gathered 15,187.20 francs through subscriptions, but gained the enormous sum of 864,357.42 francs though a “balance available on April 30, 1875,” which may refer to a debt paid or a matured investment (6). 30. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, 1876, 35. A similar pattern emerges from the fragments of evidence about other organizations. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, Comité de Patronage des Orphelins d’Alsace et de Lorrain (Paris). On Lederlin: Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 73. Lederlin later served as president of the Nancy committee of the Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (a branch of the Red Cross). 31. Bertrand Joly, Déroulède: L’Inventeur du Nationalisme Français (Paris: Perrin, 1998), 81. 32. Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, February 8, 1873, 436–37; Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 184–85; AD M-et-M, 4 M 215, authorization for committee, Nancy, prefect M-et-M to Madame A. Le Guay, February 27, 1873. 33. Civil status: AD Hérault, 4 MP 1552, Justine Massenet, the widow Mouillebaud, to prefect Hérault, May 14, 1873; AD Sarthe, 6 M 206, Le Garde des Sceaux, Ministry of Justice to prefect Sarthe, June 4, 1891, on behalf of Victorine Perret; domicile requirements: AN, BB 31 530, M. Claude, Rapport, June 19, 1871.

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34. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, 1876, 35. 35. AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, Hippolyte Maze, Discours (Librairie Germer Baillière, 1873), 5–7; Comité de Patronage des Orphelins d’Alsace et de Lorraine (Paris), letter received by the prefecture, prefecture stamp November 10, 1874; Les Orphelins d’Alsace et de Lorraine, Société de Patronage (Paris), Rapport sur les Travaux de l’Oeuvre en 1873 ([Paris]: A. Pougin, 1874). 36. Mgr. Baunard, Le Cardinal Lavigerie (Paris: Ch. Poussielgue, 1896), 372; Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, January–June 1871, 170–71; AN, BB 31 530, M. Lucet, Rapport, September 1, 1871; AD Hérault, 4 MP 1553, SPALDF, 1876, 17–23, 28–29, 43–44. Another organization, the Comité d’Émigration des Alsaciens et Lorrains vers l’Algérie, which was organized and financed in Nancy and Belfort by the French government, slackened its activities as early as 1872, but still existed in 1879 in Nancy. Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 70–72. 37. Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 8. 38. La Sarthe, November 22, 1871; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 528; Allan Mitchell, The German Influence in France after 1870: The Formation of the French Republic (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979), 22. 39. Mitchell, German Influence, 24–25; Jean-François Chanet, “Armée Nouvelle et République Conservatrice, 1871–1879” (Mémoire de recherche inédit, October 2002), 273. 40. Roth, Guerre de 1870, 528. 41. Anatole Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques et Parlementaires d’un Témoin, vol. 2: Le Principat de M. Thiers, 1871–1873 (Paris: Plon, 19), 198. 42. Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques, 2:251. 43. Roth, Guerre de 1870, 529–30. 44. Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques, 2:197. 45. J.-P. Bertrand, Grande Nouvelle: Moyen de Payer les Cinq Milliards des Prussiens sans qu’Il en Coûte un Centime aux Bons Patriotes (Paris: Jules Bonaventure, 1871); Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques, 2:297. 46. Anonymous, Combinaison Financière pour le Payement Immédiate de l’Indemnité de Guerre Sans Emprunts (Paris: Rouge Frères, 1871), 8. Other plans relying on taxation: Hubert Débrousse, “La Libération du Territoire,” La Sarthe (reprint from Le Courrier de France), February 4, 1872; [J. Latour], Le Moyen de Payer Cinq Milliards et de Préparer la Revanche (Toulouse: L. Hébrail, Durand, et Cie, 1871); Alfred de La Bastie, Les Cinq Milliards de la Prusse et le Budget de la France (Lyon: Imprimerie d’Aimé Vingtrinier, 1871); J. Franck, Loi de Nécessité Publique pour la Libération du Territoire et l’Extinction des Dettes de la Guerre (1872); Germain, La Sarthe, February 8, 1872; “Un de vos abonnés,” “Souscription pour la libération du territoire,” Le Messager du Midi, February 19, 1872. 47. The government did raise six hundred million francs in indirect taxes to help pay for the loans. See Robert Schnerb, “La Politique Fiscale de Thiers,” in Deux Siècles de Fiscalité Française xixe–xxe Siècle: Histoire, Économie, Politique, ed. Jean Bouvier and Jacques Wolff (Paris: Mouton, 1973), 173; Claveau, Souvenirs Politiques, 198, 204; Mitchell, German Influence, 36. 48. Thomas de Prat, Le Problème des Cinq Milliards (Montauban: Laforuge, 1871), 8–9. 49. Auguste Sarazin, Projet Financier pour Libérer la France de Tous les Frais de la Guerre (Lille: Lefebvre-Ducrocq, 1871). An investment yielding 5 percent per year would reach 150 percent of its initial value in fewer than nine years. Prat describes other plans of this nature in Problème, 10–15. See also C*****, Comment Se Procurer les Trois Milliards (Paris: Imprimerie de Chaix, 1872); Débrousse, “Libération,” La Sarthe, February 4, 1872.

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50. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, form letter Nancy, Comité Central de Meurthe-et-Moselle, Souscription Nationale des 500 Millions, January 29, 1872. 51. “Les Dames de Mulhouse,” La Sarthe (reprinted from Le Temps), January 1, 1872; Union des Femmes de France, Conférence à Lyon, le 13 Avril 1886 (Paris: Coopération Typographique [Association Ouvrière], 1886), 7; Anonymous, Souscription Patriotique des Femmes de France pour Concourir à la Libération des Départements Occupés (Paris: Renou et Maulde, n.d. [1872]); Souscription Patriotique des Femmes de France pour Concourir à la Libération des Départements Occupés, Rapport du Comité d’Action au Comité Général (Paris: A. Pougin, 1873); Le Messager du Midi, January 28, 1872. Books whose profits went to the subscription included P. Guyot, Les Femmes du Peuple de Nancy et les Prisonniers Français (Nancy: N. Collin, 1872), and Justin Charbonnel, fils, Sur La Nouvelle Frontière: Les Lorrains et les Allemands (Montpellier: L. Cristin, 1872). 52. Quotations from Le Messager du Midi, January 30, 1872, February 24, 1872; “Cassandre,” “Les Trois Milliards,” Le Progrès de l’Est, January 17, 1872; La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, February 24, 1872. 53. For workers and bosses, see posters addressed to “Patrons, chef d’atéliers, et ouvriers” of Lille held in the BnF. Catholic involvement was encouraged by La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, February 24, 1872, and “Souscription Nationale pour la Libération du Territoire,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, January 22, 1872; the Archbishop of Paris held a mass on March 7, 1872, to ask God’s blessing on the subscription. The Comité des Dames Protestantes of Montpellier are mentioned in Le Messager du Midi, February 16, 1872. The anticlerical La Feuille du Village of Le Mans also supported the campaign. On the Red Cross, see Albert Foucault, La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires, 1864–1934 (Paris: Spes, 1936), 73; La Sarthe, February 9, 1872. 54. Catherine J. Kudlick, “Giving Is Deceiving: Cholera, Charity, and the Quest for Authority in 1832,” French Historical Studies 18, no. 2 (Fall 1993): 477–78; Mgr. François, “Lettre de Mgr. l’Évêque de Montpellier au Clergé et aux Fidèles de son Diocèse, Relative à la Souscription Nationale pour la Libération du Territoire,” La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, February 24, 1872, 453 (quote). 55. La Sarthe, February 10, 1872. 56. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, Souscription Nationale des 500 Millions, Comité Central de Meurthe-et-Moselle, Statuts, January 25, 1872. Adopted in Lunéville: “Souscription Nationale,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, January 28, 1872. 57. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, form letter, Nancy, Comité Central de Meurthe-et-Moselle, Souscription Nationale des 500 millions, January 29, 1872. 58. Of 87 members (out of 95) for whom professions are known, 27 were traders or merchants, 19 were in the legal profession, and 13 were in other liberal professions. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, Souscription Nationale, Statuts, 1872. 59. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, form letter, January 29, 1872. 60. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, Liste des Souscripteurs, Souscription Nationale, M-et-M, 1872. 61. Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 75. 62. La Sarthe, January 13, 1872. 63. Paul Dalloz, La Sarthe (reprint from Le Moniteur Universel), January 15, 1872; Eugène Asse, “La Délivrance,” La Sarthe (reprint), January 19, 1872. 64. La Sarthe, February 6, 1872. 65. La Feuille du Village, January 31 to March 11–12, 1872.

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66. Doubter: “Souscription Nationale pour la Libération du Territoire,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, January 22, 1872. Quoted rebuttal: M. Castel, Le Messager du Midi, February 17, 1872. 67. AD Hérault, 1 M 1034, mayor Béziers to subprefect Béziers, January 30, 1872; subprefect Béziers to prefect Hérault, letter Béziers, February 22, 1872; Le Messager du Midi, February 10, 14, 15, 17, 20, 23, and 25, March 6, 10, and 24, 1872. 68. AD Hérault, 1 M 1034, subprefect Béziers to prefect Hérault, letter Béziers, February 22, 1872. 69. La Démocratie du Rhône, La Souscription Démocratique à la Souscription de Nancy (Lyon: Association Typographique Regard, n.d. [1872]). 70. A representative of the Hérault, Étienne-Frédéric Bouisson, proposed the measure and put himself down for ten thousand francs. Adolphe Robert, Edgar Bourloton, and Gaston Cougny, ed., Dictionnaire des Parlémentaires Français (Geneva: Slatkine Reprints, 2000), 1:420. 71. Cited in F. Legeay, L’Union de la Sarthe, February 2, 1872. 72. Souscription Patriotique, Rapport, 2–3. In March, the Minister of the Interior did allow donations to be deposited into the Banque de France, but only to help mayors who had been involved with local subscriptions to disentangle themselves quickly from such efforts. AD M-et-M, 8 R 50, minister of the interior to prefects, March 4, 1872. 73. “Assemblée Nationale: Séance du 18 Décembre,” Le Progrès de l’Est, December 20, 1872. The total reached 6,053,869 francs. Sicard-Lenattier, Alsaciens-Lorrains, 75. 74. The loan was converted from 5 percent to 3 percent in 1883. Rothschild had a monopoly over the first loan, but had to share the handling of the second loan with the Banque de Paris et des Pays-Bas (Paribas). See Roth, Guerre de 1870, 540, 547–48; Mitchell, German Influence, 39–40. 75. Convention of March 15, 1873, Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, January–June 1873, 207; Roth, Guerre de 1870, 542; AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, Rapport Pagny-sur-Moselle, Commissaire spécial Pagny to prefect M-et-M, May 26, 1873. 76. AD Hérault, 1 M 1036, Commandant de la section de Cette, Gendarmerie to the prefect Hérault via the gendarmerie in Montpellier, March 17, 1873. 77. AD M-et-M, 8 R 60, prefect M-et-M to mayors M-et-M, “Evacuation Allemande,” July 12, 1873. 78. L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, “L’Évacuation de Nancy,” August 2, 1873. 79. Mayor Bernard to the citizens of Nancy, Posters August 2 and 4, 1873, Les Murailles d’Alsace-Lorraine, 266–67; AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, Commissaire de police Nancy, report, August 4, 1873; AM Nancy, (e) H 4–2 1870–71, Saint-Vallier to mayor Nancy, August 5, 1873; AD Met-M, 8 R 60, commissaire spécial, gare de Pagny-sur-Moselle, report, September 16, 1873. 80. AD M-et-M, 1 M 656, commissaire spécial Pagny to prefect M-et-M, report, November 16, 1872. A similar report came out of Longwy, commissaire spécial Longwy to prefect M-et-M, November 29, 1872. 81. AD M-et-M, 8 R 60, police of the following cities or railroads: Longwyon (railroad and police), Pont-à-Mousson, Charlesville, Thionville, Pagny, Longwy, and Emberménil, to prefect M-et-M, March 1873; AD Hérault, 1 M 1036, subprefect Béziers to prefect Hérault, March 17, 1873; subprefect Lodève to prefect Hérault, March 17, 1873; Le Messager du Midi, March 17, 1873; La Sarthe, March 18, 1873; L’Avenir [Sarthe], August 3, 1873. 82. Many continued to refer to the street by its original name, rue de l’Accès, which had been built to connect the train station to the center of town. It was renamed again in 1949 after

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General Leclerc. Paul Delaunay, L’Esprit Public dans le Département de la Sarthe pendant et après la Guerre de 1870–1871 (1870–1879) (Le Mans: Le Monnoyer, 1953), 166. 83. L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, March 19, 1873.

Chapter 4 1. Ida de Crombrugghe, Journal d’une Infirmière pendant la Guerre de 1870–71, 3rd ed. (Paris: Henri Plon, 1871), 49 (September 23, 1870). See also Joseph Turquan, Les Femmes de France pendant l’Invasion, 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1893), 84–85, on women seeking their dead husbands; a letter from André to Mother, December 11, 1870, in B. Boissonnas, Une Famille pendant la Guerre 1870–1871, 17th ed. (Paris: J. Hetzel, [1877]), 166. 2. Crombrugghe, Journal d’une Infirmière, 90 (November 19, 1870). 3. The topic of commemoration after the Franco-Prussian War has received a growing amount of attention in recent years, but the focus has tended to be on cultural and symbolic meaning rather than on the social implications of these activities. See Maurice Agulhon, Marianne au Pouvoir: L’Imagerie et la Symbolique Républicaines de 1880 à 1914 (Paris: Flammarion, 1989), 128–36; Annette Becker, “Monuments et Cérémonies de 1871 aux Années Vingt,” in Monuments de Mémoire: Monuments aux Morts de la Grande Guerre, ed. Philippe Rivé et al. ([Paris]: Mission Permanente aux Commémorations et à l’Information Historique, 1991), 17–29; Annette Becker, “Monuments aux Morts après la Guerre de Sécession et la Guerre de 1870–1871: Un Legs de la Guerre Nationale?” Guerres Mondiales 167 (1992): 23–40; Avner BenAmos, Funerals, Politics, and Memory in Modern France, 1789–1996 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 212–13; Bénédicte Grailles, “De la Défaite à l’Union Sacrée ou les Chemins du Consentement: Hommages Publics et Commémorations de 1870 à 1914: L’Exemple du Nord de la France” (Unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Charles de Gaulle Lille III, 2000), 92– 159; June Hargrove, “Souviens-Toi,” Monuments Historiques, no. 124 (Dec. 1982–Jan. 1983): 59–65; William Kidd, Les Monuments aux Morts Mosellans: De 1870 à Nos Jours (Metz: Éditions Serpenoise, 1999), 19–27; Monique Luirard, La France et Ses Morts: Les Monuments Commémoratifs dans la Loire (Le Puy-en-Velay: Imprimerie Commerciale “L’Éveil de la Haute-Loire,” 1977), 13–14; Stéphane Tison, “Guerre, Mémoire, et Traumatisme: Comment Champenois et Sarthois Sont-Ils Sortis de la Guerre? 1870–1940” (Unpublished thesis, Université Paris III, 2002). Other work focuses on the political implications of specific commemorations: Neil McWilliam, “Race, Remembrance, and ‘Revanche’: Commemorating the Franco-Prussian War in the Third Republic,” Art History 19, no. 4 (December 1996): 473–98; David G. Troyansky, “Monumental Politics: National History and Local Memory in French Monuments aux Morts in the Department of the Aisne since 1870,” French Historical Studies 15 (1987–88): 121–41. 4. François Roth, La Guerre de 70 (Paris: Fayard, 1990), 508–10. 5. [Émile] de Marcère, Exécution de la Loi du 4 Avril 1873 Relative aux Tombes des Militaires Morts pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1878), 5. 6. Marcère, Exécution, 8–9. See Karine Varley, “Under the Shadow of Defeat: The State and the Commemoration of the Franco-Prussian War, 1871–1914,” French History 16, no. 3 (September 2002): 323–44; Grailles, “Défaite,” 38–91. 7. Alain Pigeard, L’Armée de Napoléon: Organisation et Vie Quotidienne, 2nd ed. (Paris: Tallandier, 2002), 273, 276–79.

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8. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, July 8, 1885. 9. Louis Lacroix, Journal d’un Habitant de Nancy pendant l’Invasion de 1870–1871 (Nancy: Vagner, 1873), 412–13. 10. Marcère, Exécution, 16. 11. Marcère, Exécution, 9, 14, 34, 305; AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, circulaire Versailles, Minister of the Interior E. de Goulard to prefects, May 6, 1873; AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Prefect Tassin to mayors and subprefects,“Conservation des Tombes des Militaires Morts pendant la Dernière Guerre,” July 5, 1873; Émile Badel, Mars-la-Tour et Son Monument National (Mars-la-Tour: Ritter-Roscop, 1893), 46. Unlike after World War I, survivors did not commonly petition the government to have remains returned to their hometowns. See Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 22–28. 12. Marcère, Exécution, 34. 13. AN, F 9 1367, Tombes Militaries, April 4, 1873; AN, F 9 1392–96 on the Meurthe-etMoselle; AD Sarthe, 2 R 65–68; AM Le Mans, H.3.8 0 2598–99; AD M-et-M, 2 R 137 art. 4, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, January 19, 1880; AD M-et-M, 2 R 137 art. 4, prefect M-et-M to subprefect Lunéville, October 2, 1878; Marcère, Exécution, 33. 14. Marcère, Exécution, 32. 15. On Protestant-Catholic interments, see: AD Sarthe, 2 R 67, Ministry of the Interior to prefect Sarthe, June 2, 1876; Grand Rabbi Libermann: AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, letter Nancy, prefect M-et-M to minister of the interior, November 18, 1876; on fences: Marcère, Exécution, 299; AN, F 9 1350, director of the Council of State to minister of the interior, Tombes militaires, February 9, 1877; AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, minister of the interior to prefects, February 20, 1877. 16. AN, F 9 1350, director of the council of state to minister of the interior, Tombes militaires, February 9, 1877. 17. The project cost 105,289.50 francs (Sarthe) and 92,493.81 (Meurthe-et-Moselle). The thirty-six departments were: Aisne, Ardennes, Aube, Territoire de Belfort, Calvados, Côte-d’Or, Doubs, Eure, Eure-et-Loir, Indre, Indre-et-Loir, Jura, Loir-et-Cher, Loire-Inférieure, Loiret, Manche, Marne, Haute-Marne, Mayenne, Meurthe-et-Moselle, Meuse, Nièvre, Nord, Oise, Orne, Pas-de-Calais, Saône-et-Loire, Haute-Saône, Sarthe, Seine, Seine-et-Marne, Seine-etOise, Seine-Inférieure, Somme, Voges, and Yonne. Marcère, Exécution, 424–29, 472–77, 528–29. 18. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, minister of the interior to prefects, November 4, 1879; annual letters, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, 1880–90. 19. Clément de Lacroix, Les Morts pour la Patrie: Tombes Militaires et Monuments Élevés à la Mémoire des Soldats Tués pendant la Guerre; Chronologie Historique des Évènements de 1870–1871 (Paris: chez l’Auteur, 1891), 10; AD M-et-M, 2 R 134. Monuments to Germans were erected in Toul, Mars-la-Tour, Verneville, St-Ail-Habonville, Jouaville, and Batilly (all Meurthe-et-Moselle). AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, report, March 23, 1876; subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, March 4, 1876; 2 R 137, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, April 13, 1907; subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, September 16, 1908. 20. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, March 4, 1876. 21. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, report, March 23, 1876; AN, F 9 1391, minister of justice to minister of the interior, Versailles, April 3, 1876; AD M-et-M, 2 R 137, subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, September 16, 1908. 22. Charles Morancé, Récits d’un Aumônier Militaire en Temps de Guerre et en Temps de Paix, 2 vols (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1884), 345–46.

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23. Jean-Paul Bertaud, The Army of the French Revolution: From Citizen-Soldiers to Instrument of Power, trans. R. R. Palmer (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 212. 24. In addition, the German government constructed 69 monuments and the French government built 25 ossuaries by 1878. Marcère, Exécution, 293–99. 25. Grailles, “Défaite,” 92. 26. Thomas A. Kselman, Death and the Afterlife in Modern France (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993); Philippe Ariès, “Le Culte des Morts à l’Époque Contemporaine,” Essais sur l’Histoire de la Mort en Occident du Moyen Âge à Nos Jours (Paris: Seuil, 1975), 151–52. On death in Europe in the nineteenth century, see Michel Vovelle, La Mort et l’Occident de 1300 à Nos Jours (Paris: Gallimard, 1983), 507–670; in Britain: Julie-Marie Stranger, “Only a Pauper Whom Nobody Owns: Reassessing the Pauper Grave, c. 1880–1914,” Past and Present no. 178 (February 2003): 148–75. 27. Lacroix, Morts pour la Patrie, 16. 28. Winter, Sites of Memory, 29–53. 29. David W. Blight, Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American Memory (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001), 65, 72, 256, 259; Drew Gilpin Faust, “Altars of Sacrifice: Confederate Women and the Narratives of War,” Journal of American History 76, no. 4 (March 1990): 1200–28. 30. Marcère, Exécution, 288; Roth, Guerre de 70, 509–10. 31. The SSBM contributed 50,000 of the 80,000 francs devoted to the cause. See AD Hérault, 3 R 15, SSBM, Séance Générale du 28 Décembre 1872: Rapport Présenté au Nom du Conseil Central par M. le Comte de Flavigny, Président de la Société (Paris: Imprimerie Centrale des Chemins de Fer, 1872), 6–8; Albert Foucault, La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires 1864–1934 (Paris: Editions Spes, 1936), 69–70; Maxime Du Camp, La Croix-Rouge de France, Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires de Terre et de Mer (Paris: Hachette, 1889), 147–55. 32. La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, September 9, 1876, 86–87; Lacroix, Les Morts pour la Patrie, 13; Marcère, Exécution, 288–89. 33. Marcère, Exécution, 296. 34. Masses were held at Conlie, Sillé-le-Guillaume, and Parigné-l’Évêque. A. Touchard, Autour du Camp de Conlie (Notes et Souvenirs) (Le Mans: R. Pellechat, 1894), 171–72; La Feuille du Village, January 18, 1872; AD Sarthe, Q 26, Fournier, Une Commune de la Sarthe pendant l’Invasion (Angers: L. Hudon, 1873), 52; La Sarthe, January 13, 1872; January 13, 1873. 35. “Service Anniversaire en l’Honneur des Mobiles et des Soldats de la Sarthe, Tués pendant la Guerre,” L’Union de la Sarthe, January 17, 1872. 36. “Service Anniversaire Célébré à la Cathédrale du Mans, en l’Honneur des Mobiles et des Soldats de la Sarthe Tués pendant la Guerre,” La Feuille du Village, January 18, 1872. 37. La Sarthe, November 17, 1871. 38. F. L., “Erection d’un Monument aux Soldats de la Sarthe,” L’Union de la Sarthe, November 19, 1871. 39. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Cosnard-Fortin, sculptor, to the commission for the monument, “Description Générale d’un Projet: Sa Nature, Sa Situation et Sa Pensée,” n.d. [1872?]. 40. A marker at Conlie listed the names of those who died there from all over France. At Sillé-le-Guillaume, in a rare example, a small monument listed the names of those who had died in the hospitals of the canton. See Touchard, Autour du Camp de Conlie, 171; La Feuille du Village, January 18, 1872. The people of Parigné-l’Évêque engraved the names of the eighteen soldiers from that town who died in the war in gold letters on a marble plaque in the church.

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AD Sarthe, Q 26, Fournier, Commune de la Sarthe, 51–52. Also see Antoine Prost, Republican Identities in War and Peace: Representations of France in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, trans. Jay Winter with Helen McPhail (Oxford: Berg, 2002), 29. 41. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, prefect Sarthe, Tassin, to mayors, Circulaire, “Erection d’un Monument à la Mémoire des Soldats du Département de la Sarthe, Morts pendant la Guerre,” April 18, 1872. 42. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Cosnard-Fortin, “Description Générale d’un Projet.” 43. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Commission du Monument à la Mémoire des Soldats de la Sarthe Tués pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871, “Procès-Verbal de la Séance du 12 mars 1873.” On Rubillard and Tassin, see Stéphane Sauvageon, “Anselme Rubillard, Maire du Mans 1871–1878” (Mémoire de Maîtrise, Université du Mans, 1988). 44. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Hippolyte Beras to prefect Sarthe, Le Mans, March 14, 1873. 45. AD Sarthe, 2 R 64, Commission du Monument, “Procès-verbal”; President of the Republic, decree, August 7, 1873; AD Sarthe, Alex Poyer, ed. Sarthois, Souviens-toi! 1. Evènements militaires et religieux. Dossier 26 (Mamers: Auffret, 1997), 23. 46. Monuments in the Meurthe-et-Moselle were built in Auboué, Batilly, Briey, Bruville, Chambley, Conflans, Cosnes, Doncourt, Fresnois-la-Montagne, Hatrize, Homécourt, Jarny, Jeandelize, Jouaville, Labry, Longuyon, Longwy, Mars-la-Tour, Saint-Marcel, Baccarat, Bayon, Lunéville, Champey, Dombasle, Jarville, Ludres, Leyr, Malzéville, Nancy, Pompey, Pont-àMousson, and Toul as of 1893. Badel, Mars-la-Tour, 47. 47. Bazaine was sentenced to death for treason, but his sentence was commuted to imprisonment, from which he escaped to Spain in 1874. Achille François Bazaine, Episodes de la Guerre de 1870 et le Blocus de Metz (Madried: Gaspar, 1883). 48. For accounts of the battle of August 16 and 18, see Roth, Guerre de 70, 74–94; Michael Howard, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Invasion of France, 1870–1871 (New York: Macmillan, 1961), 144–66; Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 151–63. 49. Quotation is from Le Progrès de l’Est, August 20, 1873. See also AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, M. Rousselle to prefect M-et-M, Mars-la-Tour, August 16, 1872; Le Progrès de l’Est, August 21, 1874. 50. AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, M. Rousselle to prefect M-et-M, August 16, 1872. 51. The Paris committee was headed by General de Geslin, who had been a colonel in the battle. Badel, Mars-la-Tour, 54. Quotation from AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, “Inauguration du Monument Elevé à Mars-la-Tour à la Mémoire des Soldats Français Morts pour la Patrie dans les Journées des 16 et 18 Août 1870 (avec Texte Complet de Tous les Discours Prononcés),” speech by M. Pierson, president de la Commission, 1875. One thousand francs came from the Ministry of Fine Arts, and five thousand from the Ministry of the Interior. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, director of fine arts, for the minister of public instruction, religion, and fine arts, to prefect M-et-M, May 20, 1874; AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, May 14, 1875; AD M-et-M, 4 T 104, minister of war to prefect M-et-M, October 5, 1874. 52. Paul Ginisty, “Le Soir de ‘Mars-la-Tour,’” République du Midi, August 16, 1892. 53. “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1895. 54. AD M-et-M, 2 R 137 3, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, February 12, 1877. 55. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, prefect M-et-M to minister of the interior, May 15, 1875. See also AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, prefect M-et-M to minister of the interior, November 1, 1875. 56. AD M-et-M, V 259, “Constitution de Rente par la Commission du Monument de Mars-la-Tour, au Profit de la Fabrique de l’Église de Mars-la-Tour, Étude de Me. Aubry, Notaire à Chambley,” April 4, 1876.

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57. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, mayor Mars-la-Tour and Abbé Faller to prefect M-et-M, September 7, 1877. 58. “Cérémonie Commémorative de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, August 21, 1880; also see a similar treatment in same newspaper, August 21, 1882. 59. Lallemant became mayor in 1873, Vigel in about 1895. Note, for example, that Faller and Lallemant jointly addressed an invitation to a prefect. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, mayor Mars-laTour and abbé Faller to prefect M-et-M, September 7, 1877; Badel, Mars-la-Tour, 82. 60. Cited from an anonymous author in Émile Badel, Le Curé de Mars-la-Tour, 16 Août 1910: Son Œuvre, Son Musée (Nancy: Crepin-Leblond, 1910), 13. 61. “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1895. 62. AD M-et-M, V 259, special commissary Conflans-Jarny, report, February 17, 1907. See also Badel, Curé de Mars-la-Tour, 2–3; Émile Badel, Dix Ans du Souvenir Français en Lorraine (Nancy: Crepin-Leblond, 1907), 265–66. 63. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, prefect M-et-M, “Inauguration du Monument.” 64. Prost, Republican Identities, 12; Prost, “Les Monuments aux Morts: Culte Républicain? Culte Civique? Culte Patriotique?” in Les Lieux de Mémoire, vol. 1: La République, ed. Pierre Nora (Paris: Gallimard, 1984), 195–225. 65. François Pierson’s official request for a funeral ceremony was for “French soldiers who died for the patrie, on the days of August 16 and 18, 1870, or due to wounds received on those days.” AD M-et-M, V 259, “Constitution de Rente.” 66. A. Becker, “Guerre de Sécession et la Guerre de 1870–1871,” 23–40. 67. La République, August 15, 1875. 68. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, honorary canon and curé Briey M. Noel, speech in “Inauguration du Monument.” 69. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, Eugène Ory, introduction to “Inauguration du Monument.” 70. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, M. de Ladoucette, speech in “Inauguration du Monument.” 71. Robin Wagner-Pacifici and Barry Schwartz, “The Vietnam Veterans Memorial: Commemorating a Difficult Past,” American Journal of Sociology 97, no. 2 (September 1991): 417. 72. Cited in La Semaine Religieuse du Diocèse de Montpellier, September 9, 1876, 86–87.

Chapter 5 1. Isser Woloch, The New Regime: Transformations of the French Civic Order, 1789–1820s (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994); Raoul Girardet, La Société Militaire de 1815 à Nos Jours (Mesnil-sur-l’Estrée: Librairie Académique Perrin, 1998); David M. Hopkin, Soldier and Peasant in French Popular Culture, 1766–1870 (Woodbridge, Eng.: Boydell Press, 2003); Michel Auvray, L’Âge des Casernes: Histoire et Mythes du Service Militaire (Paris: Aube, 1998). 2. Stéphane Tison, “Guerre, Mémoire, et Traumatisme: Comment Champenois et Sarthois Sont-Ils Sortis de la Guerre? 1870–1940” (Unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Paris III, 2002), 186–87. 3. Geoffrey Wawro, The Franco-Prussian War: The German Conquest of France in 1870–1871 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 285, 288, 292–93. 4. Pierre Larousse, Grand Dictionnaire Universel du XIXe Siècle, vol. 16, A-D supplement (Geneva: Slatkine, 1982 [reprint]), 502; Jean-Marie Mayeur and Alain Corbin, dir., Les Immortels du Sénat, 1875–1918: Les Cent Seize Inamovibles de la Troisième République (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1995), 268–71.

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5. Jean-François Chanet, “Armée Nouvelle et République Conservatrice, 1871–1879” (Mémoire de recherche inédit, October 2002), 23; Antoine Chanzy, Campagne de 1870–1871: La Deuxième Armée de la Loire, 8th ed. (1872; Paris: Plon, 1885), 397. 6. H. de Pène, L’Union de la Sarthe (reprint from Le Gaulois), August 17 and 18, 1885. 7. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, Comité pour l’Érection d’une Statue au Général Chanzy, “Souscription Publique,” n.d. [April–June 1883?]. 8. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, Comité pour l’Érection d’une Statue au Général Chanzy, “Souscription Publique,” n.d. [April–June 1883?]. 9. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, Jauréguiberry, to senator and mayor of Le Mans, letters Paris, June 16 and August 28, 1883. 10. André Lévy, dir., La Sarthe des Origines à Nos Jours (Saint-Jean-d’Angély: Bordessoules, 1983), 302; François Dornic, “Une Ville en Croissance Accélérée: Le Mans,” in Un Siècle et Demi d’Économie Sarthoise: 1815–1966, by Maurice Lévy-Leboyer et al. (Caen: Caron, 1969), 103–21. 11. Dornic, “Ville en Croissance,” 117; Stéphane Sauvageon, “Anselme Rubillard, Maire du Mans 1871–1878” (Mémoire de maîtrise, Université du Mans, 1988), 224; Robert Collet, Essai sur la Vie Politique au Mans et dans la Sarthe sous la IIIe Republique, 1870–1939 (Le Mans: Jobidon, 1955), 29–33. 12. AD Sarthe, Alex Poyer, ed. Sarthois, Souviens-toi! 1. Évènements militaires et religieux. Dossier 26 (Mamers: Auffret, 1997), 19–20. 13. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, petitioner to mayor and municipal council of Le Mans, letter, Le Mans, August 1884. 14. Jean Manceau (pseud.), “Patrie! Drapeau!!,” L’Union Républicain, August 16 and 17, 1885. 15. Charles de Montesson, Souvenirs d’Ambulance, 1870–71 (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1885), 92. 16. C. Fournier-Carville, “Patrie!,” La Sarthe, August 16, 1885. 17. L’Union de la Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. 18. Philippoteaux had been mayor during the war and was elected as a conservative republican deputy from the Ardennes in 1871. Larousse, Grand Dictionnaire, vol. 12, 819; AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, L.-A. Cordelet, mayor/senator of Le Mans, “Monument Chanzy-rapport du Maire [to municipal council],” August 3, 1883. 19. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681: various cafe and bar owners, Le Mans, August 1885; Père Kervella, Artificier, bill for 15,795 francs, n.d.; “Fête de l’Inauguration du Monument Chanzy— Dépenses,” n.d. [1885]; Chemins de Fer de l’Ouest, “Trains extraordinaires,” August 1885; “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885; Mayor and Senator L.-A. Cordelet to various cities, letter, Le Mans, June 12, 1885. 20. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, mayor and senator L.-A. Cordelet to presidents of gymnastics societies, letter, Le Mans, July 31, 1885; “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. 21. AD Sarthe, 1 M 501, minister of the interior Allain-Targé to prefects and special commissaries of railroads on the frontiers and Paris stations, telegram, Paris, August 14, 1885, and accompanying scrap of paper with decoded words. 22. “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. 23. AD Sarthe, 1 M 501, list, n.d.; “La Fête d’Hier,” L’Union Républicaine, August 18, 1885; “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. 24. “Le Monument,” La Sarthe, August 16, 1885. 25. L’Union de la Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. 26. AM Le Mans, M.1.16 0 681, letter, Croisy, April 16, 1890; Conseil Municipal du Mans, Session Extraordinaire, April 30, 1890.

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27. L’Union de la Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885; “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885 (quotation). L’Union Républicaine did not mention this gathering in its coverage of the ceremony, “La Fête d’Hier,” August 18, 1885. 28. “Les Fêtes du Mans,” La Sarthe, August 17–18, 1885. In early 1970, the city constructed a parking garage beneath the Place de la République and moved the Chanzy monument about a kilometer southeast to the smaller Place George Washington, where it stands today in the midst of a parking lot encircled by small shops. Le Maine Libre, February 3, 1970; “Chassé par le Modernisme, le Général Chanzy part en ‘Mission,’” Le Maine Libre, February 21–22, 1970. 29. Émile Badel, Dix Ans du Souvenir Français en Lorraine (Nancy: Crepin-Leblond, 1907), 10–11; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Louis Jeannin, Le Radical, no. 75, March 15, 1892, 3. 30. AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, minister of the interior to director of Sûreté Générale, August 18 and 25, 1887; Jean-Pierre Jean, Le Livre d’Or du Souvenir Français (Nancy: Imprimerie des Arts Graphiques Modernes, 1929), 281; AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, minister of the interior to prefects, May 2, 1891. 31. AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Souvenir Français (bulletin), July 1, 1890; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Rapports de l’Assemblée Générale du 18 mars 1984, 2; François Roth, “Le Souvenir Français en Lorraine Annexé 1907–1914,” Mémoires de l’Académie Nationale de Metz, 6th ser., vol. 1 (Metz: Le Lorrain, 1974); AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, newspaper clipping, April 9, 1895; Badel, Dix Ans, 10. 32. AD M-et-M, 2 R 135, especially director of the cabinet, personnel, and secretariat, for the minister of the interior, to prefect M-et-M, October 27, 1891; August 1, 1892; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478 Prime Minister and Minister of the Interior Alexandre Ribot to M. Cosseron de Villenoisy, president of the Souvenir Français, March 22, 1893; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, arrête, June 6, 1893; AD Sarthe, 2 R 69, Dupuy to prefects, Circulaire, July 6, 1893; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Rapports de l’Assemblée Générale du 18 mars 1894; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Le Souvenir Français (bulletin), January 20, 1900; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Dupuy to prefects, July 6, 1893; AD M-et-M, 2 R 137, Prime Minister, Minister of the Interior and Religion Caillaux to prefect M-et-M, July 7, 1911; subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, September 9, 1911. 33. AN, F 7 12375, prefect of police to prime minister, January 31, 1889. 34. AN, F 7 12375, Charles Mirande, Le Républicain, October 22, 1893, 3. 35. Bénédicte Grailles, “De la Défaite à l’Union Sacrée ou les Chemins du Consentement: Hommages Publics et Commémorations de 1870 à 1914: L’Exemple du Nord de la France” (unpublished doctoral thesis, Université Charles de Gaulle Lille III, 2000), 251 n. 109; Badel, Dix Ans, 9. Presidents of the Souvenir Français between 1887 and 1929: Generals Fournier, Lewal, de Villenoisy, Charon, Zede, Poulleau, and Ferré. See Jean, Livre d’Or, 281; Serge Saint-Michel, Le Souvenir Français: À Nous le Souvenir, à eux l’Immortalité (Paris: Éditions Fleurus, 1990), 35; AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, “Rapports de l’Assemblée Générale du 12 Mars 1893—Souvenir FrançaisAllocution du Général de Villenoisy, Président,” March 12, 1893, 2. On models of monuments after the Great War, see Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Daniel J. Sherman, The Construction of Memory in Interwar France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999). 36. Grailles, Défaite, 254; Badel, Dix Ans, 10–11. The average wage for a striking worker in the late nineteenth century was 3.75 francs per day. Michelle Perrot, Les Ouvriers en Grève: France 1871–1890, 2 vols (Paris: Mouton, 1974), 1:346. 37. L’Univers Israélite, June 15, 1893; July 1, 1894; July 1, 1895; June 12, 1896. 38. Badel, Dix Ans, 30. See also Auguste Philippoteaux, 1er Septembre 1891: Souvenir Fran-

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çais, Paroles Prononcées au Cimetière de Sedan (Sedan: Imprimerie Jules Laroche, 1891), 4; Maurice Boiselle, “Introduction,” in Badel, Dix Ans, 5. Whether or not the other participants agreed with these assertions is unclear. 39. Maurice Agulhon, Marianne au Pouvoir: L’Imagerie et la Symbolique Républicaines de 1880 à 1914 (Paris: Flammarion, 1989); William B. Cohen, “Symbols of Power: Statues in NineteenthCentury Provincial France.” Comparative Studies in Society and History 31 (July 1989): 491–513. 40. Philippoteaux, 1er Septembre 1891, 4–5. 41. AD M-et-M, 2 R 134, Souvenir Français, Rapports de l’Assemblée Générale du 12 Mars 1893, 30–31. 42. AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Souvenir Français, “Comités et Sous-Comités,” Rapports de l’Assemblée Générale du 18 Mars 1894, 4. The only evidence of the Souvenir Français in the Sarthe through 1914 comes from a letter from the central committee in 1899 proposing to construct a monument over the dilapidated tomb of a Colonel Dupressoir, a veteran of 1870, who died in Le Mans in 1876. AM Le Mans, H.3.8 0 2599, Municipal Council of Le Mans, “Session Extraordinaire,” October 30, 1899. 43. Thirteen departments had over 500 members, and only five—Côte d’Or, Gironde, Seine, Bouches-du-Rhône, and Gers—had more than 1,000 members. That year, there were committees in Nancy, Lunéville, Pont-à-Mousson, Longwy, Mars-la-Tour, Villerupt, and Briey, and the organization was later active in Batilly, Bruville, Lay-Saint-Christophe, SainteMarie-aux-Chênes, and Vézélise. AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Souvenir Français, “Comités et Sous-Comités,” 4. 44. Jean, Livre d’Or, 281; AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, La Délégation du Comité du Souvenir français et des Vétérans [Longwy], “Appel du Comité du Souvenir français, Associé à la Section des Vétérans de Longwy, à Ses Concitoyens et à Tous les Bons Français,” July 1910; Badel, Dix Ans, 25–38; AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Special Commissary of Police Lunéville to prefect Meurthe-etMoselle and Sûrété Général, November 27, 1898; General de Lardemelle, Le Général Comte de Geslin (Nancy: A. Crepin-Leblond, 1911), 153–54; AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, report, police commissaire Pont-à-Mousson to prefect M-et-M, October 24, 1897. 45. This alliance was not limited to the Meurthe-et-Moselle. On the Cher, see Neil McWilliam, “Race, Remembrance, and ‘Revanche’: Commemorating the Franco-Prussian War in the Third Republic,” Art History 19, no. 4 (December 1996): 473–98. The first president of the Souvenir Français, General Lewel, resigned in 1891 to protest the reactionary and clerical tendencies of several members of the governing board. AN, F 7 12375, Seine 478, Louis Jeannin, Le Radical, no. 75, March 15, 1892, 3. 46. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, rapport Pont-à-Mousson, police commissary Pont-à-Mousson, to prefect M-et-M, November 18, 1900. 47. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, letter, Nancy, prefect M-et-M to minister of the interior, July 26, 1911. Similarly, the prefect discouraged the Minister of War from attending the unveiling of a monument in Vézélise for political reasons in 1908. AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, letter, Nancy, prefect M-et-M to minister of war, April, 1908. 48. Anonymous, L’Indépendant de la Charente-Inférieure, February 3, 1900. 49. AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, rapport, special police commissary Briey, August 18, 1902. 50. Henri Ortholan, Le Général Séré de Rivières: Le Vauban de la Revanche (Paris: Bernard Giovanangeli, 2003), 335–456; François Roth, “1871–1914,” in Histoire de la Lorraine, sous la dir. de Michel Parisse et al. (Toulouse: Privat, 1978), 394; Louis Madelin, Croquis Lorrains (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1907), 366.

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51. See especially: “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair de l’Est, August 17, 1908; “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Étoile de l’Est, August 18, 1910; “Un Assistant,” “Service Anniversaire du 16 Août à Mars-la-Tour,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, August 19, 1885; “Pieux Anniversaire,” Le Petit Méridional, August 17, 1891; “À Propos d’un Anniversaire,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, August 18, 1892; AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, subprefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, August 17,1891; “Les Fêtes Patriotiques et Religieuse de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, August 19, 1895; “Les Morts de 1870,” Le Petit Méridional, August 17,1895; “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Étoile de l’Est, August 17,1910. 52. AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, “Extrait du Registre des Délibérations du Conseil Municipal (Mars-la-Tour),” June 8, 1895; E.B., “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Est Républicain, August 17,1907; AD M-et-M, 2 R 135, director of the cabinet, personnel, and secretariat, for the minister of the interior, to prefect M-et-M, January 21, 1892; AD M-et-M, 2 R 135, for the minister of the interior, to prefect M-et-M, April 29, 1895; mayor Mars-la-Tour to subprefect Briey, August 12, 1895; 2 R 136, mayor Mars-la-Tour to subprefect Briey, May 10, 1905; 2 R 137, Auguste Bachelier, plumber-zinc worker of Mars-la-Tour, “Note des Frais de Réparations au Monument National de Mars-la-Tour,” October 17, 1907. 53. Sarah A. Curtis, Educating the Faithful: Religion, Schooling, and Society in NineteenthCentury France (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2000), 18, 34–39; Stephen L. Harp, Marketing Michelin: Advertising and Cultural Identity in Twentieth-Century France (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 55, 59, 69, 71–74; Ellen Furlough, “Une Leçon des Choses: Tourism, Empire, and the Nation in Interwar France,” French Historical Studies 25, no. 3 (Summer 2002): 441–73; Patrick Young, “Of Pardons, Loss, and Longing: The Tourist’s Pursuit of Originality in Brittany, 1890–1935,” French Historical Studies 30, no. 2 (Spring 2007): 269–304. 54. Émile Badel, Le Curé de Mars-la-Tour, 16 Août 1910: Son Oeuvre, Son Musée (Nancy: Crepin-Leblond, 1910), 5–6, 14; “Cérémonies Patriotiques,” L’Éclair, August 17,1910; De Beyre, “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair de l’Est, August 15–16, 1912; Joseph Faller, Souscription Proposée pour Élever une Chapelle à Mars-la-Tour (Nancy: Vagner, 1876). 55. “L’Anniversaire des Batailles des 16 et 18 Août 1870,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1902. 56. Émile Badel, Mars-la-Tour et Son Monument National (Mars-la-Tour: Ritter-Roscop, 1893), 14; “Les Morts de 1870,” Le Petit Méridional, August 17, 1895; “Le 27e Anniversaire des Grandes Batailles de 1870 à Mars-la-Tour,” L’Espérance, Courrier de Nancy, August 17, 1897; “L’Anniversaire des Batailles des 16 et 18 Août 1870,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1902; de Beyre, “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair de l’Est, August 15–16, 1912. 57. Léon Pireyre, “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Est Républicain, August 17, 1912. 58. Badel, Mars-la-Tour, 67; “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Étoile de l’Est, August 17, 1910; L. G., “Le 20e Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Est Républicain, August 18, 1890; “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” l’Éclair de l’Est, August 17,1907; guidebooks: Madame A. Arnould, Mars-la-Tour et Ses Souvenirs (Mars-la-Tour: 1908); Henri Dorizy, Les Champs de Bataille de 1870: Guide Album avec 122 Photographies et 10 Cartes (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1911). 59. Wendel and Company held exclusive rights over the Thomas-Gilchrist process until 1896. Roth, “1871–1914,” 398. 60. François Baudin, Histoire Économique et Sociale de la Lorraine, vol. 2: L’Essor (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, Editions Serpenoise, 1993), 155, 187; Herman Lebovics, The Alliance of Iron and Wheat in the Third French Republic, 1860–1914: Origins of the New Conservatism (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1988).

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61. Victor-Eugène Ardouin-Dumazet, Voyage en France, 22e Série: Lorraine Centrale (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1917), 43; Jean-Claude Bonnefont et al., Meurthe-et-Moselle (Paris: Éditions Bonneton, 1996), 256; Roth, “1871–1914,” 395, 401. 62. “Mars-la-Tour,” L. Fouquet, L’Étoile de l’Est, August 19, 1902. 63. “Cérémonie Patriotique de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Impartial de l’Est, August 18, 1900. 64. Turinaz spoke for the first time in 1890, and also in 1893, 1895, 1902, and possibly 1899, at least. Cited in René Hogard, Quarante-Cinq Ans d’Épiscopat: Mgr Turinaz, Évêque de Nancy et de Toul, 1838–1918 (Nancy: Librairie Vagner, 1938), 314. 65. “Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” Le Progrès de l’Est, August 18, 1885. 66. Turinaz, “Discours Prononcé à Mars-la-Tour,” in Turinaz, Discours Patriotiques (Nancy: Étienne Drioton, 1900), 168. 67. Speech by subprefect Giraud, cited in “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1895. 68. Turinaz, “Il Faut Aimer la France: Discours Prononcé à Mars-la-Tour, le 16 Août 1893, à l’Occasion du Vingt-Troisieme Anniversaire de la Bataille de Gravelotte,” in Discours Patriotiques, 199. 69. “Cérémonies Patriotiques,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1901. 70. Cited in Le Petit Méridional, August 17, 1887. 71. “Cérémonies Patriotiques,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1912. 72. AD M-et-M, 2 R 137, minister of the interior to prefect M-et-M, April 20, 1909; AD M-et-M, 1 M 670, decree, President of the Republic A. Fallières, May 28, 1909. 73. Anon., “Commémoration de Mars-la-Tour: M. le Curé Faller Reçoit la Croix de la Légion d’Honneur,” Le Nouvelliste de la Sarthe, August 17, 1910. 74. AD M-et-M, 4 M 219, special commissary Conflans-Jarny, report, August 17, 1902. 75. Subprefect Giraud cited in “L’Anniversaire de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Éclair, August 17, 1895; see also “Cérémonies Patriotiques,” L’Éclair, August 17,1910; Turinaz, “Il Faut Aimer la France,” 201; Lebrun, cited in “La Cérémonie de Mars-la-Tour,” L’Étoile de l’Est, August 17, 1907; AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, subprefect Briey, “Allocution du Sous-Prefet de Briey,” August 16, 1896. 76. Susanna Barrows, Distorting Mirrors: Visions of the Crowd in Late Nineteenth-Century France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981); Robert A. Nye, Crime, Madness, and Politics in Modern France: The Medical Concept of National Decline (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984); Allan Mitchell, The Divided Path: The German Influence on Social Reform in France after 1870 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Patricia E. Prestwich, Drink and the Politics of Social Reform: Antialcoholism in France since 1870 (Palo Alto: Society for the Promotion of Science and Scholarship, 1988).

Chapter 6 1. Athletics in the late nineteenth century generally fell into two categories: training societies and sports, such as rugby, soccer, and tennis. Sports derived from a British tradition that promoted competition and personal achievement within the framework of teamwork. Such activities became associated with Pierre de Coubertin, the Olympic Games, and conservative, wealthy urbanites. Widespread working-class participation in and spectatorship of sports developed in France only after World War I; thus, sports fall outside of the scope of this study.

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2. Ronald Hubscher, Jean Durry, and Bernard Jeu, L’Histoire en Mouvements: Le Sport dans la Société Française (XIXe–XXe siècle) (Paris: Armand Colin, 1992), 20; Pierre Arnaud, “La Trame et la Chaîne: Le Réseau des Sociétés Conscriptives (1870–1890), Sport/Histoire 1 (1988): 44; AD M-et-M, 4 M 77. 3. Arnaud, “La Trame et la Chaîne,” 44. 4. All of these numbers include school-based societies. AD M-et-M, 4 M 64, 4 M 66, 4 M 77–84, 1 R 9; AD Hérault, 1 M 1107, 4 M 859–860, 4 M 916–920; AD Sarthe, 1 M 189, 1 M 519–522, 4 M 208–209, 1 R 30–32. 5. AD Hérault, 4 M 917, Société d’Escrime de la Ville de Mèze, statutes, approved August 7, 1893; AD Sarthe, 4 M 208, Société de Gymnastique, Sillé-le-Guillaume, 1888; AD M-et-M, 4 M 79, Sport Mussipontain, Pont-à-Mousson, 1876. 6. AD Hérault, 4 M 917, Société de Tir du 122e Régiment Terriotrial d’Infanterie Montpellier to prefect Hérault, March 10, 1891. 7. She was Isabelle Beaumont of the Société Mixte de Tir de Marolles-les-Braults. AD Sarthe, 4 M 209, Société Mixte de Tir de Marolles-les-Braults, 27e régiment territoriale, 1888. In 1905, twelve women participated the first “Concours de Dames” in the Grand Concours International et Départemental of 1905. “Société Mixte du Tir ‘La Mancelle,’” Le Nouvelliste de la Sarthe, August 20 and 21, 1905. 8. David M. Pomfret, “‘A Muse for the Masses’: Gender, Age, and Nation in France, Fin de Siècle,” American Historical Review 109, no. 5 (December 2004): 1452; John R. Gillis, Youth and History: Tradition and Change in European Age Relations, 1770–Present (New York: Academic Press, 1974); Kathleen Alaimo, “Adolescence, Gender, and Class in Education Reform in France: The Development of Enseignement Primaire Superieur, 1880–1910,” French Historical Studies 18, no. 4. (Autumn 1994): 1025–55. 9. AD Hérault, 4 M 916, La Languedocienne, Société de Gymnastique Béziers, approved July 27, 1886. 10. David Pomfret, Young People and the European City: Age Relations in Nottingham and Saint-Etienne, 1890–1940 (Aldershot, Eng.: Ashgate, 2004), 129, 138, 151; Agnes Thiercé, Histoire de l’Adolescence: 1850–1914 (Paris: Belin, 1999), 23. 11. AD Hérault, 4 M 916–17; AD Sarthe, 1 R 32; Carol E. Harrison, The Bourgeois Citizen in Nineteenth-Century France: Gender, Sociability, and the Uses of Emulation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 217–18. The average age for a male in France to marry during the 1880s and 1890s was about twenty-eight, but bourgeois men tended to marry later than workers, and ages varied by region. See Gérard Duplessis-Le Guélinel, Les Mariages en France (Paris: Armand Colin, 1954), 67; Antoine Prost, “Marriage, Youth, and Society in Orléans in 1911,” in Republican Identities in War and Peace: Representations of France in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, trans. Jay M. Winter with Helen McPhail (Oxford: Berg, 2002), 192–98. 12. Margaret H. Darrow, French Women and the First World War: War Stories of the Home Front (Oxford: Berg, 2000), 9–12; Christopher E. Forth, “La Civilisation and Its Discontents: Modernity, Manhood, and the Body in the Early Third Republic,” in French Masculinities: History, Culture, and Politics, ed. Christopher E. Forth and Bertrand Taithe (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 88–89; Robert A. Nye, Crime, Madness, and Politics in Modern France: The Medical Concept of National Decline (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). 13. Forth, “La Civilisation,” 85–102. 14. Robert A. Nye, Masculinity and Male Codes of Honor in Modern France (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Pomfret, Young People, 103–04; Pomfret, “Muse for the Masses,” 1452.

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15. David M. Hopkin, Soldier and Peasant in French Popular Culture, 1766–1870 (Woodbridge, Eng.: Boydell Press, 2003). 16. AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, central police commissary Nancy to prefect M-et-M, report, December 29, 1890. 17. AD M-et-M, 1 R 9, Bulletin de la Société de Tir de Nancy, January–February 1910, 3–4; AD Sarthe, AA 1124, Ville du Mans, Fête des Médailles de 1870–1871, Fédération Musicale de la Sarthe, 5e Fête Fédérale et Grand Festival Départemental: Programme Officiel (Le Mans: J. Bouvert, 1913). 18. Arnaud, “Sociabilité Sportive,” in Les Athlètes de la République: Gymnastique, Sport, et Idéologie Républicaine, 1870/1914, dir. Pierre Arnaud (Paris: Bibliothèque Historique Privat, 1987), 365; Richard Holt, Sport and Society in Modern France (London: Macmillan, 1981), 51. 19. AD Hérault, 4 M 916–17, 4 M 859. 20. Benoît Lecoq, “Les Sociétés de Gymnastique et de Tir dans la France Républicaine (1870–1914),” Revue Historique 276, no. 1 (1986): 159. 21. Harrison, Bourgeoisie, 221. 22. AD Hérault, 4 M 920, special commissary Cette to prefect Hérault, April 2, 1914. 23. AD M-et-M, 4 M 79, special commissary Pagny-sur-Moselle to prefect M-et-M, April 28, 1877; AD Hérault, 4 M 916–17, 4 M 859. 24. Holt, Sport and Society, 52–53, 181–82. 25. AD Hérault, 4 M 916, on space problems in Béziers and Lodève: General Boisdenemets, commander of the 16th army corps to prefect Hérault, June 10, 1892. The cost to rent rifles declined from over twenty-five francs in 1881 to four francs in the spring of 1883. AD Hérault, 4 M 916, especially Minister of War Farre to commanding generals, collective letter no. 31–11, Paris, July 26, 1881; Minister of War Campenon to military governors of Paris and Lyon, and commanding generals, collective letter no. 2, Paris, January 11, 1882; Minister of War Thibaudin to military governors of Paris and Lyon, and commanding generals, collective letter no. 9, Paris, April 4, 1883; Minister of War Campenon to military governors of Paris and Lyon, commanding generals, all prefects, and directors of artillery establishments, June 2, 1885. On money for gymnastics competitions, see: AD Hérault, 4 M 916, minister of the interior to prefects, circular no. 361, Paris, June 7, 1883. 26. AD Hérault, 4 M 916, prefect Hérault, Arrêt concerning societies, 1885 and following. The regulation of these associations fell under decree of April 2, 1852, until the law of July 1, 1901. 27. Gambetta’s speech at Bordeaux, June 26, 1871, cited in Pierre Arnaud, “Diviser et Unir: Sociétés Sportives et Nationalismes en France (1870–1914), Sport/Histoire 4 (1989): 33. 28. Speech at the USGF’s eighth annual fête in Reims (1882), AD Hérault, 4 M 920, USGF poster, 1913. 29. Eugen Weber, “Gymnastics and Sports in Fin-de-Siècle France: Opium of the Classes?” American Historical Review 76, no. 1 (February 1971): 74. 30. Pierre Arnaud, Le Militaire, L’Écolier, Le Gymnaste: Naissance de l’Éducation Physique en France (1869–1889) (Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon, 1991), 65–67, 108. 31. Arnaud, “Diviser et Unir,” 33; Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 122–27, 131–36, 164; Marcel Spivak, “Le Développement de l’Éducation Physique et du Sport Français de 1852 à 1914,” Revue d’Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine 24 (1977): 35–36. 32. Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 137–38.

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33. Richard Holt, “English Influences on French Sport: ‘Anglomania’ and National Revival, 1870–1914,” Stadion 27 (2001): 181; E. Goutière-Vernolle, Les Fêtes de Nancy, 5, 6, et 7 Juin 1892: Ouvrage Orné de Trente Planches hors Texte (Nancy: Crépin-Leblond, 1892), 73. 34. Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 122; AD Sarthe, ARDOS, Rapport sur l’Enseignement de la Gymnastique à l’École Communale de Loué, June 14, 1882. 35. Ministerial Arrêté, Jan. 21, 1882, cited in Arnaud, ed., Athlètes, 31. 36. Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 174–95; Albert Bourzac, “Les Bataillons Scolaires en France: Naissance, Développement, Disparition,” in Athlètes, ed. Arnaud, 41–62. See also Jean-Jacques Becker and Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, La France, La Nation, La Guerre: 1850– 1920 (Paris: Sedès, 1995), 170–74, 176–77; Philippe Marchard, “Les Petits Soldats de Demain: Les Bataillons Scolaires dans le Département du Nord, 1882–1892,” Revue du Nord 67, no. 266 (July–September 1985): 769–803. Although it is often contended that Paul Déroulède and the Ligue des Patriotes supported this effort (Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 191–92; Weber, “Gymnastics and Sports,” 77), Bertrand Joly argues that Déroulède expressed public reservations about the project in 1883 and 1885 (Déroulède: L’Inventeur du Nationalisme Français [Paris: Perrin, 1998], 89–90). 37. Bourzac, “Bataillons Scholaires,” in Athlètes, ed. Arnaud, 47, 61–62. The battalions remained strong in the Nord until abolished by ministerial decree in 1892. Marchand, “Petits Soldats,” 797–98. 38. Arnaud, “La Trame et la Chaîne,” 47–48. 39. AD Sarthe, 1 R 30, Inspecteur d’Académie de la Sarthe to prefect Sarthe (passed on to minister of public instruction), December 18, 1908, and December 10, 1909. 40. AD M-et-M, 4 M 920, prefect Hérault to minister of public instruction, November 21, 1907; 4 M 919, extracts from municipal council reports, November–December 1907, February 1908. 41. AD Sarthe, 1 R 30, Inspecteur d’Académie de la Sarthe to prefect Sarthe (passed on to minister of public instruction), December 18, 1908. 42. AD M-et-M, 4 M 77, Société Scolarie de Tir de l’Ecole Normale d’Instituteurs de Nancy, Statutes, November 8, 1907; 1 R 9, Inspecteur primaire, Nancy, “Circonscription de Nancy-Nord-Ouest-Enseignement du Tir,” 1909; Inspecteur générale, Toul (schools), “État des Communes où le Tir Scolaire Est Organisé,” 1909; 4 M 82, “État des Communes où Existent des Tirs Scolaires Autonomes et Affiliés à des Sociétés,” May 1909. 43. AD Hérault, 4 M 918, Le Lt. Colonel Demangeot, Major de la Garnison, 16e corps d’armée, to prefect Hérault, Montpellier, March 14, 1906; 4 M 920, central commissary of Montpellier to prefect Hérault, August 5, 1909; Union des Sociétés de Gymnastique de France, poster, 1913. 44. Arnaud, Militaire, Écolier, Gymnaste, 219–23; AD Sarthe, 13 F 732, Société Philotechnique du Maine: Section Gymnastique (Union Mancelle), Règlement Intérieur (Le Mans: E. Lebrault, 1883), 5–6; AD Hérault, 4 M 916, Les Patriotes de Magalas, statutes, February 1, 1892; 4 M 917, Société Mixte de Tir de Campagnan, approved May 28, 1895. 45. “Les Gardes Nationales,” La Sarthe, September 9, 1871; AD Bouches-du-Rhône, 1 M 715, police report, September 1, 1874. 46. Arnaud, “La Trame et la Chaîne,” 47. 47. AD Hérault, 4 M 917, Ministry of War, Instruction Ministerielle sur l’Organisation et le Fonctionnement des Sociétés de Tir et de Gymnastique, approved October 9, 1885 (new version, 1892).

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48. Cédric Nouet, “Les Relations Franc-Maçonnerie-Église Catholique en Sarthe entre 1870 et 1914” (Mémoire de maîtrise, Université de Maine, 1996), 74; AD Hérault, 4 M 916, subprefect Béziers to prefect Hérault, September 22, 1886. 49. Arnaud, “Diviser et Unir,” 34–35. 50. Hubscher et al., Histoire en Mouvements, 141; Joly, Déroulède, 93–96. Holt argues that Opportunists began to refuse the USGF subsidies and privileged status out of concern for the organization’s relationship with Déroulède and extraparliamentary nationalists. Sport and Society, 47–48. 51. Pomfret, Young People, 126. Still later, in the early 1900s, socialists created separate societies. 52. AD M-et-M, 4 M 81, Rapport mensuel—Sociétés de Preparation Militaire, sub-prefect Briey to prefect M-et-M, April 17, 1909. 53. AD M-et-M, 4 M 77, la Jeanne d’Arc de la Cathédrale de Nancy, Statutes, 1906; 1 M 631, special police commissary—Gare de Nancy, report to prefect M-et-M, May 18, 1913. 54. AD M-et-M, 4 M 78, Pretre and Didier of the Gendarmerie Nationale, report, October 1, 1908. 55. AD Hérault, 4 M 920, central commissary Montpellier to prefect Hérault, report, Montpellier, May 14, 1909; AD M-et-M, 4 M 77, central commissary Nancy to prefect M-etM, letter, Nancy, March 1910. 56. AD Hérault, 4 M 919, subprefect Lodève to prefect Hérault, June 1, 1908. 57. AD M-et-M, 1 M 606, subprefect Lunéville to prefect M-et-M, “Rapport Mensuel sur la Situation Politique et Économique,” December 1, 1908. 58. AD Sarthe, 1 M 512, minister of the interior to prefect Sarthe, June 9, 1909. 59. AD Sarthe, 1 M 522, central commissary to prefect Sarthe, Le Mans, June 23, 1909; 1 M 520, prefect Sarthe to minister of the interior, September 18, 1912; subprefect La Flèche to prefect Sarthe, July 3, 1913; 1 M 519, subprefect La Flèche to prefect Sarthe, April 19, 1913. 60. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, i–ii. 61. M. de Bassilan, preface, in E. Marillac, Les Fêtes de Nancy (Paris: Lucien Beillet, 1892), 24. 62. Arnaud, “La Trame et la Chaîne,” 61. 63. Hubscher et al., Histoire en Mouvements, 93–110; Holt, Sport and Society, 150–68. 64. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, 21; Marillac, Fêtes de Nancy, 24. 65. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, ix, 21. 66. François Baudin, Histoire Économique et Sociale de la Lorraine. Vol. 2: L’Essor (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, Éditions Serpenoise, 1993), 117–18. 67. Louis Madelin, Croquis Lorrains (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1907), 161–63, 233–34. 68. Henri Ortholan, Le Général Séré de Rivières: Le Vauban de la Revanche (Paris: Bernard Giovanangeli, 2003), 361–66; François Roth, La Lorraine dans la Guerre de 1870 (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, 1984), 85; Becker and Audoin-Rouzeau, La France, La Nation, La Guerre, 152–53. 69. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, 123; Bellieni, Les Fêtes de Nancy, Juin 1892: Souvenir de la Visite de M. Carnot, Président de la République, à l’Occasion de la XVIIIe Fête Fédérale de Gymnastique (Nancy: Berger-Levrault, 1892), plate 8. 70. Debora Silverman, Art Nouveau in Fin-de-Siècle France: Politics, Psychology, and Style (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989); Hélène Sicard-Lenattier, Les Alsaciens-Lorrains à Nancy: 1870–1914 (Haroué: Gérard Louis, 2002), 197–204.

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71. Robert Joseph, “Nancy 1892, Nancy 1919: Grandeur et Décrépitude des Fêtes Nationales de Gymnastique,” in Athlètes, ed. Arnaud, 238. 72. Two groups were from Nancy and five were from the Meuthe-et-Moselle. Joseph, “Nancy 1892,” in Athlètes, ed. Arnaud, 241. Also see Claire E. Nolte, The Sokol in the Czech Lands to 1914: Training for the Nation (New York: Palgrave, 2002); Hubscher et al., Histoire en Mouvements, 139–40. 73. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, ii. 74. Joseph, “Nancy 1892,” in Arnaud, ed., Athlètes, 239–40. 75. Goutière-Vernolle, Fêtes de Nancy, ix–x.

Chapter 7 1. Pierre Bouloumié, speech, in L’Union des Femmes de France (hereafter UFF), Conférence à Lyon, le 13 Avril 1886 (Paris: Coopération Typographique [Association Ouvrière] 1886), 25. 2. Véronique Harouel, Histoire de la Croix-Rouge (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1999); Yvonne Knibiehler et al., Cornettes et Blouses Blanches: Les Infirmières dans la Société Française, 1880–1980 (Paris: Hachette, 1984); Katrin Schultheiss, Bodies and Souls: Politics and the Professionalization of Nursing in France, 1880–1922 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001); John F. Hutchinson, Champions of Charity: War and the Rise of the Red Cross (Boulder: Westview Press, 1996). 3. Alon Confino, “Collective Memory and Cultural History: Problems of Method,” American Historical Review 102 (1997): esp. 1399–1402; Gilbert M. Joseph and Daniel Nugent, eds., Everyday Forms of State Formation: Revolution and the Negotiation of Rule in Modern Mexico (Durham: Duke University Press, 1994). 4. Linda L. Clark, The Rise of Professional Women in France: Gender and Public Administration since 1830 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000). On notions of sexual difference prevalent in France in the nineteenth century, see Karen Offen, “Defining Feminism: A Comparative Historical Approach,” Signs 14, no. 1 (Autumn 1988): esp. 124, 136. 5. Sudhir Hazareesingh, From Subject to Citizen: The Second Empire and the Emergence of Modern French Democracy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998); Stéphane Gerson, The Pride of Place: Local Memories and Political Culture in Nineteenth-Century France (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003); Jean-François Chanet, L’Ecole Républicaine et les Petites Patries (Paris: Aubier 1996). 6. The committee was called the International Committee for Assistance to Sick and Wounded Soldiers until 1884. I will refer to it as the International Committee of the Red Cross or the ICRC. 7. Harouel, Histoire de la Croix-Rouge, 5–14. 8. Hutchinson, Champions, 26–27, 55, 109; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, minister of the interior to prefects, May 20, 1866. 9. Maxime Du Camp, La Croix-Rouge de France, Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires de Terre et de Mer (Paris: Hachette, 1889), 120–21, 128; Hutchinson, Champions, 116. 10. Bertrand Taithe, “The Red Cross Flag in the Franco-Prussian War: Civilians, Humanitarians, and War in the ‘Modern Age,’” in War, Medicine and Modernity, ed. Roger Cooter et al. (Phoenix Mill, Eng.: Sutton Publishing, 1998), 27.

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11. Dominique Mallet, Les Prussiens au Mans (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1873), 203–04. See also Emmanuel Domenech, Histoire de la Campagne de 1870–1871 et de la Deuxième Ambulance Dite de la Presse Française (Paris: Dentu, 1871), 118–19; A. Garnier, Le Lycée du Mans pendant la Guerre contre la Prusse (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1872), 8. 12. Albert Foucault, La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires, 1864–1934 (Paris: Spes, 1936), 40–42, 74–75; [Émile] de Marcère, Exécution de la Loi du 4 Avril 1873 Relative aux Tombes des Militaires Morts pendant la Guerre de 1870–1871 (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1878), 297–98; AD Hérault, 4 M 914, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel, 4th ser., no. 104 (May 1908), back cover; Chambinière, ‘La Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (Croix Rouge): Comité du Mans,’ Congrès Provincial de la Société Bibliographique et des Publications Populaires, Session Tenue au Mans les 14 et 15 Novembre 1893 (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1894), 488; SSBM, Compte Rendu des Travaux du Comité de Secours de la Sarthe Présenté par M. Léon Boulanger (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1871); SSBM, Comité de Secours Établi à Sillé-le-Guillaume: Rapport du Comité sur les Travaux des Ambulances (Le Mans: Beauvais, 1871). 13. ICRC: lists of prisoners of war held at AM Nancy, (m) H 4–7 guerre 1870–71, ICRC, Liste de Blessés Français Recueillis par les Troupes Allemandes Publiée par le Comité International de Genève (1870–71); AD Hérault, 8 R 29, Moynier, for the ICRC, Agence Centrale de Secours pour les Militaires Internés en Suisse (n.p., 1870–71); AD Hérault, 8 R 29, Comité International de Bâle pour Secours aux Prisonniers de Guerre, 1870–1871, Rapports du Comité . . . (Basel: G. A. Bonfantini, March 20, 1871); Harouel, Histoire de la Croix-Rouge, 15–21; Hutchinson, Champions, 123–24. Information bureau: AD Hérault, 3 R 15, SSBM, Séance Générale du 28 Décembre 1872: Rapport Présenté au nom du Conseil Central par M. le Comte de Flavigny, Président de la Société (Paris: Imprimerie Centrale des Chemins de Fer, 1872), 8–9; AD Hérault, 4 M 914, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel (May 1908), back cover. 14. La Croix Rouge, Allocution Prononcée dans l’Église de la Madeleine de Paris le Mercredi 5 Mai 1897 par S. G. Mgr. Touchet Evêque d’Orléans—En Souvenir des Soldats Français Morts au Service du Pays et des Victimes de la Rue Jean-Goujon (Orléans: H. Herluison, 1897), 7. See also Charles Alexandre Geoffroy de Gradmaison, La Croix Rouge Française (Paris: Bloud & Gay, 1921), 15; Foucault, Société de Secours, 64; AD Hérault, 4 M 914, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel (May 1908), back cover. 15. On prisoners: Foucault, Société de Secours, 62–63, 69. On transportation and aid to wounded veterans: SSBM, Sillé-le-Guillaume, 10; AD Hérault, 2 R 754, representative SSBM Montpellier to president SSBM Montpellier (for aid), letter, Paris, April 30, 1873; AM Montpellier, sans côte (9 3 4 au 9 4 1), commanding colonel of the 67th de ligne to mayor Montpellier, Camp de Satory, December 25, 1871. On orphans and Alsatians-Lorrainers: AD Hérault, 3 R 15, SSBM, Séance Générale 1872, Rapport par de Flavigny; Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 159; SSBM Le Mans, Reglement du Comite Départemental pour la Sarthe (Le Mans: Monnoyer, 1877). On the liberation campaign: Foucault, Société de Secours, 73. 16. Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits du Docteur Duchaussoy (Abbéville: Paillart, 1897), 59; Duchaussoy, meeting of April 30, 1888, cited in Extrait des Écrits, 79–80; Knibiehler et al., Cornettes, 51–52; speech by General Bozérian on October 31, 1879, cited in Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits, 76. 17. Bertrand Joly, Déroulède: L’Inventeur du Nationalisme Français (Paris: Perrin, 1998), 81; Pierre Bouloumié, “L’Union des Femmes de France: Son But, son Ésprit et ses Tendances; Réponse aux Critiques dont Elle a été l’Objet,” in UFF, Conférence à Lyon, 7; Duchaussoy, meeting of November 12, 1881, cited in Extraits des Écrits, 89–91; Bouloumié, “Discourse,” cited in

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Duchaussoy, Refutation du Discours de M. Bouloumié sur l’Evolution de la Croix-Rouge en France (Amiens: Grau, 1911), 4. Duchaussoy appointed women as three of the six vice-presidents (including Koechlin-Schwartz), but he did not wish for a woman to head the organization. 18. Duchaussoy, Refutation, 6, 9–16; Duchaussoy, Extraits des Écrits, 139–42; Hutchinson, Champions, 257, Knibiehler et al., Cornettes, 51–52. 19. On the SSBM: Journal Officiel, July 8, 1884, 3636; on the ADF: Journal Officiel, December 20, 1886, 5846; on the UFF: Journal Officiel, January 24, 1887. 20. “Décret Portant Règlement sur le Fonctionnement Général des Sociétés d’Assistance aux Blessés et Malades des Armées de Terre et de Mer,” Bulletin des Lois de la République Française, July–Dec. 1892, 1124–31. 21. R. D. Anderson, France, 1870–1914: Politics and Society (London: Routledge, 1977), 93, 147. 22. Duchaussoy speech from 1892, in Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits, 166. 23. Foucault, Société de Secours, 127. 24. Bouloumié, speech in UFF, Conférence à Lyon, 25; Emma Koechlin-Schwartz and Mme. la Générale Grenier, letter, July 1, 1884, cited in Bouloumié, “Réponse aux Critiques,” in UFF, Conférence à Lyon, 10; Allocution . . . par S. G. Mgr. Touchet, 4–5. 25. Ida Crombrugghe, Journal d’une Infirmière pendant la Guerre de 1870–71, 3rd ed. (Paris: Henri Plon, 1871), 10. 26. Allocution . . . par S. G. Mgr. Touchet, 8. 27. Maurice Letulle, Conférence Faite à Chartres le 17 Mars, 1889 par M. le Docteur Maurice Letulle (Chartres: Imprimerie Durand, 1889), 2. 28. Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 233. 29. Serving French only: AD Sarthe, 4 M 221, ADF La Chartre-sur-le-Loir, statutes, 1890. On German superiority: Letulle, Conférence, 9; AD Hérault, 3 R 15, SSBM, Séance Générale 1872, Rapport par de Flavigny, 11; speech by Senator Bozérian, cited in Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits, 76; speech by Dr. Duchaussoy, cited in ADF, Pose de la Première Pierre de l’Hôpital de l’Association (Paris, 1895), 6. On caring for Germans: Joseph Turquan, Les Femmes de France pendant l’Invasion, 1870–1871 (Paris: Berger-Levrault, 1893), 78–80; B. Boissonnas, Une Famille pendant la Guerre, 1870–1871, 17th ed. (Paris: J. Hetzel, [1877]), 247–49. 30. Foucault, Société de Secours, 97. 31. Bouloumié, “Réponse aux Critiques,” 28. 32. Bouloumié, in UFF, Conférènce à Lyon, 4. 33. UFF, Programme des Cours (Paris: Cooperation Typographique [Association Ouvrière], 1884), 4–5. 34. Recent scholarship demonstrates that the maintenance of gendered “spheres” was far more problematic than it appeared in nineteenth century rhetoric, as women public speakers, professionals, journalists and personalities transgressed such seemingly firm boundaries. See Elinor Accampo, Blessed Motherhood, Bitter Fruit: Nelly Roussel and the Politics of Female Pain in Third Republic France (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006); Clark, Rise of Professional Women; Edward Berenson, The Trial of Madame Caillaux (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Mary Louise Roberts, Disruptive Acts: The New Woman in Fin-de-Siècle France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). 35. Letulle, Conférence, 2. 36. Princess Czartoriska, daughter of the Duke de Nemours, led this group of nobles and officers’ wives. Foucault, Société de Secours, 83–84, 105–6. 37. Jean Frollo, Le Petit Parisien, November 29, 1899; “Décret,” 1892, articles 5–7, 1126–28.

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38. Mary-Durand, La Femme Hospitalière (Clermont-Ferrand: G. Mont-Louis, 1888), 9, 18. 39. Verneuil, “Allocution, “ in UFF, Assemblée Générale, 1884, 5. See also: Senator and General Langlois, speech at the general assembly of the SSBM Dijon, May 19, 1908, cited in AD Hérault, 4 M 914, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel (May 1908), 156–58; Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 113; L. Arnaud and P. Bonnette, Vaillance et Dévouement: La Femme sur le Champ de Bataille (Paris: Charles-Lavauzelle, 1912), 8, 106, 110. 40. On women as soldiers and spies, see Henry and Paul de Trailles, Les Femmes de France pendant la Guerre et les Deux Sièges de Paris (Paris: F. Polo, 1872); Turquan, Femmes de France; Louise Zeys, Une Fille de la Vraie Alsace: Marie-Antoinette Lix, Lieutenant de Uhlans Polonais, Lieutenant de Francs-Tireurs (Paris: Plon, 1931); Louise Hanon, “Juliette Dodu,” Audiences Solennelles à la Cour d’Appel de Saint-Denis-de-la-Réunion 2 Mars 1965, (Paris, 1966). On the narrowing role of women auxiliaries, see Thomas Cardoza, “Exceeding the Needs of Service: The French Army and the Suppression of Female Auxiliaries, 1871–1906,” War and Society 20, no. 1 (May 2002): 1–22. 41. Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits, 167. See also Pierre Bouloumié, “Discourse,” cited in Duchaussoy, Refutation, 4. 42. Survey by Amélie Gayraud, “Les Jeunes Filles d’Aujourd’hui,” published in L’Opinion as a response to Agathon’s “Les Jeunes Gens d’Aujourd’hui,” and cited in Margaret H. Darrow, French Women and the First World War: War Stories of the Home Front (Oxford: Berg, 2000), 44–46. 43. “Décret,” 1892, article 4, 1125; Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 255. 44. Carol E. Harrison, The Bourgeois Citizen in Nineteenth-Century France: Gender, Sociability, and the Uses of Emulation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 161. 45. On pluralism: the ADF’s leadership included Coralie Cahen, a Jew. As for the UFF, honorary president Mme Grenier was said to be a zealous Catholic, while president KoechlinSchwartz was a Protestant. Letulle, Conférence, 22; ADF, Première Pierre. On free-thinkers: AN, F 19 5634, UFF, statutes, 1882, article 63. Letulle, Conférence, 22, says, “There are no Free Masons or free thinkers here!” while Mary-Durand, Femme, 24, says the UFF welcomes “Catholics or free thinkers, monarchists or republicans.” 46. Duchaussoy speech from 1877, in Duchaussoy, Extrait des Écrits, 16; see also Letulle, Conférence, 18; Mary-Durand, Femme, 17. 47. Clips from L’Univers against the UFF and ADF dating from March 3, April 1, April 25, August 27, September 16, and September 18, 1889, collected in AN, F 19 5634. Report on the court case in L’Univers, November 5, 1892. Similar criticisms cited by Bouloumié, “Réponse aux Critiques,” 8–9. 48. AN, F 19 5634, J. Macherez, president, ADF Soissons, to minister of public instruction, fine arts, and religion, March 1894; Koechlin-Schwartz to minister of public instruction, fine arts, and religion, Paris, December 18, 1888. 49. Mary-Durand, Femme, 8–9. See also Bouloumié, “Réponse aux Critiques,” 5; Letulle, Conférence, 25–26; similarly in ADF, Première Pierre, 10. 50. Bouloumié, “Réponse aux Critiques,” 5; Letulle, Conférence, 25–26. 51. Pierre Bouloumié, Instructions Générales pour l’Organisation des Services de l’Union des Femmes de France en Cas de Guerre (Paris; [n.p.], [1888]), 17–19, 25; AD Sarthe, 4 M 221, ADF statues, La Charte, 1890; Langlois in SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel (May 1908), 156. 52. Although the 1878 decree authorized the SSBM to create hospitals behind the lines in case of war, and to contribute to mobile evacuation hospitals and train station hospitals, the

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decrees from the 1880s and 1892 prohibited the Red Cross societies from working on the front lines. The SSBM alone could operate within train stations, the only distinction among the three organizations. “Décret,” 1892, 1124–31. 53. Knibiehler et al., Cornettes, 52; ADF, Première Pierre, 6; UFF, Programme des Cours (Paris: Coopération Typographique [Association Ouvrière], 1884), 5; UFF, Assemblée Générale, 1884 (Paris: Dumont, 1884), 23–24. 54. Knibiehler et al., Cornettes, 53–54. See Schultheiss, Bodies and Souls, on the complexities of the definitions and regulations of nursing during this period. Knibiehler, in contrast, argues that the Red Cross was part of the move toward the professionalization of nursing. 55. Verneuil, “Allocution,” in UFF, Assemblée Générale, 1884, 7; Letulle, Conférence, 19; UFF, Programme des Cours, 8. 56. Mary-Durand, Femme, 16; Letulle, Conférence, 19; UFF, Assemblée Générale, 1884; UFF, Programme des Cours; 1903 essay by Roger Colomb, cited in Hutchinson, Champions, 257–58. 57. Langlois in SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel (May 1908), 159. See also Andrée d’Alix, La CroixRouge Française. Le Rôle Patriotique des Femmes (Paris: Perrin, 1914); AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, letter, Nancy, president SSBM Nancy to prefect M-et-M, 1908; “Les Secours aux Blessés,” L’Éclair, Oct. 5, 1907; “Pour Nos Blessés,” L’Éclair, Aug. 28, 1907. 58. Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 159. See also annual reports in the Bulletin Mensuel of the SSBM. 59. AD Hérault, 3 R 15, SSBM, Séance Générale 1872, Rapport par de Flavigny, 6–8; Foucault, Société de Secours, 69–70; Du Camp, Croix-Rouge, 147–54; Montpellier: “La Messe de la CroixRouge,” L’Éclair (Hérault), March 17, 1910; Béziers: “Pour les Soldats de 1870,” Le Messager du Midi, March 19, 1890; Nancy: Mgr. [Charles] Turinaz, “Discours sur la Société de la Croix Rouge, Prononcé à la Messe Solennelle Célébrée dans la Cathédrale de Nancy, le 23 Mars 1889, pour les Soldats Morts au Service de la France (1889),” Discours Patriotiques (Nancy: Etienne Drioton, 1900), 60–61; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, SSBM Nancy to prefect M-et-M, February 1902; Le Mans: L’Avenir de la Sarthe, January 18, 1896; “Aux Anciens Mobiles du 33e,” La Sarthe, January 15, 1896; AD Sarthe, 1 M 235, SSBM, Bulletin Mensuel, 3rd ser., no. 36 (December 1897), 262; L’Avenir de la Sarthe, Jan. 11, 1891 (ADF); Le Nouvelliste de la Sarthe, Nov. 1–2, 1910 (ADF); The UFF at Toul in 1895, City of Toul, Cérémonie Commémorative 23 septembre 1895 (Toul: A. Lemaire, 1895), 31. 60. “Union des Femmes de France,” Petit Méridional, March 21, 1901; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, “Principaux Services de l’Union des Femmes de France,” n.d. [post-1908]. 61. Foucault, Société de Secours, 32, 80–81. 62. SSBM Nancy, Assemblée Générale Annuelle pour 1884 (Nancy, 1885), 11. Every year the SSBM of Nancy published a report of the preceding year’s meeting; the bibliographic facts were invariably the same apart from the year of the meeting, given in the title, and the year of publication. Hereafter these reports are cited as AGA followed by the year of the meeting. There were committees of the ADF and the UFF in the Meurthe-et-Moselle as well. UFF: Nancy (1883), Toul (by 1884), and Lunéville (1883). 63. SSBM Nancy, AGA 1880, 3–7. 64. In 1880, Dr. Gross, a professor at the Faculty of Medicine, trained about thirty male nurses, and the committee published Gross’s first-aid book in 1884. AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy to president General Council M-et-M, July 11, 1881; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1884, 15, 18. 65. AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy to president General Council M-et-M,

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June 20, 1890, June 29, 1892, 1895; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1891, 6–7; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1910, 26; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy to prefect M-et-M, June 12, 1907, and July 14, 1913; SSBM Comité de Nancy, AGA 1904, 13–17; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1910, 20–23. 66. AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy to prefect M-et-M, June 20, 1889; June 20, 1890, and November 2, 1895. 67. “Decret,” 1892, 1124–31; AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy, to president General Council M-et-M, July 11, 1881; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1882, 13. 68. UFF balls in Nancy, 1894 and 1895: AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, General Braulte, commander of the 11th infantry division to prefect M-et-M, January 19, 1894; ADF ball in Le Mans, 1985: L’Avenir de la Sarthe, March 20, 1895; UFF concerts in Cette and Lunel: AD Sarthe, 1 M 235, UFF, Bulletin Officiel, 4th ser., no. 7 (March 1897), 74; SSBM concerts and masses in Nancy: SSBM Nancy, AGA 1889, 15–16, 22; lottery: SSBM Nancy, AGA 1910, 32–34. 69. AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president SSBM Nancy to prefect M-et-M, July 14, 1913. 70. For instance, the obituary of secretary Albert Bruneau, SSBM Nancy, AGA 1887, 11. 71. See Laura Lee Downs, Manufacturing Inequality: Gender Division in the French and British Metalworking Industries, 1914–1939 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995) on the use of “female” as a special category, versus male workers who were differentiated by skill. 72. SSBM Nancy, AGA 1887, 19–20; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1886, 6–9. 1883: 50 females out of 382 male and female ordinary members (13 percent); 1885: 51/369 (14 percent); 1886: 52/348 (15 percent); 1887: 54/335 (16 percent); 1888: 164/550 (30 percent); 1889: 186/585(32 percent). SSBM Nancy, AGA 1883–89. 73. AD M-et-M, 3 R 4, president UFF Nancy to prefect M-et-M; SSBM Nancy, AGA 1888, 20. 74. The Union Patriotique de l’Est was likely related to the Union Patriotique de France, a republican splinter group from the Ligue des Patriotes formed in 1887. See Jean-Jacques Becker and Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, France, Nation, Guerre: 1850–1920 (Paris, 1995), 180. 75. On veterans: AD M-et-M, 1 M 663, central commissary of Nancy, October 15, 1902, compared with SSBM Nancy, AGA 1905; on the annual mass: SSBM Nancy, AGA 1888, 18; on nationalist deputies: François Roth, “L’Époque Contemporaine: De la Révolution à la Grande Guerre,” Encyclopédie Illustrée de la Lorraine, vol. 4 (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, Éditions Serpenoise, 1992), 209.

Conclusion 1. Joshua Cole, The Power of Large Numbers: Population, Politics, and Gender in NineteenthCentury France (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000), 201–2. 2. Stephen L. Harp, Marketing Michelin: Advertising and Cultural Identity in TwentiethCentury France (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), 55, 69, 71–74; Patrick Young, “Of Pardons, Loss, and Longing: The Tourist’s Pursuit of Originality in Brittany, 1890– 1935,” French Historical Studies 30, no. 2 (Spring 2007): 272, 289. 3. Daniel J. Sherman, The Construction of Memory in Interwar France (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 39; Ellen Furlough, “Une Leçon des Choses: Tourism, Empire, and the Nation in Interwar France,” French Historical Studies 25, no. 3 (Summer 2002): 461, 467. 4. On schools, see: Raymond Grew and Patrick J. Harrigan, School, State, and Society: The Growth of Elementary Schooling in Nineteenth-Century France—A Quantitative Analysis

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(Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991), 101, 107–8; Judith F. Stone, “Anticlericals and Bonnes Soeurs: The Rhetoric of the 1901 Law of Associations,” French Historical Studies 23, no. 1 (Winter 2000): 103–28; Sarah A. Curtis, Educating the Faithful: Religion, Schooling, and Society in Nineteenth-Century France (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2000), 127, 147. On social insurance, see: Philip Nord, “The Welfare State in France, 1870–1914,” French Historical Studies 18, no. 3 (Spring 1994): 826, 837; Paul V. Dutton, Origins of the French Welfare State (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 3, 5. 5. Sherman, Construction of Memory, 72, 106–22. 6. Lao-tzu, Tao Te Ching, trans. Stephen Mitchell (New York: HarperPerennial, 1991), chap. 46. 7. Leonard V. Smith, Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, and Annette Becker, France and the Great War, 1914–1918, French sections trans. Helen McPhail (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 51. 8. Smith et al., France and the Great War, 40. 9. Jean-Jacques Becker, The Great War and the French People, trans. Arnold Pomerans (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986), 7. 10. Smith et al., France and the Great War, 42. 11. John Horne, “Remobilizing for ‘Total War’: France and Britain, 1917–1918,” in State, Society and Mobilization in Europe during the First World War, ed. Horne (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 195. 12. Smith et al., France and the Great War, 22. 13. John Horne, “Introduction: Mobilizing for ‘Total War,’ 1914–1918,” in State, Society and Mobilization, ed. Horne, 7. 14. Richard Bessel, “Mobilizing German Society for War,” in Great War, Total War: Combat and Mobilization on the Western Front, 1914–1918, ed. Roger Chickering and Stig Förster (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 437–51. 15. Becker, Great War and the French People, 235; Martha Hanna, The Mobilization of Intellect: French Scholars and Writers during the Great War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), 16.

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INDEX 94–95, 97–98; Service de santé, 134, 141, 150–51, 155. See also conscription; conscripts assembly, freedom of. See civil society: laws governing; civil society: local committees association, freedom of. See civil society: laws governing; civil society: local committees associational life. See civil society Association des Dames Françaises (ADF), 133–35, 138–42, 150–51, 198n45, 199n52, 199n62 Audoin-Rouzeau, Stéphane, 3, 166n13 Austria, 3–4, 43, 124 Austro-Prussian War, 3–4

Action Française, 122 adolescence, 69, 113–15, 117, 120, 122, 124–26, 155 agricultural societies, 27, 48, 167n19, 167n21 Algeria, 57, 60, 70, 101, 130, 142, 176n13, 177n28 alliances, French, 44: during the FrancoPrussian War, 3, 5, 172n23; with Russia, 98, 106, 110, 123–24, 128, 134, 153 Alsace, 4, 6, 21, 26, 47, 52–55, 59–60, 62, 77, 106, 109, 112, 124, 126, 133, 176–77n21. See also Alsace-Lorraine; Alsatians and Lorrainers; Strasbourg Alsace-Lorraine, 6–7, 44, 52–55, 59–60, 62, 72–73, 106, 109, 112, 124, 126, 133, 176–77n21 Alsatians and Lorrainers, 43, 63, 100, 106, 123–24, 126; aid to, 16, 55–60, 67, 70, 81, 88–89, 102, 132, 143, 147, 152, 177n28, 178n36; opting for France, 34, 37, 52–54, 69, 108, 153, 176nn11–13, 176n19, 176– 77n21. See also Alsace; Alsace-Lorraine; Comité de Secours aux Alsaciens-Lorrains (CSAL); Lorraine; revanchisme; Société de Protection des Alsaciens et Lorrains Demeurés Français (SPALDF) anticlericalism, 26, 31, 64, 78, 80, 130, 139– 40, 151, 179n53 army, French, 2, 8, 12–14, 17, 29, 34–36, 39–42, 45, 47, 53–55, 59, 64, 85, 87–88, 93–95, 97–98, 101–3, 105, 109–15, 117–25, 130, 134, 136, 139, 141–42, 144–45, 147–53, 157; during the Franco-Prussian War, 4–6, 15, 23–25, 31, 40–41, 78, 81, 86, 94, 96, 132, 136, 168n31, 170n53, 172n23, 176nn12–13; Second Army of the Loire, 15, 23–24, 76,

Barrès, Maurice, 123, 147 Bazaine, Achille, 4, 40, 45, 81, 184n47 Belfort, 5, 26, 51, 62, 104, 178n36, 182n17 Berger-Levrault, 57, 65 Bert, Paul, 118 Bismarck, Otto von, 3, 22, 25, 40, 44, 166n9 Bonapartists, 25, 42, 66, 79, 86, 109, 166nn12–13, 171n12, 172n26, 173n30 Boulangism, 95, 118, 123, 147 Bouloumié, Pierre, 127, 133, 136, 138 bourgeoisie, 9, 13, 16, 30, 33, 38, 103, 113, 116–17, 138–39, 150, 163n29, 191n11 Brevet of Military Aptitude, 120, 125 burial sites, 21, 71–78, 80–83, 87, 96, 99–102, 104, 111, 142, 188n42 business, 13, 23, 41, 43, 55, 57, 65, 106, 145, 147 Cahen, Coralie, 35, 132, 138, 198n45 campaigns, 86; of 1871, 6, 26; peace as a platform in, 42–44, 166n12, 172–73n27. See also elections

221

222 Carnot, Sadi, 123, 134 Catholic Church, 8–9, 13, 15, 34, 47, 77, 81– 85, 97, 103, 106–7, 109, 111, 121, 124, 126, 140, 142, 167n21, 176n19, 183n40, 188n45; clergy, 13, 15, 25, 31–32, 47, 52, 56, 60, 64–65, 76–78, 80, 83–84, 86, 88, 98, 105–6, 109, 111, 121, 123, 140, 149, 156; during the Franco-Prussian War and occupation, 7, 52, 175n6; religious congregations, 9, 11, 144, 148, 156; tension with the state, 10, 13, 16, 47, 85, 88, 105, 121–22, 130, 140. See also Faller, Joseph; Morancé, Charles; Turinaz, Charles cemeteries. See burial sites Chamber of Deputies, 38, 41–43, 48, 147; members of the, 86, 88, 97, 101–2, 104, 123, 147, 149 Chanzy, Antoine, 23, 94–95, 118; monument to, 93–100, 106, 108, 111, 187n28 charities. See under civil society citizenship, 23, 26–27, 37–39, 44–46, 48–49, 53–55, 59, 64–65, 67, 69–71, 87, 93, 110, 112–13, 120–21, 125–30, 135–37, 150–56, 176nn11–13 civilians, 6–7, 12, 16, 21–24, 28, 36, 45, 50, 70, 103–4, 110, 113, 127, 132, 134, 136, 139, 142, 144, 151, 156–58, 170n55, 174n47 civil society, 1, 7–17, 30, 36–37, 45, 49, 52, 60–61, 67, 69–70, 72–73, 77, 88–89, 93–94, 99–100, 105–6, 111–13, 125–30, 135, 150–58, 167n39, 177n29, 177n30, 188n43, 194n50, 197n17; American, 8; charities, 7, 9–12, 16, 23, 27, 37, 45, 52, 55–56, 58, 60–61, 64, 67–70, 106, 127, 131, 138–39, 150, 152–54; during the Franco-Prussian War, 7, 10, 45, 131–32; and Jacobin tradition, 8, 140; laws governing, 8–11, 122, 129, 134–35, 192n26; local committees, 9–13, 27, 35, 55–56, 64–66, 82, 87, 93–94, 99–106, 111, 130, 132–33, 143–50, 153, 155–56, 180n72; musical organizations, 9–10, 97, 107; republican attitudes toward, 10–11, 120–22; semiprivate associations, 1–2, 12. See also specific organizations class. See bourgeoisie; working class colonies, 4, 11, 57, 60, 70, 101, 108, 110, 128– 29, 134–35, 137, 142, 144, 146, 154, 177n28. See also Algeria; Morocco

index Comité de Secours aux Alsaciens-Lorrains (CSAL), 55–58, 147 commemoration, 2, 11, 16–17, 49, 71–89, 93– 111, 115, 127, 142, 150, 152–56, 181n3; masses, 13, 72, 77–78, 83–84, 107, 140, 142, 149, 183n34; monuments, 71–72, 74–88, 93–104, 106–8, 110–11, 115, 152, 156, 183n24, 183n40, 187n28, 188n42, 188n47; and mourning, 12, 16, 49, 71, 76–77, 79, 82–88, 93, 105, 108, 110–11; state tombs project, 72–76 conscription, 8, 12, 14, 87, 94, 112–13, 115, 118–20, 125, 127, 134, 139, 149, 153 conscripts, 12, 17, 87, 93, 103, 109, 111, 114, 120, 127, 150, 153 conservatives, 6, 25–26, 31, 38–39, 41–44, 47–48, 78–80, 120, 133, 137, 139–40, 149, 166n12, 173n39. See also Bonapartists; monarchists corporations, 8 degeneracy, 46, 110, 114–15, 125 demobilization, 16, 23 Déroulède, Paul, 58, 97, 99, 118, 121, 133, 193n36, 194n50 doctors, 22, 110, 132, 134, 140–41, 144–45, 147–48 Duchaussoy, Auguste, 133–34, 139–41, 197n17 education, 6, 8–10, 14, 27, 47–48, 103, 105, 114–15, 132–33, 156–57; charity and, 8–11, 56–58, 67, 106, 128–29, 143–44, 147, 177n28; school-based shooting and gymnastics clubs, 116–21, 125 elections, 166n9, 167n21, 172n26; May 1870 plebiscite, 31; February 1871, 6, 24–26, 31, 34, 38–39, 50, 94, 166nn12–13, 170n51; April 1871, 50–51; February 1876, 41–42, 172–73nn27–28, 173n30–32, 186n18; October 1877, 42–44, 173n39; September– October 1889, 123, 147 Faller, Joseph, 83–85, 106–7, 111 Favre, Jules, 5, 25, 40 femininity, 10, 77, 115, 130, 138–39, 148. See also feminism; gender; masculinity; women feminism, 14 Ferry, Jules, 39, 118

index Fête Fédérale Française, 122–25 food, 5, 8, 14, 22, 24, 34, 40, 55, 57, 77, 139, 156–57, 164n48 Forth, Christopher, 115 France: budget, 6; Mexican campaign (1861– 67), 3; population, 6, 14, 108; relationship with Germany, 6–7, 14, 43–44, 48, 50–55, 59, 61–62, 64, 67, 68, 70, 72–75, 78, 82–83, 87–88, 100–101, 110, 113, 120, 123–25, 137, 152, 155; relationship with Prussia, 2–4, 21–22, 26. See also alliances, French; elections; Franco-Prussian War; World War I; World War II Franco-Prussian War (1870–71), the, 1–7, 15, 22, 30, 93; blame for, 38–49, 66, 86, 88, 112–13, 127–28, 135–36, 150, 152–53; casualties of, 2, 5, 29–34, 71–72, 78, 131–32; ceasefire of, 5, 24, 50; civilian participation in, 6–7, 10, 13–14, 21–22, 24, 31–36, 45–48, 50, 131–33, 139; cost of, 6, 61; destruction due to, 22–24, 26–29, 33, 36–37; origins of, 2–3, 40; personal accounts of, 2, 22, 71, 76, 84, 108; population loss due to, 6; prisoners of war, 5–6, 23, 26, 29, 34–36, 72, 78, 132, 142, 170n53, 170n55, 170n59; reasons for French defeat, 3–5, 22–23, 40–41. See also army, French; Government of National Defense (GDN); occupation; war indemnity; specific battles and sieges Franco-Russian alliance, 98, 106, 110, 123–24, 128, 134, 153 franc-tireurs, 22, 32–33, 102 Freycinet, Charles de, 29, 99, 134, 169n44 Gambetta, Léon, 5, 25, 31, 34, 39, 97, 99, 117, 170n51 gender, 12–15, 65, 77, 130, 138–39, 151, 155, 200n71. See also femininity; masculinity; women Geneva Convention, 131–32 Germany: empire declared, 6; Weimar Republic, 1. See also France: relationship with Germany; Franco-Prussian War; World War I; World War II government. See state, French Government of National Defense (GDN), 5–6, 24–25, 29, 31, 39–40, 93, 166n9 Great War. See World War I

223 guerrillas. See franc-tireurs gymnastics clubs, 17, 97, 112–26, 155–57 Harrison, Carol, 9 Hérault, 15, 22, 29–33, 35–36, 42, 44, 48, 55, 59, 66, 72, 75, 86, 104, 109, 112–13, 116–19, 121–22, 126, 169n40, 170n59, 172n26, 173n28, 173n39, 176nn12–13, 176n21, 180n70; Bédarieux, 31; Béziers, 30, 33, 35, 56, 58, 66, 114, 172n26, 173n28, 176–77n21; Cette (Sète), 30–31, 33, 58, 67, 78, 176n21; Lodève, 30–31, 42, 169n44, 172n26; Lunel, 30, 35; St. Pons, 33, 169n44. See also Montpellier Higonnet, Margaret, 14 Higonnet, Patrice, 14 Howard, Michael, 3 immigration, 14, 34, 52–61, 67, 69, 108, 123, 143, 176nn12–13, 176n19, 176n21, 177n28 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 34–35, 131–33, 137, 143, 170n59, 195n6 Jews, 10, 34, 46–47, 50, 54, 65, 74, 123, 139, 145, 149–50, 176n19, 198n45 Koechlin-Schwartz, Emma, 58, 63, 70, 133, 138, 197n17, 198n45 Lederlin, Eugène, 57, 147, 177n30 Legislative Corps, 3, 40 Le Mans, 24, 26–27, 29, 43, 46, 68, 78, 80, 88, 93–100, 108, 111, 115, 132, 167n19, 168n33, 172–73n27, 173n30, 177n21, 179n53, 187n28, 188n42; battle of, 15, 24–25, 32 levée en masse, 5, 16, 41 Lorraine, 4, 6, 15, 21, 33, 43, 47, 50, 52–55, 59–60, 77, 101, 105–6, 108–10, 112, 124, 126, 176–77n21. See also Alsace-Lorraine; Alsatians and Lorrainers; Mars-la-Tour; Metz; Meurthe; Meurthe-et-Moselle; Nancy MacMahon, Patrice, 4, 41–44, 49, 120, 137, 153, 173n31 marriage, 53–54, 58–59, 114, 122, 141, 176n11, 191n11

224 Mars-la-Tour, 4, 13, 16, 33, 75, 80–88, 92, 100, 104–11, 153–55, 157, 182n19, 184n46, 188n43 masculinity, 10–11, 14–15, 17, 52, 77, 100, 113– 17, 125–26, 139, 141, 148, 153, 155, 200n71. See also femininity; gender; women mayors, 27–28, 31–32, 34, 51–52, 54, 59, 67–68, 73–74, 79–80, 82–84, 88, 95–98, 101, 103, 124, 145, 167n19, 167n21, 180n72, 185n59, 186n18 Metz, 34, 53, 59, 81–82, 84, 107; siege of, 4–5, 40, 71, 169n47, 169n49, 176n21 Meurthe, 33–34, 36, 51, 58, 167n18, 169n48 Meurthe-et-Moselle, 13, 15, 22, 28, 33–35, 42–44, 46, 52, 56, 62, 65–69, 72, 75, 80–88, 101, 103–13, 116–19, 121, 126, 141, 144, 149, 155, 167n23, 168n32, 169n46, 169–70n50, 176n13, 182n17, 182n19, 184n46, 188n43, 195n72, 199n62; Briey, 33, 75, 86, 108–9, 121, 173n31, 184n46, 188n43; Longwy, 33, 169n46, 169n49, 180nn80–81, 184n46, 188n43; Lunéville, 35, 43, 51, 55, 74, 103–4, 119, 144, 169n46, 173n31, 173n39, 184n46, 188n43, 199n62; Pont-à-Mousson, 104, 117, 169n46, 180n81, 184n46, 188n43; Toul, 47, 73, 109, 119, 123, 149, 169n46, 173n31, 182n19, 184n46, 199n62. See also Mars-laTour; Nancy Mézières, Alfred, 104, 169n47 middle-class. See bourgeoisie Ministers of Finance, 61, 67 Ministers of Foreign Affairs, 3, 40, 73 Ministers of Public Instruction, 118, 133 Ministers of the Interior, 9, 12, 39, 54, 57, 66, 71–75, 82–83, 87–88, 97–98, 100–102, 106, 122, 154, 184n51 Ministers of War, 39, 40, 78, 97, 101, 117, 120, 129, 134–35, 137 mobilization, 3–4, 7, 23, 40, 140–41, 149, 156–57, 172n23 Moltke, Helmuth von, 4, 23, 39 monarchists, 6, 25, 30–31, 34, 41–42, 44, 97, 110, 166nn12–13, 172n26, 173n30, 198n45 Montpellier, 30–32, 35, 46, 64, 66, 88, 113, 172n26, 176n21 morals, 13, 16, 39, 45–49, 70, 110, 134–36, 151 Morancé, Charles, 76, 98

index Morocco, 119, 125, 135, 142–43 mourning. See under commemoration Nancy, 33–35, 46–47, 50–60, 65, 68–69, 73–74, 107, 109, 115–16, 119, 121–24, 130, 143–51, 155, 167n19, 167n23, 169nn46–47, 169n49, 173n31, 177n30, 178n36, 179n51, 184n46, 188n43, 199n62, 199n64 Napoleon III, 1, 3–4, 25, 27, 30–31, 33, 36, 38, 40–41, 63, 66–67, 131, 166n12. See also Bonapartists Napoleonic Code, 8, 13–14, 53–54 Napoleonic Wars, 2, 6, 12, 21, 27, 44, 72, 97 natalism, 114–15, 153–54 National Assembly (1871–75), 61–62; deputies of the, 12, 28–29, 57, 59, 64, 69, 166nn12–13, 186n18 National Guards, 4, 7, 12, 93 national identity, 28–29, 45–47, 52–55, 60, 69, 85, 87, 98–99, 104, 107, 110–11, 122–25; during Franco-Prussian War, 3, 5, 7, 69, 127, 155; war preparation as part of, 15, 93, 112–13, 118, 125–26, 134–37, 147, 149–51, 153, 155 nationality. See citizenship; national identity newspapers, 31, 34, 36, 41, 43–44, 62, 64–67, 70, 77–80, 85–86, 88, 95–96, 98–99, 106– 10, 140, 144–45, 197n34 Niessen, Xavier, 100, 102–4 Norberg, Jules, 147 Nord, Philip, 10 nurses, 12, 14, 35, 71, 127–29, 131–32, 138–44, 148, 199n54, 199n64. See also Association des Dames Françaises (ADF); Red Cross; Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (SSBM); Union des Femmes de France (UFF) occupation, 5–7, 15, 21, 24, 27–29, 33–37, 42, 46, 49–52, 61–62, 66–70, 73, 78, 81, 109, 143–44, 150, 152–53, 169n47, 176n13 Oeuvre des Tombes, 78, 142 Ollivier, Émile, 40, 171–72n15 orphans, 57, 59–60, 132, 142 Paris, 9, 21, 24, 29, 35, 46, 51, 61–62, 64, 82–83, 94, 97, 99, 101, 103, 106, 130–31, 133, 138, 141, 146, 152; Commune (1871), 1, 12,

index 22, 29, 35, 41, 44, 48–49, 51, 69, 79, 88, 93, 120, 132, 139; siege of, 5–7, 22, 31, 39, 104, 133; See also revolution (September 4, 1870) Philippoteaux, Auguste, 97, 100–101, 103 pilgrimages, 7, 47, 76, 107 Piton, Frédéric, 2–3, 5–7 police, 8, 27–28, 31–32, 67–68, 73, 84–85, 99, 105, 110, 122, 167n24 Pontmain, 5 prefects, 9, 50, 59, 66–69, 73–74, 79–80, 82–83, 97–98, 102, 105 Prost, Antoine, 85 Protestants, 10, 35, 47, 52, 54, 56, 64–65, 74, 103, 123, 139, 149–50, 176n19, 177n27, 198n45 Prussia, 2–4, 21–22, 26 Red Cross, 1, 10–11, 17, 34–35, 45, 58, 64, 70, 78, 127–51, 153–56. See also Association des Dames Françaises (ADF); International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC); Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (SSBM); Union des Femmes de France (UFF) refugees, 16, 22–23, 33, 56, 60, 152. See also Alsatians and Lorrainers republicans, 5, 10–11, 15–16, 24–26, 28, 30–31, 33, 38–45, 48, 66, 69, 72, 78–80, 86–88, 93–100, 111–12, 114–15, 117–26, 129–30, 133– 36, 138–40, 149–53, 155, 158, 166nn12–13, 172–73nn26–27, 173n39, 176n19, 186n18, 198n45, 200n74; and civil society, 8, 120– 22, 129, 134–35, 192n26 revanchisme, 6–7, 38, 44–46, 48, 64, 85, 88, 109–10, 123–24, 149, 156, 162nn24–25, 174n48 revolution (September 4, 1870), 5, 24, 28, 31, 48 Rubillard, Anselme, 80, 95, 97, 99, 172–73n27 rural populations, 13, 30–31, 46, 55, 116, 126, 172n26 Russia, 98, 106, 110, 123–24, 128, 134, 153, 157, 166n9 Saint-Vallier, Charles de, 51–52, 68 Sarthe, 15, 22–30, 33, 36–37, 41–42, 44, 48, 51, 55, 64–66, 72, 75–76, 78–81, 88,

225 94–99, 104, 110, 112–13, 116, 118–19, 122, 126, 166n12, 167n19, 167n21, 167nn23–24, 168n32, 171n11, 176n13, 176–77n21, 182n17, 183n34, 183n40, 188n42. See also Le Mans Second Empire, 1, 5, 9–10, 12, 24–25, 30–31, 33–34, 40–43, 47, 61, 69, 79, 97, 99, 109, 118, 131, 136, 152 Sedan, 97, 101; battle of, 4–5, 24, 26, 31, 34, 43, 81, 103 Senate, 38, 41; members of the, 42, 95, 97, 99, 104, 106, 109, 118, 123, 141 Séré de Rivières system, 105, 124, 143 shooting clubs, 11, 17, 112–22, 125–56 socialists, 48, 101, 105, 118, 123, 194n51 Société de Protection des Alsaciens et Lorrains Demeurés Français (SPALDF), 55–60, 177n29 Société de Secours aux Blessés Militaires (SSBM), 128–38, 140–43, 155, 183n31, 198– 99n52; of Nancy, 143–51, 199n62, 199n64 Souvenir Français, 93, 100–105, 111, 149, 153, 155–56, 188nn42–43, 188n45 state, French, 1–2, 7–17, 22–24, 26–28, 35–37, 40, 44–45, 47, 53–61, 63–67, 69–78, 80, 82, 85, 87–88, 93, 97, 99–102, 105, 109–13, 117– 22, 125–27, 129, 133–38, 140–41, 146, 149– 57, 163n29, 164n48, 167nn18–19, 177nn27– 28, 178n36, 179n47, 182n11, 183n24 Strasbourg, 26, 34, 147, 176n21; siege of, 2, 5–7 Subscription for the Liberation of the Territories, 63–68, 143, 147, 152, 154 taxation, 8, 26, 63, 178n47 Thiers, Adolphe, 5–6, 28, 31, 40, 42, 51–52, 61–63, 67–69, 120, 153, 169n40 Third Republic, 5, 7–8, 10, 12–14, 44, 47, 61, 100, 112, 117, 120, 122–23, 130, 135–36, 140, 144, 149–51, 153–54, 156 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 7–9, 13, 69 tourism, 106–7, 154 Treaty of Frankfurt, 35, 51–55, 62, 71–73, 75, 87; Preliminaries of Peace, 28, 35, 50–51, 62 Turinaz, Charles, 109, 123, 149, 190n64 Union des Femmes de France (UFF), 133, 135, 137–43, 149–51, 198n45, 199n52, 199n62, 200n68

226 Union des Sociétés de Gymnastiques de France (USGF), 120–25, 194n50 universities, 14, 34, 46, 57, 124, 145, 147, 199n64 urban populations, 5, 30, 55, 110, 113, 116–17, 126, 176–77n21, 190n1 Valmy, battle of, 5, 93 veterans, 107–8, 115, 132, 142, 144, 146, 149, 156, 188n42 violence, 1, 6, 11–12, 36, 50, 52, 60, 76, 108, 137, 158 war, French attitudes toward, 1–3, 7, 11, 13, 16, 36, 38, 89, 94, 105, 111, 113, 127, 137,

index 148–58. See also Franco-Prussian War; Napoleonic Wars; World War I; World War II war indemnity, 6, 16, 26, 33, 50–52, 56, 61– 68, 132–33, 143, 147, 152, 154 Winter, Jay, 77, 182n11 women, 5, 7, 9–11, 13–17, 22, 32, 35, 45, 53– 54, 57–59, 61, 63–65, 70–71, 77, 82, 84, 103, 106, 109, 113–15, 118, 126, 128, 130, 133, 138– 43, 148–51, 153–55, 191n7, 197n17, 197n34 working class, 7, 28, 58, 114, 117, 138, 190n1 World War I, 1–2, 4, 6–7, 44, 76, 79, 85, 103, 127, 139, 151, 156–58, 167n18, 175n1, 182n11 World War II, 2, 6, 44, 50–51 Zouaves, 46, 98