Social History of French Catholicism, 1789-1914

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In the same series The Social History of Religion in Scotland since 17 30

Callum Brown The Jews in Christian Europe 1400-1700

john Edwards Forthcoming

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

Calvinism and Society The reformed tradition in Europe to 1700

Phi!t'p Benedict Popular Evangelical Movements in Britain and North America 1730-1870

RALPH GIBSON

Louis Bi!Hngton Women and Religion in Early Modern England 1500-1750

Patricia Crawford The Clergy in Europe A comparative social history

Gregory Freeze Religion and Social Change in Industrial Britain 1770-1870

David Hemp ton Confessionalism and Society in Germany 15 50-1700

R. Po-chia Hsia The Western Church and Sexuality in Europe 1400-1700

Lynda! Roper

I Routledge LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published in 1989 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001

Contents

© 1989 Ralph Gibson Typeset in 10/ 11+ pt Garamond Compugraphic by Scarborough Typesetting Services, North Yorkshire. Printed and bound in Great Britain by T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd, Cornwall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

List of illustrations Preface

Bniish Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Gibson, Ralph, 1943A social history of French Catholicism 1789-1914. 1. France. Catholicism, 1789-1914 I. Title 282' .44 ISBN 0-415-01619-3

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gibson, Ralph, 1943A social history of French Catholicism, 1789-1914/Ralph Gibson. p. em. -(Christianity and society in the modern world). Bibliography: p. Includes index. ISBN 0-415-01619-3 1. Catholic Church-FrancL~History-19th century. 2. FranceChurch history-19th century. 3. FrancL~Rcligious life and customs. I. Title. II. Series. BX1530.G45 1989 282'. 44-dc 19 88-28652 CIP

IX

1 Catholicism under the ancien regime The warning lights of dechristianization Differentiating factors in French catholicism The causes of dechristianization

8 14

2 The Revolution The Revolution in the west of France The consequences of the Revolution

49 51

3 The secular clergy A clerical and hierarchical church The bishops The parish clergy: recruitment The parish clergy: social origins and motivation The parish clergy: standard of living L 'espn·t de domination The clergy and intellectual enquiry Clerical values The clergy and 'the world' The clergy and sexuality The clergy and modernity the cure d'Ars Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century clergy 4

01~5850

Vlll

The regular clergy Female religious orders

1

3

30

57 57 61 63

68 76

78 80 87

90 92 94 100

102 104 105

Vl

A Social HZ:rtory of French Catholicism 1789-1914 Male religious orders Geography and social class Reasons for growth Anticlerical hostility to the orders Reasons for hostility

Contents 107 111 117 127 130

5 Popular religion The clerical recuperation of popular religion The upsurge of Marian devotion Relics Embourgeoisement and feminization of popular religion Popular religious art

134 138 145 151

6 Religious practice: region, gender, and age

158 170 178 180 190

Region Town and countryside Gender Age 7 The Church and social class The nobility The bourgeoisie: early hostility to catholicism The clericalization of the bourgeoisie after 1848 Problems between the bourgeoisie and the Church The Church and the working class Reasons for the irreligion of the working class 8

9

Dechristianization and rechristianization: from a God of fear to a God of love The evolution of religious practice Anticatholic forces An unattractive and inappropriate religion? Forces favouring catholicism: post-Revolutionary reconstruction Forces favouring catholicism: from a God of fear to a God of love The decline of hell and damnation Marian devotion Eucharistic devotion Liguorism Ultramontane piety Conclusion

152 154

193 193 195 199 207 212 218 227 227 233 241 248 251 253 254 256 260 265 268

Notes Guide to fitrther reading Index

vu 274 305 312

Preface

List of illustrations

The dioceses of France in the 1860s Ordinations to the priesthood ( 1800-1913) Ordinations to the priesthood, 1875-1886 Male and female religious orders, 1861 La carte Boulard Religious vitality of French dioceses in 1877

Xll

66

74 112 171

172

How it came to pass that an Australian, son of a Unitarian minister and of atheistic tendencies, should try and write a social history of French catholicism would take too long to explain. It does need pointing out at the beginning, however, that this book is not written by a Catholic. I am far from being unsympathetic to catholicism - or indeed to any attempt to give meaning to a human existence which appears to me ultimately absurd. I do not, however, have a Catholic culture (nor even a French one. except such as I have acquired second-hand and late in life), and that defect will be evident in much of what I write. One might hope that an outsider's view would have at least the advantage of a certain objectivity. The writing of history is, however, always a comment on the present in terms of the past, quite as much as it is an attempt objectively to understand that past. It is thus always informed by the values of the present day, and specifically by the values of the writer. I cannot therefore help judging the past, being sympathetic to some aspects of it and not to others. It will soon become apparent to any reader that I am largely out of sympathy with the Tridentine model of catholicism (which I attempt to evoke in chapter 1). While admiring the spiritual heights achieved by many of its practitioners, I find myself irredeemably hostile to its devaluation of the world, its Manichaean distinction between the soul and the body, its cultivation of an obsessive sense of guilt and sin (what Jean Delumeau has called the hyper-culpabilization of the west), and its use of the weapon of fear to get the mass of ordinary people to accept a model of catholicism originally developed for a spiritual elite. Hence I am led to conclude that many of the problems confronted by the French Church in the later eighteenth and nineteenth centuries sprang from the rebarbative form of the religion that it was purveying - and that its biggest successes

x

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

in the later nineteenth century came from having begun to throw it off. Conversely, however, I find myself much in sympathy with ordinary and limited people who struggled to give meaning to their own lives and to help others to find such meaning - perhaps all the more because I suspect that the quest is ultimately futile. Men and women will always try and make sense of their existence, even if it is ultimately absurd; religions basically consist of that attempt. It is thus with sympathy, indeed with admiration, that I have tried to chronicle the religious experience of French men and women, both clergy and laity. In so doing, I make no claim to capture the will-o' -the-wisp of objective history. The best I can do is spell out dearly at the beginning where my sympathies lie, such that a reader may the more easily judge how they distort my perceptions. I would never have written any book without the kindness of the University of Lancaster Humanities Research Grant Committee, which provided a replacement for my teaching duties for two terms. I am particularly grateful to Dick Geary for his role in this matter, as for his friendship and support in general - even if, as an unreconstructed anticlerical, he will probably never read a word of the book, and would soon be horrified if he did. I am also grateful to Alan Forrest for reading a draft of the chapter on the Revolution to weed out the more egregious factual errors, and to Austin Gough (the great stylist of French religious history) for his encouragement and advice. A particular mention is due for Thelma Goodman and all the staff of inter-library loans at the University of Lancaster; most of the sources for this book have passed through their office, and their help has been both tolerant and unfailing. My greatest professional and intellectual debts are to my maitres in France,Jacques Gadille and Yves-Marie Hilaire, and latterly Gerard Cholvy (the latter two's new Histoire religieuse de Ia France contemporaine is a far more knowledgeable and complete treatment of the subject than I would dare to attempt). Above all, I want to record a personal debt to Jean Briquet, Vicar-General of Perigueux, whose unfailing welcome to a foreign researcher (and slightly despairing concern for my spiritual state) has enabled me to spend numberless happy hours in the archives, and to acquire a sympathy for French catholicism even if I cannot accept it as my personal faith.

Xll

Diocese

Map ref Corresponding department

Agen Aire AIX Aiaccio ALB! Amiens Angers Angouleme Annecy Arras AUCH Autun AVIGNON Baycux Bayonne Beauvais Belley BESAN<;:ON Blois BORDEAUX BOURGES Cahors CAMBRA! Carcassonne Ch:1lons CI-IAMBERY Chartres Clermont Coutances Digne Dijon Evreux Frejus Gap Grenoble Lang res La Rochelle Laval Le Mans Le Puy Limoges

Fll D12 K13 N14 H12 I-!2 E6 F9 LS HI F12 Ks KI2 E4 D13 H3 K9 L6 G6 Ell I-!7 Gil

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Map

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

)2

HI3 )4 L9 G5 19 D4 L12 K6 G4 Ml3 Lll KIO K5 E9 E5 F5 )!0

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LYON )9 Marseille Ll3 Maurienne (S. Jean de) MIO Meaux 15 Mende Ill Metz L3 Montauban G!2 Montpellicr 113 Moulins 18 Nancy L4

Lot et Garonne Landes Bouches du Rh6ne (less arrondt:rsement of Marseille) Corse Tarn Somme Maine et Loire Charente Haute Savoie Pas de Calais Gers Sa6ne et Loire Vaucluse Calvados Basses Pyrenees Oisc Ain Doubs +Haute Sa6ne Loir etCher Gironde Cher + Indre Lot Nord Au de Marne (less arrondissement of Reims) arrondissement of Chambery (Savoie) Eure et Lair Puy de D6me Manche Basses Alpes C6te d'Or Eure Var ( +arrondissement of Grasse, Alpes Maritimes) 1-lautes Alpes !sere (+canton ofVilleurbanne, Rh6ne) Haute Marne Charcnte Inferieure Mayennc Sarthe Haute Loire Haute Viennc + Creuse Vendee Rh6ne (less canton of Villeurbanne) +Loire arrondissement of Marseille (Bouches du Rh6ne) arrondissement of S. Jean de Maurie nne (Savoie) Seine et Marne Lozere Moselle Tarn ct Garonnc Herault Allier Meurthe

Xlll

The dioceses of France in the 1860s A

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Archbishoprics arc shown in capital letters. The dotted lines arc departmental boundaries which did not correspond to those of a diocese.

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xtv

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Dr'oceJe Nantes Nevers Nice N1mes Orleans Pamiers PARIS Perigueux Perpignan Poi tiers Quimper REIMS RENNES Rodez Rouen Saint Bricuc Saint Claude Saint Die Saint Flour Sees SENS Soissons Strasbourg Tarbes Tarentaise (Moutiers en) TOULOUSE TOURS Troyes Tulle Valence Vannes Verdun Versailles Viviers

Map ref Corre.rponding department D6 Loire Inferieure 17 Nievre Nl2 Alpes Maritimes (less arrondissement of Grasse) )12 Gard H6 Loiret Gl4 Aricge Gl4 Seine FlO Dordogne Hl4 Pyrenees Orientales F8 Vienne +Deux Sevres A5 Finistcre )3 arrondis.rement ofReims (Marne)+ Ardennes D5 Ille et Vilaine . Hl2 Aveyron Seine Inferieure G3 C5 Cotes du Nord L8 Jura L5 Vosges HlO Cantal F4 Orne 16 Y onne 13 Aisne N5 Bas Rhin + Haut Rhin E13 Hautes Pyrenees M9 arrondissement of Albertville (Savoie) Gl3 Haute Garonne F7 Indre ct Loire )5 Aube GlO Correze Kll Drome C6 Morbihan K4 Meuse H4 Seine et Oise Jll Ardeche

1 Catholicism under the ancien regime

The vast majority of French men and women in the eighteenth century were Catholic almost from the moment they were born. Within twenty-four hours. or three days at the very outside, they would be baptized, and thus acquire legal existence as well as entering the bosom of the Church. In their early teens, they would make their first communion; they would continue to take communion every Easter (rarely at other times) until they died. On most Sundays and on the numerous feast days, they would attend mass and probably vespers. When they married, the ceremony would be conducted by a priest, who not only administered the sacrament of holy matrimony but by so doing made the marriage a binding legal contract. When death was near, they would be desperately keen for a priest to be present to administer the last rites, and they would know that he would accompany them on their last journey. Some of this was pretty well unavoidable: the priest kept the parish register, and one had no legal existence or valid marriage, nor indeed was one legally dead, until he had scribbled the archaic formula in his duplicate notebooks. But there was no effective legal obligation to take Easter communion or go to church on Sundays; the vast majority of French men and women just did. It was not the secular arm that compelled them, but rather a mixture (in unknowable proportions) of religious faith and of social pressure so immense that any other pattern of behaviour was difficult to conceive of. Thus, in some 4,000 eighteenth-century rural parishes studied by Gabriel LeBras and his followers, in less than sixty did more than a tenth of the inhabitants fail regularly to practise the Catholic religion. Most of those who did abstain were socially marginal anyway: itinerant workers, soldiers. prostitutes - or public sinners such as adulterers or usurers, who knew

2

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

they would not get the absolution without which communion was impossible. Dissidents were rather more common in towns, but for that 82 per cent of French men and women who lived in the countryside the practice of the Catholic religion was a central and unquestioned part of their existence. The only important exception was the Protestants, rather less than 2 per cent of the population, theoretically forbidden since 1685 from practising their religion but in fact openly doing so in the decades before the Revolution. The Church that controlled this near-universal religious practice was immensely numerous, wealthy, and powerful. The clergy comprised about 170,000 men and women: just under 60,000 in the parish clergy (39,000 cures and 20,500 vicaires), 26,500 monks, and 55,000 nuns, and a varied assortment of other clerics without cure of souls. The Church as a whole - mostly in the form of its great monastic orders owned between 6 per cent and 10 per cent of the surface area of France. It was intimately tied up with State power: the king ruled by divine right, and the clergy had an important role in government and in maintaining social order. Primary education was almost wholly under clerical control, and the rudimentary social services very largely so. More generally, everyday life was dominated by the physical and spiritual presence of catholicism. Each village and town was dominated by its church steeple, far higher than any other building - a physical presence difficult now to reconstruct in the mind, but marvellously preserved in some of the relief plans in the mttsee des plans reliefs now shared between Lille and the Invalides. The steeple was, however, merely the outward and visible sign of a spiritual and mental domination that was truly hegemonic. As Bernard Groethuysen wrote long ago: 'The Church created a whole universe for the believer, a universe which ... called on all his faculties and surrounded him completely.' 1 We thus seem to be looking, in the eighteenth century, at a Catholic Church which was rich, powerful, served by a numerous clergy, and exerting a kind of hegemonic control over the lives of French men and women. If this picture were wholly accurate, however, it would be difficult to understand the misfortunes of the Church during the Revolution, and in fact historians have recently been scanning the eighteenth century in great detail for signs that the Church· s control over the hearts and minds of at least some French men and women was slipping well before 1789. The exercise is not without its dangers, because it means looking at the exterior manifestations of religious life, and trying to deduce from them something about states of mind, and even of the spirit. As Jean Delumeau

Catholicism tmder the ancien regime

3

warned, in a passage that may well serve as an awful warning for much of the rest of this book: The apprehension of religious mentalities is full of pitfalls. In often relying on statistics of church attendance, vocations to the priesthood, confraternities, altarpieces, etc., can the historian really claim that he is quantifying faith? One can admit the necessity for quantification in religious history, and still hold that faith and love will always retain a certain preternumeral quality. At best, one measures signs of faith and of collective attitudes, not the state of the soul. 2 Thus many of the indices that historians have used to identify and quantify a process of dechristianization in the second half of the eighteenth century are more or less contestable. There is, however, a striking coincidence between many of these indices, suggesting that in the second half of the century the Church was beginning to lose its grip. The warning lights of dechristianization

In the first place, there were scattered signs of a decline in church attendance, and particularly in the taking of Easter communion (the major external obligation placed on Catholics at the time). In the southern diocese of Montpellier, at the beginning of the century, almost everybody (except forcibly converted Protestants) took Easter communion; by the 1740s, however, there was a nucleus of refractaires, and by the 1770s a sample of fifty-seven parishes showed an abstention rate of 11.4 per cent. The real problem for the Church in most dioceses, however, was not so much that religious practice was significantly in decline (it wasn't), as that it represented merely what GabrielLe Bras used to call a 'sheep-like conformism'. We need therefore to look at other indices to see if the influence of catholicism over the mass of the population was in decline. One such index is provided by the evolution of vocations to the priesthood. Timothy Tackett's analysis of the figures for fourteen dioceses for which fairly complete statistics are available shows that entries to the secular clergy reached a peak in the late 1740s; a rapid decline then set in, accelerating in the 1760s, and a temporary revival in the late 1770s was followed by a renewed fall until the Revolution. A few dioceses (particularly Breton ones) presented a steady upward trend from the mid-eighteenth century until the Revolution; others (particularly those with large urban centres) a steady downward one, without even the brief revival of the late 1770s. Overall, in a period of forty years,

lliiEtcnil Unft-ve;;reflll!G,!I Lil.mtr:l

4

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

vocations to the priesthood declined by 23 per cent. 3 There were no doubt some extraneous reasons for this: the ecclesiastical profession was clearly overcrowded. and its financial rewards were known to be declining. But the temptation remains to conclude that in the second half of the eighteenth century fewer and fewer Frenchmen had that extra dimension of faith that would lead them to devote their lives to the service of God. This was even more strikingly true of the religious orders: male monasticism was in vertiginous decline. Between 1770 and 1790. the numbers of the Benedictine Order fell from 6,434 to 4,300, those of the Augustinians from 2,599 to 1,765, and of the Franciscans from 9.820 to 6,064. Disaffection festered within the cloister: in 1765, twenty-eight Benedictines of the monastery of Saint-Germain-des-Pres had petitioned against their rule, declaring that night services and fasting kept them from useful work, that their costume made them ridiculous in the streets, and that they wished to be known as scholars rather than monks. They were disavowed by a majority within their monastery, and forced to retract by the archbishop. but their action was symptomatic of a wider malaise. The following year, a decree by Louis XV established a Commission des reguliers, chaired by the worldly Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, to inquire into the abuses of the monastic world. It made some desultory gestures, and effectively closed 458 establishments which totalled only 509 religious between them. There may have been a minor revival of fervour in the monasteries thereafter, and even a revival of recruitment: the Oratorians (a teaching order) and the Lazarists (a preaching order), and even the contemplative Carthusians, saw their numbers rise; Bernard Plongeron, indeed, claims to have identified 'an important new lease of life in the years immediately before the Revolution' .4 But on the whole the monks remained as John McManners has portrayed those of Angers: 'moderately learned and moderately indolent', and monasticism provided 'a secure existence in agreeable surroundings' .5 The female religious orders were a rather different story. It is true that their recruitment was also in sharp decline, from 2,080 a year in the 1740s to 1,170 a year in the 1780s (with the same slight recovery in the late 1770s that was evident for the male secular clergy). It is interesting to note, however, that the minority who were technically 'congreganistes' rather than 'religieuses' (i.e., in effect, non-cloistered nuns engaged in charitable and educational work) were actually increasing their recruitment, foreshadowing their staggering success in the nineteenth century. Even the others usually retained a certain religious vitality. Some convents were certainly little more than dumping

CatholiCZ:rm under the ancien regime

5

grounds for unwanted daughters of the wealthy: Diderot's Religieuse was not an invention, and she might(with better fortune) have finished up in the abbey ofRonceray at Angers, which was 'part of a system of luxurious outdoor relief which the Church had been obliged to provide for the surplus daughters of the nobility of France' - though there is no evidence in this case that vocations were forced, and the creme de Ia creme of Ronceray seem on the whole to have enjoyed themselves. 6 Most nuns, however, manifested a sincere piety which anticlerical historians can easily underestimate. When their history is written from internal sources, they appear not so much to be victims of a social order as to have taken vows in defiance of their family, and to have led lives of dedicated fanaticism, rejoicing in physical privation - to the dubious extent of insisting on wearing only the other nuns' dirty underwear. 7 The most fashionable way of measuring dechristianization in France in the second half of the eighteenth century is to look at wills. and in particular at the clauses requesting masses for the soul. 8 Michel Vovelle, the inventor of this procedure, applied it to Provence: he discovered that the proportion of testators making such provision rose slightly in the eighteenth century to a maximum of over 80 per cent in the 1750s, and then fell sharply to about 50 per cent by the Revolution; a decline in the average number of masses requested was evident between the 1710s and the 1730s, and again from the 1760s to the 1770s. Local circumstances could affect the timing and the extent of this decline. but there is no gainsaying that it happened, and that it could affect most social groups. Pierre Chaunu then master-minded a massive group enquiry into Parisian wills. The capital manifested the same decline, from the 1760s to the Revolution. in the percentage of testators requesting masses for their souls; the proportion of their wealth that they were prepared to devote to such masses began to decline sharply from the 1720s. Chaunu thus concludes that what happened in Paris simply preceded what happened in Marseilles by a decade or so. Further studies have shown much the same picture. In Grenoble, the proportion requiring masses declined from 74 per cent in the 1740s to 53 per cent in the 1780s; the average sum devoted to them declined steadily from the 1720s to the Revolution (with a brief revival in the 1760s). In the Rouen region, the proportion fell from 54 per cent in the early eighteenth century, to 26-30 per cent in the period 1720-50, to 16 per cent in the 1780s. The conclusion seems inescapable that testators were, if not less concerned for their immortal soul, at least less convinced that masses were necessary to alleviate its stay in purgatory. There are some problems, however, about whether this should be read as another index of dechristianization. In the first place, an

6

A Social History a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

admittedly rather slender study has shown that in a highly religious area like Anjou the proportion of those requesting masses for their soul was actually increasing throughout the eighteenth century, More importantly, what are we to make of a declining concern for masses for the soul anyway? It could simply mean a declining belief in purgatory although altars dedicated to the souls in purgatory were simultaneously on the increase. It could - as both Aries and Chaunu have argued merely indicate an increasing reliance on one's family to take care of such matters. It could, finally, reflect more of a change of taste and of style than of belief: the 'baroque' attitude to death that expressed itself in rich ceremony was under attack from eighteenth-century taste, which preferred a less extravagant treatment of death. Thus in the Perigord the cttres themselves cut back, after the 1770s, on the amount they bequeathed for requiem masses for their own souls; are we to conclude that their faith was in decline, or simply that their taste was changing? Vovelle himself, though he rejects Aries's argument about increasingly tight-knit families, is almost (not quite) prepared to admit that what one is looking at is 'a mutation of collective sensibility', rather than dechristianization. Not everybody made a will. Even fewer people bought books; for those who did, however, their choice may tell us something about their faith. In principle, books were subject to government authorization; the proportion of religious titles in the authorization lists fell from a third in the 1720s to a fifth in the 1750s, and a tenth on the eve of the Revolution. At Rouen, the third most important centre of book production in France, the proportion of religious books among those printed oscillated around 35 per cent in the first half of the century; in the 1750s this figure was nearly halved, and in the 1780s it fell again, to 12 per cent. In nine towns of the west, Jean Queniart's analysis of inventories after death shows that the proportion of religious books in private libraries dedined from 44 per cent in the late seventeenth century to 30 per cent in the late eighteenth; the absolute number of religious books increased, but other categories increased faster, particularly those of literature, science, and the arts. These statistics no doubt exaggerate the phenomenon: permissions accorded to the commonest books, which were distributed widely in the provinces. showed 63 per cent of religious titles in the 1780s. It seems, however, quite clear that during the second half of the eighteenth century the educated lay (male) elite lost its taste for religious literature; novels, plays, and political works began to take over. 9 Some parts of France, and in particular the extreme south-east (Provence), were marked by the existence of a particular kind of religious

Catholicism under the ancien regime

7

confraternity known as 'penitents'. They usually had their own organization, separate from the parish, and their own chapel (either in the parish church or as a separate building), and they had their own communal life of corporate religious observance and rather more profane feasting. Their chief public function was to accompany funeral processions, for which they dressed up in robes and cagoules, contriving to look remarkably like the Ku-Klux-Klan. They have been extensively studied, in their Proven~:;al manifestation, by Maurice Agulhon. He shows that in the second half of the eighteenth century they tended to undergo a 'deviation profane', whereby the social aspect of their activities increasingly took precedence over the devotional and charitable side. Furthermore, the local elite that had dominated their membership began to prefer other forms of sociability, particularly masonic lodges; more and more. the penitents' ranks were drawn from artisans and even from wealthier peasants. Agulhon is nervous about seeing this as another sign of dechristianization, but the 'deviation profane' of Provenc;:al penitents seems to coincide quite closely with other indices, such as the declining religious element in wills. 10 One final index of the declining hold that the Catholic Church had over French men and women is often found in the area of sexual morality: rising illegitimacy and bridal pregnancy, and the first signs of systematic contraception within marriage. Illegitimacy and bridal pregnancy were certainly rising in the course of the eighteenth century: detailed village studies have been amalgamated to show that the proportion of illegitimate births rose from 2. 9 per cent in the first half of the century to 4. 1 per cent in the second, and bridal pregnancies from 6.2 per cent to 10.1 per cent. The figures for towns, always much higher, were similarly rising. Furthermore, there was an increasing number of abandoned children, of which an incalculable but large proportion were illegitimate. It seems that in the early eighteenth century the Catholic Church had been quite staggeringly successful in imposing its restrictive sexual morality on the mass of men and women, but that in the second half of the century the young took less and less notice of the objurgations of the clergy. This rather limited degree of sexual liberalization may be an index of declining faith; it seems more likely to have a socio-economic explanation, but the precise nature of such an explanation is far from clear. 11 The case of contraception within marriage is a rather different one. It first has to be demonstrated that it actually occurred, to a significant extent, before the Revolution. The real take-off into birth control in France happens in the 1790s; there are signs of it before that, especially in advanced areas like the Paris basin, but it can be argued that this

8

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

was just a classic temporary response to hard times, and in any case there are vast tracts of the country that were untouched by the phenomenon before 1789. There is also a major problem of interpretation: to argue that the spread of contraception is an index of the declining influence of the Catholic faith, one has to assume that most people had always wanted to use contraception and were only held back by the Church. It seems, on the contrary, that the obsession of the age for most of the eighteenth century was fertility; it was the desire to limit one's family, not the shaking off of restrictions imposed by religion, that constituted the real 'mental revolution' .12 It is clear from all the foregoing indices that something pr~found was happening in France in the second half of the eighteenth century. All the indices coincide: a (small) minority gave up practising the Catholic religion; fewer men entered the priesthood, and recruitment to male and female orders declined even faster; men and women making their wills bothered less and less about masses for their souls; religious books, as a proportion of both production and consumption. declined sharply; old forms of religious sociability. such as the penitents, shed their religious content and/ or lost their appeal; more unmarried girls got pregnant, more young couples slept together before marriage, and some married wuples began to flaunt the Catholic taboo on contraception. Each element taken separately is subject to major problems of interpretation, but taken together they form an impressive body of evidence. In nearly every case, the middle of the eighteenth century seems to be a turning-point: 13 the first half of the century was perhaps the high-water mark for the attempts of the Church to impose the behaviour patterns of Tridentine catholicism on the mass of French men and women; the massive degree of regimentation and repression that this involved was not, however, in the long term viable. and cracks began to show well before the Revolution. The next question is clearly to enquire why catholicism in France was - to a certain extent - losing its appeal. Before doing so, however, it is important to emphasize that this rather hypothetical dechristianization affected different groups in very different ways. It made a lot of difference where you lived, whether you were male or female, young or old, and to what social class you belonged. Differentiating factors in French catholicism

Perhaps the most important - and certainly the most puzzling dichotomy in the behaviour of French Catholics under the ancien regime (and today) was that between the religious and irreligious areas

Catholicism tmder the ancien regime

9

of France. It is not possible to draw a map of religious fervour for the France of the eighteenth century, but there is no doubt that such a map would strongly resemble the map drawn up in 1947 by Canon Boulard and reproduced on p. 171. Various indices make it clear that the modem religious geography of France was in fact well established before the Revolution. At a national level, it was evident in vocations to the priesthood; the (incomplete) map of vocations for the eighteenth century is very like that for the twentieth and very like the carte Boulard. It was also evident in the publication of religious books in the decade before the Revolution: when allowance is made for regional differences in literacy levels, the map of new editions of religious works for popular consumption shows a very similar religious geography. 14 A large number pf diocesan studies have shown at local level that the religious geography of today was already apparent in the eighteenth centurv, and even earlier. The badlands to the south-east of Paris were already characterized by absence from mass and failures to take Easter corpmunion, by the failure to send children to catechism classes, and by infringements of the rules of abstinence, as well as by a sharp fall in vocations to the priesthood. The famous division of the Sarthe between an irreligious east and a religious west was similarly in evidence before the Revolution, the east exhibiting fewer religious foundations, fewer confraternities, and fewer vocations. There are many other examples. 15 The most striking concerns the sharp religious divide between the north and south of the present department of the Vendee. It was clearly evident to Montfortain missionaries and other observers in the eighteenth century. Louis Perouas showed that already in the seventeenth century regions south of a clear dividing line were inferior in the state of repair of churches and the quality of religious ornaments, in pious foundations. in local devotional chapels, in confraternities, and in vocations to the priesthood. He even speculated that, in the case of confraternities, the line might be visible in the fifteenth century. 16 Not all cases are as clear, but what is clear is that one of the chief factors differentiating the religious behaviour of French Catholics, certainly in the eighteenth century, and probably earlier, was region. For reasons that are still unclear, some regions were more fervent than others. The religious differences between them have persisted down to the present day; I shall consider them in their nineteenth-century manifestation in chapter 6. A second and developing dichotomy of the eighteenth century was that between town and countryside. The towns of nineteenth- and twentieth-century France were to become so much the locus classicus of dechristianization that it is difficult to remember that it was not ~always so.

10

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Indeed, the Catholic Reformation of seventeenth-centurv France was in many ways an attempt by an urban elite t~ impose its model of catholicism upon the countryside. It seems at any rate highly probable that at the start of the eighte'enth century the towns were more Catholic than the countryside; it was in the eighteenth century that this situation was - seemingly permanently - reversed. Of the fourteen dioceses for which we have information. eleven showed a noticeable decline in the proportion of priests of urban origin - substantial in the largest towns. In Bordeaux, by the eve of the Revolution, scarcely half the adult population took Easter communion. Paris, although we have little precise information, must have contained an anticlerical artisanal working class, if we are to judge from the militant anticlericalism of many sansculottes during the Revolution; as early as 1731, d' Argenson said that it was dangerous to appear on the streets of Paris in a cassock. Marseilles, to judge from testamentary evidence, evolved in the course of the eighteenth century from a 'town of devotion' to a 'town of perdition'. All of these were rapidly growing cities, and there is a temptation to ascribe their growing irreligion to the anomie of first-generation urban life. Whatever the reasons, it is clear that by 1789 many towns were in the vanguard of dechristianization, after having been, not so long ago, in the vanguard of the Catholic Reformation. The third great dichotomy in religious behaviour, destined in the nineteenth century to become almost a fact of life, was that between men and women. In the rare cases where we have gender-differentiated figures on religious practice, it is clear that the abstainers were overwhelmingly men - as in one urban parish at Auxerre, which in 1767 reported only twelve Easter communions by men. Bequests for masses for the soul show clearly the feminization of catholicism. In the Midi, many - though not all - areas showed a greater willingness on the part of women to make such bequests, and the gap between men and women widened in the course of the eighteenth century. For Provence as a whole, 84 per cent of female testators at the beginning of the century provided for masses for their souls as against 70 per cent of males, and in the 1780s 67 per cent as against 46 per cent; both the early differences and the increase in them were particularly evident at Marseilles. Vovelle thus concludes that the eighteenth century saw a 'feminization of catholicism' not apparent in the century before. Similar phenomena are observable (though less clearly) in the case of Paris, where the 1720s may have been a turning-point, in the Rouen area, and perhaps in Grenoble. The greater appeal of catholicism to women was a relatively new development. The Catholic Reformation in France, in the seventeenth

Catholicism under the ancien regime

11

century, had been inspired not. only by the clergy but by a militant male laity. When the reformed and ,purified religion reached out into the countryside, however, it provoked specifically male hostility. Philip Hoffman has made a very interesting analysis of this process. Men, he points out, were the chief occupants of power positions within the villages where the reformed clergy was attempting to establish a much more thoroughgoing control over people's lives and to transform the way they led them. Young men were the chief target of a new sex~al ethic: the clergy drove away prosritutes. and fought hard to underm111e the power of youth groups, which by social pressures of various kinds had exercised immense power over women. Married men were faced by new obligations to their wives and children imposed by the new ethic. In general. it was male organizations and customs that were under attack: youth groups, festivals, confraternities of the Holy Spirit. Women, on the other hand, made gains from the Catholic Reformation: not only were they given new outlets for sociability in Rosary confraternities and parish charities, but the clergy did its best to liberate them from the grosser forms of sexual oppression. It has to be remembered that, although the Catholic Reformation does seem to have been responsible for an intense campaign of sexual repression which we can now only deplore, the other side of the coin was a certain defence of women, protecting them from abandonment in pregnancy, from rejection by their husbands, even on occasion from ritual gang rape. 17 , There, were thus a number of aspects of reformed catholicism which immediately appealed to women more than to men. By the eighteenth century, this difference of appeal was strong enough to show up in statistical form. In the nineteenth century, the gap between the sexes where religion was concerned became a gaping abyss; we shall return to it in chapter 6. A fourth major dichotomy in religious behaviour was that between young and old. It is probably in the nature of things that old people are more concerned by a religion of other-worldly salvation than are the young, who have scarcely realized that some day they will die. There were also, however. more specific reasons why French youth (particularly male youth) was alienated from eighteenth-century catholicism. One of the greatest sources of conflict between Tridentine catholicism and popular religion (a conflict which will be considered later) was to be found in youth group activities at village level. The now celebrated 'abbeys of misrule', the universal practice of the charivari, the organization of parish festivals in general: all these were areas where the clergy came into conflict with the organized ebullience of youth. No doubt - the clerical obsession with repressing sexuality did not help. The

12

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

disaffection of youth from a religion which systematically combated youth culture was to become very evident in the nineteenth century, but recent studies have suggested that its origins are to be found in the ancien regime' 18 The last major factor differeptiating religious behaviour in eighteenth-century France was .social class: it made a lot of difference whether you were of the people or of the elite, and -within the latter group - some difference whether you were bourgeois or noble. The nobility of the eighteenth century has long had a reputation for scepticism and irreligion. There is certainly a great deal of anecdotal evidence about aristocratic scepticism; as one observer remarked, believing in God in such circles had become 'a source of ridicule which one was careful to avoid' . 19 But much of this refers to high society in Paris; the provincial nobility was a lot more traditionalist. In Provence, and in the Rouen area, requests for masses for the soul held up better among nobles than in most other groups. The sceptical ancien regime aristocracy may not be entirely a myth, but it is not much more than a halftruth. It is, however, probably true that noble tastes were secularizing in the second half of the eighteenth century: the proportion of religious books in noble libraries in the towns of the west, after rising from 17 per cent in the late seventeenth century to 36 per cent in the 1750s, fell sharply to 11 per cent in the decade before the Revolution; this secularization of taste was particularly evident in the noblesse de robe, previously passionately interested in religious questions. There is in fact an impressive amount of evidence that the provincial elite in general were, in the second half of the eighteenth century, at least abandoning a religious culture, if not their faith. Both the professional and commercial bourgeoisies of the west were - to judge by their libraries - in the vanguard of a move towards reading for entertainment and profane instruction rather than for religious enquiry or devotion. The learned academies that dominated provincial high culture in the late eighteenth century showed almost no interest in religious matters (though they evinced no positive hostility either). 20 In Provence, both nobles and bourgeois lost interest in the penitents, and began to drift into the alternative forms of sociability provided by the masonic lodges. The evidence from requiem masses (in the same area) shows the bourgeoisie with essentially landed wealth as continuing to request masses at almost the same rate, but the gens de robe and commercial and professional bourgeois rapidly losing interest after the mid-century. In Grenoble, it was the basoche - the lesser men of the legal world - who were largely responsible for the decline in pious bequests. In most dioceses, both noble and bourgeois elements (royal

Catholicism under the ancien regime

13

officiers, professional bourgeois, rentiers) found the priesthood less and less attractive; they continued to provide between one fifth and one half of recruits (according to diocese), but the proportion was falling sharply. All these indices coincide in suggesting that the late eighteenth-century elite were at least changing their religious behaviour, if not abandoning their faith. What about the Church and the 'rising capitalism' of the eighteenth century? Fifty years ago, Bernard Groethuysen argued powerfully that 'the bourgeois' was ceasing to find catholicism compatible with his life experience. 21 This incompatibility between catholicism and capitalism was evident in a number of ways. The bourgeois was used to dealing with a world that he could manipulate and transform; catholicism presented it as being in God's hands and subject to divine intervention at any moment. The natural optimism of a rising bourgeoisie found it difficult to accept the pessimistic view of human nature purveyed by the eighteenth-century Church, with its emphasis on original sin. The bourgeois believed that if you were poor it was basically your own fault; the Church preached the duty of charity, at least towards the deserving poor. The bourgeois made money by lending it at interest; the Church continued to denounce the sin of usury - to the point of arguing that, if a Catholic could not trade without lending at interest, he must give up commerce. Finally, although the Church preached unflinchingly the God-given nature of an unequal social order, it also manifested a visceral distaste for the making of large sums of money, and for social mobility: old wealth was fine, but new wealth was deeply suspect in clerical eyes. Groethuysen thus demonstrated the intrinsic incompatibility of capitalism and eighteenth-century catholicism. He did not show that as a result those engaged in capitalist enterprise did in fact weaken or lose their faith, bur he did document most convincingly a tension that may well have had something to do with the general disaffection of the French elite from catholicism in the second half of the eighteenth century. It was a disaffection in which they were not usually followed by their social inferiors; as the Abbot of Veri remarked, 'in the eyes of the common people, not to believe in religion is to have all the vices and to be totally lacking in honesty'. 22 It is thus only partially true that France on the eve of the Revolution was an overwhelmingly Catholic country. There were certainly considerable differences in religious fervour: between different parts of France, between town and countryside, men and women, young and old. rich and poor, noble and bourgeois. There were, particularly in the second half of the century, many indices of disaffection among various groups which cumulatively might be taken as evidence of the onset of

14

A Social Hi.rtory of French Catholici.rm 1789-1914

dechristianization. What forces were at work which might explain this development?

The causes of dechristianization The fundamental ideas of the Enlightenment were certainly pretty corrosive of the catholicism of the day. The belief in reason as the new revelation; the conviction that the world was governed by natural laws in the working of which God did not intervene; the fundamental Enlightenment doctrine of sensationalist psychology (with its materialist and even determinist implications); the belief in progress instead of in original sin; the desire for a 'useful' religion (if any); the attempt to construct a lay morality based on the pursuit of happiness; the atheism of some and the deism of most: all this constituted a thoroughgoing rejection of the fundamental tenets of eighteenth-century catholicism (and perhaps catholicism tout court). Even more dangerous for the Church may have been the phtfosophes' attacks on fanaticism and intolerance, which - particularly when couched in the mordant style of a Voltaire- could rally more support than could an abstract critique of dogma. It is true that the influence of les lumieres does not always show up clearly on the ground: Michel Vovelle, for example, sees no sign that the abandonment of traditional forms of religious behaviour in Provence was stimulated by philosophe propaganda. 23 It is scarcely credible, however, that Enlightenment ideas did not undermine the hold of catholicism over the hearts and minds of at least many educated French men and women, and there is indeed plenty of positive evidence that they did. Voltaire was immensely popular; when he visited Paris in his old age, crowds followed his carriage whenever he went out. Rousseau's Profession de foi du vicaire savoyard played a crucial role in the passage to atheism or deism of opinion-makers such as Jean-Pierre Brissot (the future Girondin leader) and Madame Roland. Daniel Mornet's Les origines intellectuelles de Ia Revolution franr;aise (1933) is a massive compilation of the evidence that as early as the mid-century Enlightenment ideas about religion had taken hold of the educated elite (though less so in the provinces than in Paris). John Lough has recently shown that many of the concrete ideas of the philosophes about the secularization of society were implemented in unchanged form by the decisionmakers of the Revolution. And we now have Robert Darn ton's study of the dissemination of the Enlightenment's great machine de guerre, the Encyclopedic. This massive production sold about 25,000 copies by 1789, of which at least 11,500 reached France (including the remoter areas). It did not particularly appeal to merchants and manufacturers,

Catholici.rm under the ancien regime

15

but was gobbled up by noblemen (particularly of the robe), clerics, royal officiers, army officers, professional men and rentiers. The Encyclopedic was anti-Catholic by clear implication if not by explicit statement, and its diffusion throughout the French elite must have at least reinforced the notables' inclination to abandon the religion of their forefathers. 24 The ideology of the Enlightenment was thus important in explaining the declining influence of catholicism in late eighteenth-century France. The Church was clearly under attack, and losing ground. The major cause of its discomfiture may' however' have less to do with this external offensive than with the nature of the religion that the French Catholic Church was itself purveying. It was not that the Church was particularly ignorant or corrupt; these traditional criticisms are largely a repetition of anticlerical propaganda of the time, with only very partial basis in fact. It was rather that this was the Church of the Catholic Reformation. codified in the canons of the Council ofTrent, and it was trying to impose on the mass of French men and women a particularly difficult and demanding religion, a religion developed by and for a small urban elite, which could only be imposed on the population at large by immense effort and systematic intimidation. It was an intellectuals' religion, hostile to popular culture; it rejected the world as a vale of tears and a den of iniquity; it emphasized morality (and particularly a repressive sexual morality) rather than spiritual values; it was dominated by clerics who combated all forms of spontaneous religious expression by laymen; and it relied heavily on the threat of damnation to keep the faithful in line. The Catholic Reformation in France had for a while quite amazing success in imposing this rebarbative version of the Christian gospel on French men and women, and the early eighteenth century may indeed have been the apotheosis of Tridentine catholicism in France. But it was always going to be difficult to maintain such a massive exercise in spiritual alienation, and by the second half of the century the strains and stresses were beginning to tell. The indices of dechristianization at which we have looked were largely indices of a growing rejection of a particular model of catholicism which asked too much of the ordinary run of mankind. The term I shall use to describe this model of catholicism is Tridentine. The model was being developed well before the Council ofTrent, and the fathers who gathered there cannot take full responsibility: they merely codified a religious movement usually known as the Counter or Catholic Reformation, but which had its roots well back in the Middle Ages. Their decrees did, however, have a tremendous reinforcing effect. In France, the effect was delayed by the chaos of the religious

16

A Social History a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

wars of the late sixteenth century; it was not therefore until the seventeenth century that France felt the impact of this new catholicism. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were its heyday; so, in many ways, was the nineteenth, although elements of the clergy- faced with massive rejection of the Tridentine model - were slowly beginning to question aspects of it themselves. The shock troops ofTridentine catholicism in France were a new and reformed clergy. This was a clergy trained in the seminaries whose foundation in each diocese had been decreed by the Council of Trent. It took a long time before such institutions were fully established in France: it was not until the end of the seventeenth centurv that all dioceses (except the very tiny ones) boasted their own seminary. and the period of time that trainee priests spent in them was not always very long. But in the eighteenth century the French clergy was very largely the product of those seminaries. and was profoundly marked by the experience. It was not that they gave a very advanced intellectual formation; they were essentially places of professional training. Seminaries were much less concerned with forming minds than they were with forming a certain kind of person. This person was to be docile and obedient, serious-minded, modest, and reserved. He was also taught the rejection of the world. Priests were not supposed to socialize in a normal way, or to be friendly with their parishioners. Profane activities like visiting the local tavern, or hunting, were severely frowned upon. Clerical separateness was symbolized by the strict enforcement of dress regulations. especially the tonsure and the cassock. In the diocese of Gap, one leading cure was shocked to hear that a seminarist, in his summer holidays, had been working on a farm; it was, he said, 'indecent for those of our profession to perform heavy labour in the fields' 25 It was indecent less for reasons of class snobberv than because a priest was supposed to keep apart from the profan~ world. These seminary-trained cures of the eighteenth century did not have what have usually been considered to be the defects of their predecessors. They resided in their parishes; this victory had been largely won in the seventeenth century. Often they stayed in the same parish all their lives (the record was held by an uncle and nephew tandem who served one parish for over ninety consecutive years); their revenues, though very variable, usually gave them the status oflocal notables. Despite the fixed obsession of anticlericals, most of them did not sleep around, or even with their servants; seminary training was remarkably successful in repressing the clerical libido. The eighteenth-century French clergy was thus, on the whole. chaste, resident, and conscientious. 26 Priests cut

Catholicism under the ancien regime

17

themselves off from profane society and devoted themselves to propagating, in the pulpit, the confessional, and catechism classes, a very particular model of Christianity. Although most of these priests spent their working lives in the countryside, many of them were of urban origin. Of the clergy of 17 89, an estimated 40 per cent came from towns, compared with 18 per cent of the population as a whole. The most striking case is that of the Touraine, where, of 273 priests and 58 nuns whose origins can be identified, 88 per cent had fathers in urban or urban-oriented professionsY The proportion of the clergy coming from the towns was declining in the second half of the eighteenth century (especially in the largest towns), but the ancien regime clergy retained to the last a characteristic it would entirely lose in the nineteenth century: its disproportionately urban origin. It also continued to come, quite disproportionately. from the notables of France. This element was similarly in decline, but it continued to be very important right up to the Revolution. Generally, between a fifth and a quarter of all parish priests (depending on the diocese) were of 'notable' origin. Their fathers tended to be royal officiers. merchants (of very varied kinds), surgeons, notaries, rentiers, !abottrettrs (solid farmers), and so on. Dominique Julia concludes that the lower clergy in the diocese of Rheims was 'above all bourgeois'. Timothy Tackett found, for the diocese of Gap, that 'the great majority [of priests' fathers) were clearly among the economic elite of their communities'. 28 In dioceses like Gap, where clerical revenues were relatively low, the priesthood was in fact probably a path of downward social mobility for younger sons. At any rate. the lower clergy in most parts of France was heavily marked by the urban and I or elite origins of a large proportion of its members. This seminary-trained, urban. and bourgeois clergy purveyed in France a particular model of catholicism which had a number of characteristics likely to bring it into conflict with the mass of the population. The first of these was its hostility to 'popular' religion. A lot of recent research has examined the way in which Tridentine catholicism came into conflict with popular culture. The Catholic Reformation was dearly a movement originating in the towns. and it purveyed 'the ethic of the devout urban elite'. 29 Much of the immense missionary activity of the seventeenth century had aimed to impose that religion and that ethic on the countryside. The French peasant's idea of religion was, however, radically different. In a world where technology was quite unable to do anything about natural disasters, pain. or death, religion .. was to a large extent a way of manipulating a hostile and otherwise uncontrollable world: its most manifest function was to make the crops

18

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

grow and cure people and animals who were ill. Peasants thought they inhabited a world of occult and magical forces, many of them hostile, but which might be conjured if one knew the right procedures; what passed for Christianity provided many of these procedures. It was, in Jean Delumeau's words, 'a universe in which man did not distinguish clearly between the natural and the supernatural, the visible and the invisible, the part and the whole, image and reality' .30 Peasants were thus riddled with what the reformed clergy regarded as superstition. They believed that pilgrimages to curative springs might cure you of disease (provided you did everything in exactly the right way). They believed passionately that sounding the church bells would divert a hailstorm. They believed that certain magical ceremonies, including elements of the liturgy, could make your enemy impotent. They believed all sorts of things connected with the eve of the feast of Saint John the Baptist, when bonfires were lit outside villages all over France, young couples leapt over the embers (a fertility rite for both crops and people), and old women gathered herbs that would be particularly efficacious if picked that night. Much of peasant 'superstition' centred around the cult of the saints. Saints were often seen as responsible for certain illnesses, which they could thus also cure; there were complicated procedures for identifying which local saint was responsible, to whose shrine a pilgrimage must therefore be made. The catalogue of rural superstitions under the ancien regime could go on indefinitely. 31 The basic point is that peasants saw religion as the only means whereby they might manipulate a largely hostile world, and their mental universe was a magical one inhabited by a complex of occult forces which religion might help to bring to your side. The reformed clergy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was not happy about such 'superstition'. Their reaction was well expressed by one of their number, Christophle Sauvageon, cure of the isolated rural parish of Sennely-en-Sologne from 1676 to 1710, who left a fascinating account of his parishioners. He wrote: We can truly say of them that they are in many ways baptized idolaters .... I have said earlier that the so/ognots are more superstitious than truly religious. Who could deny it, seeing their rigid observance of various devotional practices which are as deplorable as they are ridiculous and which only serve to distract them from true piety. 32 Often, it is true, the clergy had simply to make the best of a bad job, and try to put a reputable Catholic sheen on superstitions of manifestly

\

Catholicism under the ancien regime

19

pre-Christian origin: processions to curative springs were now led by the cure, bell-ringing against hailstorms was tolerated (under protest), and Bossuet even invented an acceptable version of the dark rituals of Saint John's Eve. It is also true that the clergy tended to use the term 'superstition' for that which they did not control, and not to mind very similar beliefs and practices which they themselves directed. But some superstitious practices, like the impotence rituals, were too close to sorcery to integrate into orthodox catholicism, and even those that were tolerated were usually still viewed with disapproval. The clergy conducted a long campaign against the old local saints, attempting to replace them with the saints of the Catholic Reformation (like Loyola, Charles Borromeo, Theresa of Avila, or Franf,:ois de Sales), or at least to dress them in clerical garb. Thus the patron saint of the diocese of Le Mans, Saint Julien, whom legend designated as a miracle-worker and healer, when represented in altarpieces, was dressed up as a bishop. In the south-eastern dioceses of Vence and Grasse, altars dedicated to the old thaumaturgical saints were relegated to a place near the door (although not as yet expelled). 33 All over France the clergy did as much as it dared to suppress or marginalize popular superstitions, and to replace them with a religion concerned essentially with the next world rather than this one. The offensive was only partially successful, and it was certainly not popular. Another crucial aspect of the Tridentine attack on popular religion was the attempt to differentiate sharply between the sacred and the profane. The reformed clergy made this distinction much more dearly than it had been made in the Middle Ages. Peter Burke makes the point that the reform of popular culture was thus 'more than just another episode in the long war between the godly and the ungodly, it accompanied a major shift in religious mentality or sensibility' .34 For the generality of French men and women, religion had been an integral part of everyday life - and vice versa. Thus the mass was a time for socializing, which meant gossiping, eating, drinking, wandering about in the nave during the liturgy; cemeteries were social centres, for dancing and carousing; baptism and marriage were social festivals as much and more than they were sacraments; religious processions were village outings or picnics; religious festivals were occasions for feasting and fornication. The Tridentine clergy tried and were still trying in the eighteenth century - to impose on French men and women a much more awe-full and respectful attitude to the sacred, and a rigorous separation between the sacr~d and the profane. The issue of parish festivals is a good example. A priest of the Lyons

20

A Social Hi.rtory a/French Catholici.rm 1789-1914

diocese, in 1693 (little would change in the following century), complained that during these holy days, the air is filled with the worst sort of filth, impudence knows no bounds; and because of negligence great enough to make one cry, even the most moderate persons approve what on other occasions they would judge to be a scandal and an atrocious crime .... To sec the lewd and violent gyrations of the girls mixed in dance with the young men, docs it not seem that one is watching bacchantes and savages rather than Christians? 35 No wonder the episcopate suppressed a large number of saints' festivals in the late seventeenth century, and continued to do so in the eighteenth· most dioceses had between 40 and 60 such festivals in 1650, but by 17S9 they were reduced to about 30, most of them national rather than local. The attempt was not popular; in the Solognc, in the early eighteenth century, peasants accused the bishop concerned of being responsible for the wars and famines of the time. Reforming bishops could at least formally suppress festivals that seemed too blatantly to mix the sacred with the profane. They could not, however, stop people getting married, or profaning the sacrament with riotous and erotic celebration. Yves-Michel Marchais, cure of Lachapcllc-du-Gcnet, in a highly religious area of the west, seems to have expressed his genuine perplexity in his sermon (given between 1772 and 1788) on marriage celebrations: I really don't understand how certain people can manage to play cards and drink, or to dance and frolic about for as long as the greater part of the day and night, or to sing or rather to bray, yell and howl like the lowest of animals. 36 Marriage for him was a sacrament, not a matter of communal festivity and relaxation. Most cures couldn't stop the drinking and dancing, so they simply stayed away from the noce, One significant aspect of this clerical attempt to separate the sacred and the profane was the attack on 'indecent' images. The Virgin no longer showed her son the breasts that had nourished him, and Saint Agatha no longer showed her luminous breasts on a plate (she had had them cut off for refusing to sleep with a Roman centurion). Animals as well as breasts were considered to be indecent in the iconography ofTridcntinc catholicism. In the diocese ofLc Mans, altarpieces of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries showed only the most reputable of animals (e.g. the ox and the ass at Bethlehem, usually discreetly placed). In 1673, an archdeacon of Paris ordered the churchwardens in

Catholici.rm under the ancien regime

21

two villages to remove the statue of Saint Martin from the altar because the saint was on horseback, and to make him into a bishop - because of the 'indecency· of having him associated with an animal. 37 In 1682 the Bishop of Orleans ordered the cure of Scnncly-en-Sologne to demolish a statue of Saint Anthony with his traditional pig and bury it in the cemetery; the outcry was so great that he had to hide it under the altar of Saint Fiacre instead. (Perhaps the regular offerings of bacon made by parishioners to the pig - thus in effect to the cure - had something to do with it.) Thus by the eighteenth century religious imagery had been sanitized, and clements of the profane banished from representations of the sacred. It was only one of the sillier aspects of the attempt to bring about 'a major shift in religious mentality or sensibility', It certainly meant that sacred images were no longer related to the daily lives of ordinary French men and women. It is true, of course, that the Tridentine attack on popular religion was only partially successful. Parishes continued to go on riotous pilgrimages, 'superstition' continued to flourish, the cult of the saints though banished from the sanctuarv - still attracted the devotions of the people, church bells were alwa~s rung to avert threatening hailstorms, diocesan rituel.r cvcri increased the number of benedictions and exorcisms for the crops (sue~ as those whose purpose was 'to chase away the caterpillars and other animals that spoil the produce of the soil'). 38 Experienced priests in rural parishes tolerated a great deal, and may ev~n. have been quite enthusiastic about certain aspects of popular reltg10n, such as the cult of the saints, especially in Protestant areas. There was indeed a great deal of interaction between official and popular religion. The mass of the people clearly absorbed many aspects ofTridentine catholicism; this was particularly true of the .raniorpars of the population, the rather better-off section, which could often read and even write. Conversely, the clergy was often compelled, or even happy, to add a Christian gloss to ancient pagan practices connected with the crops, fertility, and healing. Much of this has been emphasized in recent writing. 39 But toleration and interaction did not mean that Tridcntine catholicism and popular religion were the same thing, or that the clergy was not engaged in a long campaign to impose its view of the sacred on the mass of the people, whose conception of religion was very different. They had considerable success; more importantly, for our purposes, they often made themselves unpopular in the process. Philip Hoffman has recently shown how strife stemming from the Church's campaign against popular customs amounted to a conflict between two religions or, indeed,

22

A Social HiJtory a/French CatholiciJm 1789-1914 two cultures: the culture of the parish priests, the Church hierarchy, and the urban lay elite, on the one hand, and that of the peasantry on the other.

He has also shown, for the Beaujolais region at least, how the result was intensified conflict between priest and parishioncr. 40 I do not think in fact that there is much doubt that the Tridcntine Church, by its long offensive against popular religion, was storing up for itself trouble for the future. A second notable feature of the version of catholicism presented to French men and women in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and which many may have found difficult to accept, was the contemptu.r mtmdi, the rejection of the world. Typical is the letter of Tronson, head of the Sulpician Order, to a scminarist: If vou wish to partake of the heritage ofJesus in paradise, that is, not to' be damned eternally and to be blessed in heaven for ever. you must take it upon yourself entirely to renounce the world and to bid it an eternal farewell.' 11 Tronson was a seventeenth-century figure, but his work remained immensely influential in the seminaries, and in the eighteenth century little would change. Yves-Michel Marchais preached the same doctrine to his rural congregation in the 1770s and 1780s: No, my brethren, there is nothing in this world that should charm us or detain us, or attach us to it, because we are not of this world and because as Christians we have solemnly renounced it, since to deserve the name of Christian and to enter the bosom of the Church, we have openly condemned and rejected its pomp, its doctrines, and its vanities. The joys, the pleasures, the happiness of life are always dangerous and almost always fatal; the games, laughter, and amusements of the world arc like the mark of damnation and are gifts given us by God in his anger. Whereas tears and suffering are the sign of God's pity and a certain promise of salvation. It was a religion obsessed by death - thus Marchais again: Let us all remember together that soon our career will be ended, that our last hour is ready to strike, and that the longer we have lived the less time we have left to live, that we are hanging by a thread, that our grave is already open beneath our feet, and that at the first shock we shall be precipitated into it.'12

CatholiciJm under the ancien regime

23

This was absolutely typical of eighteenth-century catholicism - and not merely because death was more present in life than it is today. Happiness was to be sought in the next world, not in this one. The Christian (said Tronson) would never pick flowers for the pleasure of smelling them, or stand idly looking out of the window to take pleasure in the scene. Jesus never laughed; it is true that the Jansenist Nicole was the originator of this extraordinary statement, but Bossuet and others readily took it up. A rigorist like the abbe Rance, reformer of the Trappist Order, could even attack the Benedictines for taking a dangerous pleasure in erudition. One was certainly supposed to work, and idleness was ·a sin; but work was a penance, and man must earn his living by the sweat of his brow because of the sin of Adam and Eve. Thus both labour and relaxation were excluded from the realm of the sacred; the catholicism presented to the faithful concerned itself almost ~elusively with the other world, and bore little relation to daily life in this one. A third notable feature of catholicism in France under the ancien regime was its intense emphasis on moral behaviour, its obsession with guilt and sin, rather than with more strictly spiritual values. As one eighteenth-century preacher succinctly put it: 'Our religion ... is but a continual teaching of the infinite malice and fatal consequences of sin; in its aids, in its graces, it only preserves from sin. ' 43 Jean Delumeau · s great book Le Pee he et Ia peur is an extended analysis of the hyper-culpabilization of the faithful in western Christianity - a phenomenon which he locates between the thirteenth and eighteenth centuries. It was certainly rampant under the ancien regime. Thus a Traite de Ia foi de.r .rimple.r emphasized in 1770 the necessary liaison between this morality and the mysteries of Jesus Christ. ... There is not a single mystery of Jesus Christ which does not furnish us with models and reasons for our most essential duties. The Church, in celebrating each year all these mysteries, puts before the eyes of its children the obligations which those mysteries impose, and which are a consequence of them. The Circumcision, for example, teaches us to reject the works of the flesh - as do our Lord's passion and death. As Michele Menard remarks, 'the scandal of the Cross and the victory over death, after having been the revelation of pure love. become, in a certain sense, a springboard for asceticism· .'14 The spiritual dimensions of the Christian message were being swallowed up by the moral ones. Sister Elizabeth Germain has made a fascinating study of catechisms (perhaps the

24

A Social H£rtory of French Catholict:rm 1789-1914

religious expression to which the mass of the people were most exposed), showing how they became increasingly obsessed with morality. 45 The new catechism of the diocese of La Rochelle, published in 1717, was a classic case. The first question asked 'What is the catechism?' and the reply was: 'It is a simple course of instruction in which one learns what one must believe and what one must do to be saved.' Instead of concentrating on the loving relationship between God and man, expressed in the Mystery ofJesus's life on earth, it is exclusively concerned with what vou have to believe and what you have to do. Virtue is presented as a ~cries of clearly delineated behaviour patterns, rather than as the free expression of a spiritual faith. This became the standard pattern for eighteenth-century catechisms, typical of a religion which was excessively concerned with morality. Above all it was excessivelv concerned with sexual morality. The human bod~ was an object ~f shame and repulsion. Tronson had advised clerics, when dressing, to pick up their underwear 'with sentiments of compunction ... lamenting the loss of our innocence' .46 At the end of the eighteenth century, Marchais preached that everything that might be called an act of impurity or an illicit action of the flesh. when done of one's own free will, is intrinsically evil and almost always a mortal sin, and consequently grounds for exclusion from the Kingdom of God. He added that this applied to sin in the mind as well as to overt actions; every deliberate and uncontrolled sexy thought was a mortal sin. 47 This was of course a very old tradition in the Church. It seems, however, that the Tridentine Church even further intensified the culpabilization of human sexuality. The Middle Ages, according to John Bossy, had centred its moral tradition on the seven deadly sins, and it held those of the spirit (pride, envy, and anger) to be more serious than those of the body (gluttony, lechery, and sloth). 48 With the Catholic Reformation, sexual sin - amalgamated in the term 'concupiscence' - appears to have become the sin par excellence. In catechisms of the seventeenth century, the sixth commandment (adultery) takes over from the seventh (theft); a late sixteenth-century catechism has 34 pages on the former and 60 on the latter, compared with a 1635 version which has 30 and 13 pages respectively 49 This obsession with sexual sin was probably intensified in France in the eighteenth century, asJansenists and antiJansenists competed for the high moral ground. The great weapon of moralization and culpabilization was of course the confessional. If we follow John Bossy, medieval confession was a

CatholiCZ:rm under the ancien regime

25

system for regulating collective behaviour, emphasizing 'social' sins and the necessity for reparation and reconciliation; from the sixteenth century. it became an instrument of interior discipline for individuals. By the same process (although here Bossy is not convinced) it became primarily concerned with sexual sin. 50 It was precisely that, however, which made auricular confession a failure: if we are to judge by the repeated laments of eighteenth-century preachers, the faithful stubbornly refused to confess sexual sins. The cure of Sennely-en-Sologne reckoned that men and women who slept together before marriage would not confess it until their death-bed - any more, indeed, than they would confess to any 'crimes honteux et punissables' except in articulo mortt:r. His description is probably true of confession in rural France in general under the ancien regime: \

They approach it without any examination of their conscience . and when they are at the feet of the priest .. _they've done nothing, they accuse themselves of nothing, they laugh, they talk about their miserable condition and their poverty, they make excuses, they defend themselves when the priest reproaches them with some sin he's seen them commit ... they make accusations against everybody else and excuse themselves, in a word. they do everything in confession except what they should be doing, which is confessing their sins in sorrow and sincerity .... They justify their wickedness, thev minimize their faults, they tell of their real sins between clenched teeth so that the priest can't hear .... It is certain that there are few good confessions. 51

A fourth notable feature ofTridentine catholicism was that it was to be clerically controlled. All groups with a religious orientation but not directly subject to the clergy were viewed with extreme suspicion and often hostility. The reformed clergy was determined to have a verv much higher social and religious status than its predecessors. Was it a~ accident that, on the altarpieces in the diocese ofLe Mans, the gesture of benediction made by God the Father looked suspiciously like that made by the cure each Sunday? It was certainly not an accident that the old images of saints were often replaced by new ones representing them as bishops (we have already seen the case of Saint Julien). In 1648, in the diocese of Sens, there was an old statue of Saint Eloi as a blacksmith (which is what he had been); it was an object of popular veneration, but the bishop had it replaced by a new statue of the saint as a bishop and the old one buried (the parishioners dug it up). This new clergy was very touchy about tts power, and thus looked askance at old confraternities

26

CatholiCZ:rm under the ancien regime

A Social Ht~rtory a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

that led an independent existence. They were thus often hostile to the penitents, which reforming bishops tried to bring under clerical control, and to other confraternities as well. Thus the bishop of Orleans decreed in 1749 that no confraternity might exist without the consent of the local cure, that only those of exemplary behaviour could be admitted, and that all members must confess and take rommunion at Easter and on major feast days (i.e. take part in the religious life of the parish, rontrolled by the priest). The clergy was similarly hostile to the existence of rural chapels, often the locus of spontaneous popular devotions which threatened to escape from clerical control and to divert the faithful from the parish religion where the cure was master. So far as they were c(\ncerned, the Church was not the community of the faithful, but a body under the control of the clergy. The catechism used in the diocese of Bordeaux in the eighteenth century defined the Church as 'the society of all those faithful Christians who, professing the true faith, obey their legitimate pastors and principally our holy Father the Pope' .52 Many other catechisms similarly defined the Church as an essentially hierarchical institution, and it was a perception which would last a long time. The Tridentine model of catholicism was thus purveyed by an authoritarian clergy, in a strictly hierarchical Church. What they were purveying was a difficult and demanding religion, developed by and for a religious (often monastic) elite; it required an asceticism scarcely appropriate to the everyday life of the Catholic layman. Even when adapted by a Saint Fran(,:ois de Sales to make the vie det;ote seem accessible to ordinary mortals, it still sounds pretty intolerant of human weakness. In any case, what most French men and women were exposed to was probably more like the religion of Yves-Michel Marchais. as summed up by Fran~ois Lebrun: The content as a whole is striking in its total coherence. It rests on a fundamental pessimism coupled with an unshakeable certainty, and results in a religion not of joy, but of suffering and fear .... The major motive force of the Christian life is less the freely consented love of God and the disinterested practice of good than the fear of sin and of the hell which is its ronsequence, less the love of one's neighbour than the search for individual salvation .... In his [Marchais'sl mouth the Bonne Nouvelle often seems to be reduced to a narrow and rigorous moralism, a systematic rejection of a world presented as wholly incompatible with salvation. 53 To impose this model of Christianity, the reformed clergy had to make men and women afraid. The asceticism and self-repression

27

required c_ould only be achieved by ordinary mortals if they thought the cost of ~adure was very h1gh. It could not have been higher: eternal damnation. More or less consciously, the Tridentine clergy brandished ~he w~apon of hell-fire and damnation in order to bring the faithful Into The acknowledged champion in the genre was Father Bndame ( 1701-67), the preacher of 256 major missions. Here he is in fine form, preaching his sermon on hell:

!me.

To ~ive you. only some s!ight idea of hell, imagine firstly all the tembl~ ~um.sh~ents wh1ch God sometimes visits upon men on earth: mf1rm1ty, Illness, sudden death, adversity, loss of lawsuits .. . hunger, raging thirst ... cruel famine, bloody war, flood, fire .. . then gather together all the sufferings undergone by the poor wretches of our hospitals, .raging toothache, the stabbing pain of gout, the convulswns of epilepsy, burning fever, broken bones, disloc.ated joints, violent colic, throbbing headache, the unbearable pam of gallstones .... [Then add to all this) all the tortures undergone by the martyrs: sharp swords, iron combs, the teeth of lions and tigers, the rack, ~he whe?l, the cross, red-hot grills, boiling oil, melted lead, burnmg braziers, in a word, all that the fury of tyrants, or rather of demons, invented for the torture of the first Christians. ~ven after all that, the preacher concluded, he had failed to give his listeners an adequate idea of hell. 54 Bridaine may have been more lurid than some of his contemporaries, but he was a quintessence rather than an exceptwn; the threat of damnation - damnation of a very physical kmd - was a common resource of nearly all preachers in the eighteenth ~entury. They were, furthermore, inexhaustible on the subject of the small number of the elect. Many are called, but few are chosen; camels have ~xtraordinary difficulty in getting through the eyes of needles; strait Is the gate and narrow the way, and few there be that enter therei~: these were the ~criptural commonplaces of eighteenth-century preachmg on the subject, intended to demonstrate that the vast majority of Catholics.- if they did not mend their ways -were destined straight for hell, wh1ch was a very unpleasant place indeed. Not everyon~ has agreed that the preaching of hell-fire and damnatwn was as widespread as I am suggesting, or that the Catholic faithful took it very seriously. 55 But there is no doubt that catholicism in eighteenth-century France was a religion of fear, and that the threat of in~inite suffering was an important element of it. The only real attenuation of this jJastorale de Ia peur was the doctrine of purgatory, Purgatory had the great advantage, from the point of view of the

28

A Social I-It:rtory a_( French Catholicism 1789-1914

faithful, that you would ultimately get out of it. It seems, furthermore, that in eighteenth-century Provence the iconography of purgatory put more emphasis on ultimate deliverance than on the suffering soul in flames. 56 But purgatory was still often presented as a mini-hell, 'a prison full offire lit by the anger of God' ( 1776), 57 and even the most venial of unexpurgated sins would get you there. The fact that you might ultimately make it to heaven, moreover, scarcely made the prospect of purgatory less terrifying; indeed, it enabled preachers to threaten almost .everybody with intense suffering in order to try and make them practise the demanding and ascetic morality of Triclentine catholicism. That people took it seriously is shown by the profusion of masses for the soul requested in testaments; the decline of such demands may thus be seen as an early sign of the rejection of this model of catholicism. The Jansenists were probably less inclined than most to elwell on the sufferings of the damned - although more convinced of the small number of the elect. In most respects, however, they were the ultimate expression of Triclentine catholicism. They were the bitterest opponents of popular religion, the greatest enemies of the flesh, the most thoroughgoing rejectors of the world. They were an urban elite, the 'hcresie cultivee' par excellence ,58 trying harder than anyone to impose on the masses the extreme form ofTriclentine catholicism. (The deviant J ansenism of the convulrlonnaires may be a rather different story.) In many ways, Jansenism was not so much a heresy as the logical extreme of orthodox catholicism. There has been a tendency to see Jansenists as the only exponents of the radical pessimism and exaggerated asceticism described in this chapter. In fact, however, they only took to extremes the nexus of attitudes which were in milder forms typical of the mainstream catholicism of the clay. What this chapter has tried to argue is that the version of catholicism presented in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to the mass of French men and women was the religion of a small urban and clerical elite, intolerant of the diverse forms of popular religion, obsessed with morality, sexually repressive, and aiming to traumatize the masses into accepting it by the threat of damnation. This presentation must look unsympathetic and indeed intolerant. It forgets that eighteenth-century France was full of Catholics who struggled to enrich their spiritual lives; the century of the Enlightenment may not have seen the proliferation of great spiritual figures that marked its predecessor, but it did produce (for example) a M. Emery, who managed to keep his integrity and his faith in the cauldron of the Revolution, and an enormous number of lesser men who have no memorial. Christophle Sauvageon,prieur-cure

Catholicism under the ancien regime

29

of Sennely-en-Sologne, and Yves-Michel Marchais, cmi ofLachapelledu-Genet, may have'purveyed what seems to us an alienating religion, but their personal dedication is unquestionable. Marchais was to prove it in the Revolution, and his flock were to demonstrate that thev had not rejected his faith (ninety-six men, women, and children fro~ that parish died violent deaths at the hands of the armies of the Republic). One should not therefore underestimate the spiritual richness of eighteenth-century France. It remains difficult, however, for someone of the generation of Vatican II - whether Catholic or not - to regard Tridentine catholicism with a sympathetic eye. In any case, the point is not one· sown reactions but those of people at the time. The first half of the eighteenth century seems to have been the high-water mark in the success of this kind of religion in France: it was not only universally purveyed by the clergy, but at least externally accepted by the faithful. The second half of the century, however, saw the coming together of a number of signs that elements of the French population were rejecting it. These signs can be read (sometimes with difficulty) in falling church attendance, fewer vocations to the priesthood or the monastic life, the secularization of testaments and of private libraries, the decline of confraternities, and perhaps the increase of illegitimacy and bridal pregnancy. To many historians, these are the initial signs of a modern dechristianization. But, as Jean Delumeau has pointed out repeatedly, what we are looking at is the rejection, by some elements, of a partiwlar model of catholicism. 59 The rejection appears to ha~e begun with the elite - to judge from recruitment to the priesthood, libraries, and confraternities (wills tell a more complex story); it would not visibly spread to the mass of the people until the nineteenth century. Even the nineteenth century would not (as we shall discover) see a linear process of abandonment of catholicism by an ever-expanding proportion of the population. What it did see, and what historians have largely failed to notice, was the beginning of a painful process of reassessment on the part of the Church, whereby the Tridentine model of catholicism was rethought and gradually abandoned. Before that agonizing reappraisal could take place, however, Tridentine catholicism in France was faced by an onslaught that it was ill-prepared to withstand: the Revolution.

The Revolution

2 The Revolution

There is no doubt that the French Revolution was a watershed in the history of catholicism in France. It saw the destruction of the idea that Church and State were an inseparable unity; the disastrous results of the attempt to revive that idea in the 1820s would demonstrate how decisively it had been rejected. It saw the end of universal religious practice: the pressures that had made nearly everyone a regular churchgoer in the eighteenth century would never be revived. Finally, and perhaps most crucially, it saw so bitter a division between Catholics and republicans that it would be impossible, for nearly another two centuries, for the two to understand each other. Too much blood was spilt in the 1790s, too many atrocities committed by both sides, for ·either to forgive or forget. The nineteenth century was thus lived in the long shadow of the Revolution: the religious divisions of the revolutionary decade would constitute the major fault-line in French politics until at least the First World War. In all matters of the public role of the Church in society, it was the legacy of the Revolution that mattered. In some ways, however, the Revolution was more a caesura than a watershed. The Catholic clergy would spend much of the nineteenth century trying to re-establish in France the kind of religion that had dominated before 1789 - that kind of religion which I have called (perhaps unfairly) Tridentine: clerical, hostile to 'the world', moralizing, fear-based. They were all the more able to do this, inasmuch as those elements of the clergy which had been unsympathetic to the Tridentine model had tended to support the Revolution, and the ultimate victory of the Roman Church, sealed by the return of the Bourbons in 1814-15, meant that such contestataire elements were crushed. The post-Revolution clergy thus had considerable success in re-establishing ·. the old model - to the degree that the mid-nineteenth century has been \

31

referred to as the Indian summer of Tridentine catholicism. It was ~nly very slowly and tentatively that some clerics began to feel their way towards another model of the Catholic faith, in which a God of love replaced a God of fear. In the long term, this may have been an even more important change than the seismic disturbances of the 1790s. In 1789, at the calling of the States-General, no one had any idea that those disturbances were going to occur. The idea that the Church would not be intimately linked with the new State was - even to most of the deists and atheists of the Enlightenment - simply unthinkable. In any case, the clergy and the revolutionaries seemed, in the half-light of that revoludonary dawn, to have shared interests and aspirations. The Third Estate - if we are to judge by their cahiers de do!eances - did certainly want some fairly radical reforms in the Church. They often wanted an end to the fiscal exemptions of the clergy: clerical wealth was not exactly untaxed, as priests paid decimes to the Church, which in turh gave a quinquennial don gratuit to the king' s coffers, but the overall result was that the Church as a body was taxed at a very much lower rate than the Third Estate. /Third Estate caht'ers were also hostile to the caStte! (fees for clerical services, particularly baptisms, marriages, and burials), and to the level of the tithe, criticized by 37 per cent of cahiers - though only 10 per cent of them wanted the tithe abolished altogether. There was a considerable call for the revenues of the tithe, and the Church's wealth in general, to be distributed more equitably, with more of it going to the parish priests and less to the upper clergy and great monastic houses. The latter were the object of widespread demands for reform, although only 4 per cent of the cahie1:r wanted their complete suppression; there was particular hostility to the abuse of cotmnende, whereby the headships of houses were held in commendam by absentees who were priests in name only and who drew enormous revenues from monastic endowments and tithes. About one cahier in four envisaged using part of the Church's wealth to solve the problem of the national debt that had led to the calling of the StatesGeneral in the first place, but only 2 per cent of them wanted total expropriation. In general, the voice of the Third Estate (to the degree that it spoke through the cahiers de do!eances) wanted some quite r,.~dical changes, mostly in the direction of a religion utz!e; the Enlightenment principle of utility led to hostility to religious orders and to a manifestly over-endowed upper clergy, but to great favour for the parish priest. At no point, however, did that or any other principle lead the spokesmen of the Third Estate to attack the Catholic religion as such, or to question its central role in the activities of the State . 1

32

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

Many of the cahiet:r of the First Estate suggest that at least the parish clergy were prepared to accept a number of these reforms and sacrifices. They themselves denounced the abuses in the religious orders (particularly that of commende), the multiple holding of benefices and the absenteeism that went with it, the maldistribution of Church wealth .. They also shared many of the purely political aspirations of the Third Estate: a majority of clerical cahien called for things like periodic sessions of the States-General, approval of taxation, and some form of habeas corpus - in return for which they were usually prepared to cede all fiscal privilege. That this kind of demand should have surfaced in many of the clerical cahiet:r was not in fact: surprising, because elements of the clergy had been in ferment for some considerable time; particularly in the south-east, there had been an aggressive campaign against the inequalities of wealth and power in the Church. The issue was in part simply one of money. The material situation of the pre-Revolutionary clergy varied wildly. In the north and west, parish priests were usually comfortably off, living the life of local notables; most of them received tithe revenues directly, and only a minority (5-25 per cent) were reduced to the jJortion congrtte, the regular salary paid to parish priests by the bishops, chapters, religious orders, and non-resident priors who received the tithes of the parishes concerned. In other areas, however, and particularly in the south-cast, the proportion of congm£rte.r was much higher, rising to between 60 and 90 per cent. 2 The portion congme had been raised to 700 livre.r by royal decree in 1768, but this rise was often nullified by other provisions of the decree, and in many cases wildly fluctuating grain prices could make a nonsense of a cash income. Thus many parish priests were in fact downwardly mobile: often of bourgeois origin, they found themselves in a very modest financial position, if not real hardship. They were particularly resentful, because their self-image, as well as their local power, depended on the extensive practice of personal charity, for which most did not have adequate resources. The late eighteenth century thus saw a barrage of complaints from the parish clergy, against the unjust distribution of wealth and power within the Church. They centred on the abuse of commende, on the fact that tithes often went not to the cure but to the gro.r decimateur.r, on the noble monopoly of places in the upper clergy and the 'revolting arrogance' of aristocratic bishops, and perhaps above all on the unjust distribution of the decime.r -which clearly fell disproportionately on the parish clergy. In the militant south-east, such demands were summed up by Henri Rcymond 's Cahier de.r cttre.r de Dauphine ( 1789), which was signed by nearly 80 per cent of the curii.r in the diocese of Gap to whom it was submitted. and which demanded

The Revolution

,1

I

33

action on clerical salaries, on tax assessment, on the ca.ruel (cure.r wanted it abolished in favour of a rise in the portiQn congme), on pensions, and so on; it called for a career structure based on merit, and a total redistribution of wealth and power within the Church. Many of these demands were justified by appeal to the doctrine of Richerism: Edmond Richer had argued in 1611 that the cmi.r, as spiritual successors of the seventy-two disciples (according to the Vulgate, Luke X, 1), were of divine institution just as much as were bishops via apostolic succession; they should thus have an important and independent say in the running of the Church. In the south-east therefore, but also in much of the rest of France, many parish cures were in revolt in the years before 1789, contesting the authority structures of the Church. In this they found themselves in much sympathy with many members of the Third Estate, who wanted the Church reformed along very similar lines. This was the basis of the alliance that was to prove crucial at the meeting of the States-General. At a deeper level, however, this alliance was based on something of a misunderstanding. The curii.r wanted not simply a disinterested reform of the Church: they wanted power for themselves. The parish clergy, operating as local notables often with very little competition, had a very high opinion of their own importance. Their vision of a reformed Church was thus one in which they were all-powerful. This was to be achieved largely by a synodal system, whereby the government of each diocese would be essentially in the hands of a synod of cure.r' rather than of the bishop. Furthermore, cmi.r were to have an enhanced role in. society: Reymond 's Cahier wanted them to have the power to get prostitutes locked up and drinking houses closed on Sundays; any wrongdoer should be arrested on simple denunciation by the cttre: charity should be exclusively under the priest's control. Finally. they ~ere to have a total religious monopoly: the cahier de doleance.r of the clergy of Anjou called - not untypically - for the public exercise of religion to be allowed to the Roman Church alone, for the State to suppress all anti-religious propaganda and enforce Sunday rest, and for education to be more tightly under ecclesiastical control. The revolt of the cttre.r, therefore, was squarely in the tradition of the Tridentine Church: their programme was one for a clerical Utopia, with catholicism as the sole religion and its parish clergy fully in control of not only religious but also social life. It was not a programme that was going to appeal greatly to the Third Estate - no matter how much they might agree over other ideas for reform. Necker, who sympathized with the cure.r' demands for reform within the Church, ensured that the voting system in electionsforthc First Estate

!Bl~lken t

Lbr::.ry

34

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

was heavily weighted in their favour. The result was that the body elected to represent the clergy at Versailles was dominated by parish priests, comprising 192 cures, 51 prelates, 16 monks or abbots and 44 other ecclesiastical functionaries. 3 Out of this body came the crucial majority which voted on 19 June to join with the Third Estate -crucial,. because without it the Revolution might well have been stillborn. The vote was in fact a very near-run thing, and it has been argued that the narrow majority was not one for merging with the Third Estate, but merely for verification of powers in common. 4 The majority, furthermore, was not exclusively composed of cures: nearly 20 per cent of the upper clergy supported it, while 35 per cent of the cures voted against. Nevertheless, it is clear that it was the discontent and ideals of the lower clergy that were decisive in getting the Revolution off the ground. The cures might well have been rapidly disappointed by the path that the Revolution began to take. In very short order, the National Assembly abolished the tithe without compensation, nationalized the whole of Church property, abolished the contemplative and mendicant orders and forbade the taking of religious vows, and turned down a proposal that catholicism be declared the State religion. This was far beyond the programme of the cmi.r - or, indeed, the original programme of the Third Estate. But this was a period of rapidly accelerated time, and situations could change literally overnight. The clergy- even the more moderate elements of the upper clergy - was prepared, with reservations, to accept most of this radical redrawing of its position in French society.· On the famous night of 4 August 1789, the National Assembly voted to abolish the tithe, subject to compensation; when this was formally made law on 11 August, compensation had disappeared. The tithe was regarded as an aspect of feudalism, and was thus included in the holocaust of feudal rights and dues into which the Great Fear had frightened the Assembly. The abolition of the tithe was a massive financial loss to the Church. It is estimated that tithe income was, in total, over 100 million iivre.r a year - about the same as the income from the ChurcH's landed property. It is true that in the decree of 11 August the Assembly undertook to finance by some other means the salaries of priests and the running expenses of the Church. Among these expenses, however, were included those of the charitable activities of th~ clergy. Charity had been largely controlled by the Church, bringing enormous power and prestige to the parish priest; the idea had been kicking around in the eighteenth century that it should be a State responsibility, and this idea was now enshrined in law. It would take the French State a very long time to take that responsibility seriously,

The Revolution

35

but the assertion of the principle threatened a nasty blow to the local prestige of the cure.r. The States-General had been called in the first place to deal with the chronic fiscal crisis of the French monarchy. The abolition of privilege on the night of 4 August would go some way towards doing this in the long term, but the dire short-term needs of the French State remained. Money had to be found, and quickly. The idea that the enormous wealth of the Church might do the trick had been floated in the cahiers de doieance.r - though usually in the form of a limited contribution, only 2 per cent envisaging full expropriation. The National Assembly, encouraged by the splendid casuistry of Talleyrand, now took the plunge, and on 2 November 1789 voted by 510 to 346 to place Church property 'at the disposal of the Nation' - subject, once again, to suitable provision being made for 'the expenses of religious worship, the upkeep of its ministers and the relief of the poor'. On 19 December 1789 the sale of the first 400 million iivre.r of Church property was decreed. Most mres in the Assembly were not opposed to these measures in themselves, but they were not (contrary to what is usually said) happy about the proposal to pay parish priests 1,200 iivre.r a year; what they wanted was for each parish to be endowed with enough land to ensure a good income for the priest, including enough to exercise charity. Nevertheless, there was little clerical opposition to the first sales; the French clergy seems to have been largely prepared to accept, if unhappily, this extraordinary development. One wonders if they had a clear idea of what a major social event they were witnessing. Somewhere between 6 and 10 per cent of the surface area of France was about to change hands within a few years. One has only today to flick through the registers of these sales of biens nationattx to get an idea of the magnitude of what was going on. It was not exactly that a new class of land-owning peasants was being created; French republicans (and Marx) would believe firmly for the next century that this is what had happened in the Revolution, but in fact the major part of Church property went, as one might have expected, into the portfolios of the wealthy 5 What was created was a land-owning bourgeoisie with a powerful vested interest in preventing any attempt in the nineteenth century to restore the ancien regime, and in particular the power and wealth of the Church. The Voltairean sympathies of a large element of the French bourgeoisie rhus combined with crude material self-interest to ensure that, in the first half of the nineteenth century in particular, this class tended to be hostile to the Church. The National Assembly certainly did not intend, by the abolition of the tithe and the nationalization of Church property, to be hostile to

36

A Social Hirtory ofFrench CatholiCZ:rm 1789-1914

the parish clergy. It was, however, deliberately hostile to monasticism; the cloistered life was a standing affront to Enlightenment principles of utility, and the abdication of freedom involved in monastic vows seemed an incomprehensible moral turpitude. On 13 February 1790 a decree was therefore passed which forbade the taking of religious vows and abolished all religious orders that had such vows - unless they were engaged in educational or paramedical work, i.e. in useful activities. Existing members of such religious orders could stay together until death, or take a pension; most monks chose the pension, most nuns opted to stay on - including the original model of Diderot's Religieu.re. 6 Monasticism in late eighteenth-century France was so discredited that there was little outcry at this measure. It was, however, another major revolution in the situation of the Church. The secular clergy cared much more about what happened on 17 April 1790, when the Freemason and Carthusian monk Dom Gerle (who would subsequently figure in the foreground of David's pai~ting of the tennis-court oath - quite erroneously, because he wasn't there) interrupted a technical debate on finances to demand that catholicism be declared the State religion. The Assembly, on the double pretext that it could not interfere with the freedom of belief and that its attachment to catholicism could scarcely be impugned when it was in the process of putting the expenses of worship in the forefront of the budget, rejected the proposal. The clerical deputies protested to a man at this 'national apostasy', and in the provinces cure.r who had accepted the nationalization of Church property and the abolition of monastic orders began to have doubts about the Revolution. It was at that point, in Andre Latreille's words, 'that the fissure between patriots and the representatives of the Galli can Church appeared and grew'. 7 The real and decisive split, however, would come at the end of the year, in the aftermath of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy. This document, intended to be part of the constitution as a whole, was voted on 12 July 1790. In many ways, it incorporated the demands of the lower clergy. The jumbled mosaic of ancien regime dioceses was abolished; each new department was to be a diocese - a reform which has survived pretty well to 'the present day. All ecclesiastical positions without cure of souls - and particularly those held in commendam were abolished, thus wiping out many sinecures of the upper clergy. Bishops were now required to have served at least fifteen years in the parish clergy (or in seminary teaching) - i.e. the cure.r' demand for a career open to talents was satisfied. Bishops' salaries were fixed at a relatively modest 12,000 livre.r; they were required strictly to reside in their dioceses. They were to be flanked by a council, consisting largely of

The Revolution

37

wre.r, whose advice they must seek in all matters of diocesan government. Cures were guaranteed a salary of at least 1,200 livre.r- not a lot for those who had benefited directly from the tithe, but a swingeing increase on the old portion congme (700 livre.r). There was thus a lot for the militant lower clergy to be pleased about: the power of the upper clergy was decisively destroyed. They were not pleased, however, about what was perhaps the major feature of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy: election by laymen. Bishops and cure.r were to be chosen by 'active' citizens- i.e. those who paid taxes to the value of at least three clays' labour. This did of course further break the power of the episcopate, but it was not what the cures had in mind: they wanted a synodal solution, whereby the bishops were elected by the cure.r themselves. The National Assembly insisted on applying the principle of popular sovereignty. This was a very serious matter for priests steeped in the Tridentine tradition: the idea that the clergy should be subject to lay control was quite unacceptable. The difficulties that the Civil Constitution of the Clergy was to encounter are not normally ascribed to this incompatibility between a clericalized religion and the principle of popular sovereignty, but there is no doubt that it was an important factor. The same clash over the fundamental source of authority in the Church - lay or clerical? - was even more acute in another form. The National Assembly was utterly convinced that it represented the nation, and that its sovereignty was thus absolute. The Civil Constitution was therefore an emanation of the popular will, and there was no question of negotiating with the Church. This was partly because it was drawn up by lawyers formed in the old Gallican tradition, who had no intention of giving the Pope any say in the matter. There was no question of calling a national council either. since every single member of the existing episcopate was an aristocrat. There was thus no acceptable way in which the Church could have been consulted anyway. But the more fundamental problem concerned the question of ultimate authority: the National Assembly saw itself as sovereign, and sovereignty was not negotiable. The Church, however, could not accept that it / might be dictated to by the popular will. This was the sticking-point; as Boisgelin, Archbishop of Aix, said, it was absolutely necessary, for such fundamental changes, 'to have recourse to the intervention of a national council or the head of the universal Church' .8 For various reasons, the Pope didn't get around to condemning the Civil Constitution until the papal brief Quod aliquantum of 10 March 1791. When it came, it was little short of a condemnation of the funcla" mental principles of the Revolution: equality and liberty, said the

38

A Social H£rtory of French Catholicimz 1789-1914

Pope, were words empty of meaning; royal power came not from the social contract but from God himself. But by that time the Assembly had taken a fateful and fatal step: on 27 November 1790, it decreed that all clergy paid by the State must swear an oath of loyalty to the Civil Constitution; those who refused would be considered to have resigned. It is possible that the deputies of the Third Estate saw this as a solidarity rite, and did not expect the oath to be widely refused though they were warned enough in debate. At any rate, they were in for a nasty shock. Only seven bishops (including the flagrant unbelievers Talleyrand and Lomenie de Brienne, and three bishops in partibtt.r) took the oath; just over half (between 52 and 55 per cent) of the parish clergy did so.') Motivations for taking or refusing the oath were very mixed, and no doubt many did not realize the seriousness of the issues at stake. But for those who did not swear it, the refi'(lctaire.r, one fundamental issue - perhaps only vaguely perceived by many was once again the source of authority. The National Assembly was arrogating to itself the right to legislate in spiritual matters, without consulting the Church. Many non-juring cttre.r said they approved of the Revolution, but could not accept the invasion of the State into religious matters. Many of them tried to add various restrictions to their oath, basically along the lines of 'excepting spiritual matters'. If the revolutionary authorities had accepted such restrictions, it is quite probable that the vast majority of the lower clergy would have happily taken the oath. But those who believed that popular sovereignty was one and indivisible could not accept that it was subject to any no-go areas, even spiritual ones. So, after some initial hesitations by local authorities, the whole oath and nothing but the oath was imposed. Nearly half the parish clergy could not bring themselves to swear it well knowing that this meant at the very least the loss of their salary, and probably the abandonment of their flock. In many ways, the 1791 oath may be considered a referendum on the Tridentine model of catholicism. Those who rejected the oath were, by and large, those who accepted a hierarchical Church, in which authority cascaded down from the Pope and the bishops, and in which laymen had no authority at all. Timothy Tackett has made a fascinating study of the justifications that refractaire.r offered for their rejection of the oath; he observes that a great many of them 'viewed their predicament through the optic of a rigidly clisciplinecj and hierarchical church, particularly as that church had been reordered and restructured after the Council of Trent and the Catholic Reformation'. 111 They felt that the oath was part and parcel of a wider attack on hierarchy, through lay election, a role for the lower clergy in the government of dioceses, and

The Revoltttion

39

so on. (This was no doubt one of the reasons why the bishops were almost universally hostile to the oath.) Those who swore the oath, the jurettr.r, tended by contrast to see themselves less as authority figures and more as priests operating in a lay community; they seem to have shared, in varying degrees, the Enlightenment ideal of the 'citizen priest'. Some jurettr.r referred to Enlightenment buzz words like 'happiness' and 'utility'. Refractaire.r seem also to have been those who accepted Triclentine values in a more general way: in their seminary clays, they had been the sort of student who was noted as 'pious', i.e. docile in his acceptance of the dominant model of clerical behaviour, emphasizing humility and self-effacement; they were also noted as .-_ gentle, prudent, and virtuous.}ttrem'.f were more likely to have been in trouble in their seminary days, for things like drink, quarrelling, hunting, and sex. They tended, overall, to be less docile in the acceptance of authority, less arrogant in the assertion of their own, and less complete in their rejection of the world. This cannot be said of all of them: there were a multitude of other reasons for taking the oath (not the least of them being crude self-interest). There was an interesting minority, however, for whom the acceptance of the oath was motivated in part at least by an uneasiness about the dominant model of catholicism under the ancien regime> As in all matters connected with French religious history. attitudes depended a lot on where you were. The proportion of jure11r.r ranged from 96 per cent in the Var to less than 10 per cent in the Bas-Rhin or the Vendee. The overall map of oath-taking is a very interesting one. 11 It bears more than a passing resemblance to the map of religious practice in the twentieth century (see p. 171), and to many other maps of religious behaviour in France over the past two centuries (see chapter 6). A correlation of departmental figures for refusing of the oath in 1791 and those for taking of Easter communion in the 1950s in fact produces a figure of r = +0. 7 - remarkably high for phenomena so distant in time. Tackett therefore presents the oath as 'a seminal event in its own right', establishing the religious geography of France for the next two centuries. He does not, however, want to see it as reflecting a religious geography that already existed before the Revolution, and argues that explanations for the rate of oath-taking differed according to region; he is particularly struck by the fact that there appears to be no correlation between the regional distribution of vocations to the priesthood in the eighteenth century and that of tl!.e taking of the oath. There are some difficulties about this. For example, the oath map does coincide quite closely with that of religious books as a percentage of the literate population; furthermore, most regional studies show a distribution of

40

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

oath-taking very similar to that of pre-revolutionary indices of fervour -including vocations to the priesthood. What seems to have happened is that the clergy, by an osmosis of which they were scarcely aware, were expressing the attitudes of their flock. Those priests who lived and laboured in an environment that was already less fervent in its acceptance of the Tridcntinc model of catholicism were more likely to accept the National Assembly's assertion of its sovereignty, and less likely to struggle for the spiritual independence of the Church. The 1791 oath was thus certainly a seminal event, but it was also the crystallization of a pre-existing geography of religious fervour - at least if fervour is to be defined as willing acceptance of the Tridcntinc model of catholicism. After the Civil Constitution of the Clergy, and the oath, the die was cast. The Revolution and the Church (half of it at least) were set on a . collision course. What had happened to the unity between the clergy and the Third Estate that had been such a crucial factor in 1789? It is not easy to say. In part, that unity had been based on a misunderstanding: the cure.r wanted power for themselves and a dominant role for the Church, whereas the revolutionary bourgeoisie merely shared their antipathy to privilege. Everyone was agreed that the Catholic religion was an integral part of French public life, but there was a fundamcrhal disagreement about who was to be master. Thus the National Assembly would not accept catholicism as the State religion, and it was determined to base the new Church firmly in the sovereignty of the French people - hence election by active citizens, not by the clergy itself. The Church must cease to be an independent corporation ofFrcnch society. This fundamental disagreement was not helped by the way in which the Assembly found itself engaged in a massive exercise in expropriation of the revenues and properties of the Church. These financial measures were not, however, crucial; the clergy was prepared grudgingly to accept them. What was crucial was the issue of the ultimate source of authority, and in the Civil Constitution and the oath it surfaced in a fairly clear-cut way. Priests who regarded catholicism as something brought to an unquestioning laity by an omniscient and omnipotent clergy could never really have come to terms with popular sovereignty. Before the French Church could live comfortably with a regime based on that principle, it would have to jettison many of the characteristics which it had so painstakingly built up in the preceding centuries. From early 1791 on, the story of relations between the French State and the refractory clergy is one of accelerating hostility and violence. The immediate problem was that, although most of the bishops rapidly left France of their own accord, most of the non-juring cure.r, instead

The Revolution

41

of meekly resigning, stayed put. legally, they were replaced by constitutional priests, but the arrival in the parish of an unwanted outsider, an intrtt.r, was often a source of bitter conflict. Parishioners frequently set out to make his life miserable, and many refractory priests attempted to offer a competing service in the sacraments. French parishes were very tight-knit and unanimist institutions, and the new priest was often felt to be, and made to feel, a real intruder. As thousands of such local conflicts intensified bitterness, national events added fuel to the fire. louis XVI insisted on taking Easter communion from a non-swearing priest, and then on 20 June 1791 he and his family attempted to flee the country; they were stopped near the border, at Varennes. Louis had left behind documents justifying his flight on religious grounds, announcing his intention to return and restore religion. He thus made very plain the connection between counter-revolution and the refractory clergy, a connection that would become ever clearer in the minds of militant revolutionaries. On 1 October 1791 the new Legislative Assembly met. Its predecessor had always contained the solid phalanx of the clergy of the First Estate, but the new body contained only twenty clerics, all jurem:s and few of them outspoken. After May 1792 it would come under the control of the loose-knit body of men known to history as the Girondins. They were mostly outspoken opponents of catholicism, sometimes frankly atheist; their chief spokesman, Brissot, and their rallying point, Madame Roland, had both been deeply influenced by Rousseau and the Vicaire .rat10yard. 12 On 20 April 1792 warsupported for conflicting reasons by almost everybody - was declared against Austria; when it went badly, a clergy that had set itself against the sovereignty of the people and which manifestly looked to salvation from abroad was likely to become an object of suspicion and hatred. Thus events followed rapidly upon each other. making the refractory clergy an ever more pariah body in French society. The revolutionaries took action against them, and they did not usc the velvet glove. The culminating pieces of legislation were the decree of 27 May 1792, providing for the deportation of any refractaire denounced by twenty active citizens (in troubled parishes, a single denunciation would suffice}, and that of 26 August, at a particularly difficult moment of the war (after the Brunswick manifesto), providing that all refractaires must leave France within fifteen days, or be deported to French Guiana; the ill and the aged would be grouped under surveillance in the chief town of each department. The legislators' response to national crisis was, however, of a different order from that of clements of the Parisian sansculottcs. Between 2 and 4 September 1792, when Paris seemed to be threatened with destruction

v

42

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

by the Austrians, crowds entered some of the capital's prisons and massacred the inmates. Of more than a thousand who lost their lives, between 220 and 260 were priests. They were beatified by the Church in the early twentieth century, in the carefully cultivated belief that they had been massacred for refusing to swear an oath (that of liberte-egalite) which they perceived as incompatible. with the Catholic faith. It is now clear, however, that they were killed because the sansculottes involved had an unshakeable conviction that the clergy was engaged in a plot to overthrow the Revolution with the help of the Austrians. No doubt the .reptembrirettr.r were violently anticlerical, but what got their bloodlust up (apart from alcohol) was the belief thatthe clergy was an ever-present threat to the Revolution and to national security . 13 But, whatever the cause, it is clear that the September massacres - never properly disowned by the government - established an unbridgeable barrier of hatred between the revolutionary militants and the refractory clergy. Combine'd with the legislation mentioned earlier, they drove the vast majority of non-swearing priests (and some constitutionals who had refused the new oath of liberte-egalite) from the country. The old episcopate had mostly left much earlier; now some 30,000 priests became iitmgre.r (usually in fact deportees), thus ever more dearly identifying themselves with counter-revolution and foreign invasion. In its last session, on 20 September 1792, the Legislative Assembly passed a measure which was less anticlerical in intent but which was destined to mark French society even more durably: the secularization of the registration of births, marriages, and deaths. For centuries this had been done by the parish clergy; even Protestants (until 1787) had no legal existence or marriage unless they were baptised or married by the cttre. The legislators certainly thought that it was more appropriate for the State to keep such records, and they probably thought it was yet another good way of getting at the clergy, but what really precipitated the measure was the conflict on the ground between the juring and non-juring clergy, each denouncing the validity of the other's sacraments, such that in many cases the parish registers were very incomplete. The keeping of vital records was thus placed in the hands of the municipalities - usually, it would turn out, the maire. Marriage was now regarded as a purely civil contract. The Legislative Assembly also legislated for divorce - including divorce on the grounds of mutual consent. Napoleon would restrict the grounds but he kept the possibility open for his own purposes; the restored monarchy ended divorce in 1816, and it was not reintroduced till 1884 - in a much more restricted form than that of 1792. The Church, of course, was and has

The Revolution

43

remained resolutelv hostile to the sundering by man of those whom God has joined together. The first half of 1793 saw matters between the Church and the Revolution get even worse. On 21 January the king was executed. which to many Catholics was not just regicide but the murder of the .Lord's anointed. In March insurrection broke out in the Vendee, wtth the refractory clergy clearly lined up on the side of ~ounter-revoluti~n (see p. 49). Via the jottmee of 2 June, the Jacobms took. power 111 the Convention, and the way was cleared for a new phase 1n the struggle between the clergy and the Revolution, a phase known to history as dechristianization. Until the summer of 1793, it had been - in theory at least - the refractory clergy that was the enemy of the Revolution; the constitutionals were still paid, and still continued religious services as best thev could: the traditional Corpus Christi processions. for example,' were still celebrated with some pomp in June 1793. including in Paris. But in the second half of the year an all-out assault was launched on the constitutionals, and on the Catholic religion as such. This was partly because the overthrow of the Girondins on 2 June ha? led to the so-called federalist revolt in many parts of France, and constl-, tutional priests were rather too open in their sympathies with th.ese n~w counter-revolutionaries. But the causes of the surge of dechnstJamzation were more complex than that, and they have been the subject of some fairly intense historical debate. The forms taken by dechristianization in late 1793 depended on individual initiative and local circumstances, but there were basic patterns. Churches themselves, and the imped.imenta of C:atholic worship, were physically attacked: the almost untversal meltm~ down of church bells for cannon and the confiscation of silverware to fmance the war may have been merely measures of national defence, but the mutilation of statues, the breaking up of confessional boxes, and the physical closing of churches themselves were clearly .an. attack on religion. So were the masquerades in which dechnstlamzers often delighted: mock processions and rites deliber~tely flouting th.e sexual taboos of the Church and the sacredness of 1ts ornaments (ltturgtcal vessels and vestments, statues, altars, etc.). The major offensive was conducted against the constitutional clergy (the refractaire.r had emigrated or were hiding - or dead). Priests were cajoled: pressured, and threatened into abjuring their estate; perhaps 20,000 dtd so- ·almost a general abdication of the active clergy', 14 esp~cially if we include the large number who just quietly abandoned thetr pnestly func~wns and never took them up again. The vast majority of those who abdJCated no doubt did so out of fear, but the result was nevertheless an almost total

44

A Social Hirtoty of French Catholidrm 1789-1914

suspension of Catholic worship in France; by the spring of 1794, only perhaps 150 parishes in the whole of the country were publicly celebrating mass. The ne pltt.r ultra of dechristianization was to get priests to marry. We don't know precisely how many did; the figure of between 6,000 and 9,000, frequently quoted, may not be a gross overestimate.15 At any rate, the abdication (formal or informal) of most priests, and the marriage of a minority, meant that the Catholic church in France largely ceased to function in late 1793. Robespierre, who thought it was unwise to make unnecessarv enemies and who was in any case, as a sincere deist and a fierce mo;alizer revolted bv the excesses of dechristianization, tried to stop it. But ~opular and 'local initiatives against the Catholic religion continued well into 1794, and dechristianization may have reached its paroxysm in the spring of that year. Dechristianization may well have been fairly ephemeral; Richard Cobb thought that it usually was. 16 It appears to have had its greatest impact where Catholic fervour was already weak; Michel Vovelle and others have shown that it succeeded best in areas that would later show up as areas of low religious practice. 17 But we should not underestimate the impact of the dechristianizing offensive, coming as it did on the top ()f the destruction of the non-juring clergy. Churches were closed (for a period of time hard to be precise about); people lost the habit of religious practice. and particularly of confession; the catechism, and religious education at school, were missing for a number of years. A whole age cohort, if not a generation, went through its formative years untouched by the Church, and accustomed to its vilification. The most interesting questions about dechristianization concern the nature of the motivations of the dechristianizers. A universal motivation was clearly to attack a church that was perceived - with some justice - to be in league with counter-revolution, whether in the federalist form, or that of the Vendee, or in the form of emigre nobles and foreign powers. But dechristianization was not just the expedient of national defence that the classic historian A~d tried to present it as. Dechristianizers were driven by an often fierce hatred of the clergy and of the Catholic religion. Among the revolutionary petty bourgeoisie this was often couched in the terms of the pht!o.rophe.r, deist or atheist; but among the sansculottes, and among those elements of the peasantry that responded to the campaign, there was a more visceral urge at work to smash the clergy and the Catholic religion. The manifest exhilaration of many dechristianizers suggests more than just patriotism, and something more like the cathartic joy of flouting a constraining authority which has been overthrown. The language is that of

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anti-religious passion - witness the diatribe of one Picot, preaching in the Ariege to the Iocal.rociete popttlaire, in a passage perhaps best left in the decent obscurity of a foreign language. Jesus Christ was, he said, un batard, un jean-foutre, un homme sans pouvoir et qui enfin, en frequentant Ia Magdelaine, en avoit pris le gros lot, que Ia vierge ftoit une putain, le christ son batard, et saint-joseph un connard, ajoutant que s' il y avo it un jean-foutre de dieu, il n' avo it qu' a faire voir sa puissance en venant l' ecraser. 18

'

In the case of Paris, Albert Soboul tried to play down the importance of the Parisian sansculottes in the dechristianizing campaign, arguing that the initiative did not come from the Paris sections and that many true patriots were hostile to it. 19 There is no doubt, however, that anticlericalism - and indeed a hatred of catholicism - was deeply rooted in at least certain sections of the sansculotterle. The origin of this mentalitv has not been researched into, and we don't really know why Paris w~s - and would remain - such a hotbed of anticlericalism. Perhaps the explanation is to be found in the parts of France from which the Parisian population was recruited: migrants to Paris in the years before the Revolution had come disproportionately from those areas immediately to the south-east of the capital, 211 where Catholic fervour had always been weakest. That would not entirely explain the strength of irreligion and anticlericalism among the Parisian sansculottes, but it may have something to do with it. What dechristianizers were clearly doing, in both Paris and the provinces, was reacting violently not just against the Catholic faith, but against that particular model of catholicism that I have termed Tridentine. This can be seen most interestingly in the areas of sexuality and of popular culture. The intense drive to get priests to marry was clearly an attack on the sexually repressive nature of Tridentine catholicism, by forcing priests to admit their own sexuality. Richard Cobb has argued very cogently that much of popular resentment against the clergy was due to the feeling that priests, via the confessional, gained immense power over women - power which belonged by right to the husband, and which was only used to debauch innocent females. The frequent accusation of sexual immorality made against the clergy (with, ]Jy the eighteenth century, very little basis in fact) was an understandable reaction to a clergy that denied its own sexuality and condemned that of others. Here was one of the deep and potent roots of revolutionary dechristianization. It also had roots in the condemnation by the Church of many forms of popular culture: feasts, processions. masquerades,

46

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

and so on. The height of the campaign came in the traditional season of carnival; mock executions of the Pope or the king replaced those of Carmentran. 21 Those forms of popular culture which the Tridentine clergy had tried to suppress in favour of a clericalized religion were taking their revenge, with all the exhilaration of those liberated from an oppressive authority. Revolutionary dechristianization was decisively ended by the fall of theJacobin dictatorship on 9 Thermidor (27 July 1794). The Thermi-\ dorians themselves, it is true, had no intention of relaxing the persecution of the Church; they were thoroughly anticlericaL and some of them were ex-terrorists and dechristianizers. But these 'hard-faced men who had done well out of the Revolution' were more than anything else concerned to save their own skins and fortunes; public opinion, furthermore, was sick of the religious terror as of terror of all kinds. A few priests continued to be guillotined, and on 18 September 1794 the cults budget was abolished - thus denying (as not ev~n the Convention had done) the debt owed to the clergy by the nation for the property taken tn the early days of the Revolution. But the tide was running against religious persecution, and the Thermidorians were gradually compelled to modify their attitude. A decree of 21 Februarv 1795 declared that 'the Republic neither recognizes nor financ~s any religion; it guarantees the free exercise of all religions'. This rather mealy-mouthed declaration of religious toleration led to a massive return of emigre priests, and the restarting of Catholic services all over France. Not all local authorities were in favour of this, but there seems to have been widespread pressure on them to allow it, as the mass of the population demanded the restoration of religious services. Both the constitutional clergy and the refractaire.r were active; many of the faithful do not seem to have been bothered which, so long as services were held and religious baptism, marriage, and burial were available. There seems to have been much less enthusiasm for catechism and confession both key elements ofTridcntine catholicism; what people wanted wa~ not to be indoctrinated and controlled, but a religion concerned with parish life (centred on church services) and rites of passage. 22 Nevertheless, a demand was there, and both clergies responded to it. They got a very bloody nose as a result of the coup of 18 Fructidor (4 September 1797), which was a reaction against the rise of anti-republican forces in France. Much of the old anti-religious legislation was revived, and a new oath of 'hatred of royalty' was imposed on all who celebrated religious services. Those who did not swear the oath (mostly refractaire.r) were subject to deportation to French Guiana, the dry guillotine; 108 ) deportees had the good fortune to be captured by the English, but of

The Revolution

47

the 256 that reached Guiana 118 never returned. Fructidorian persecution was tempered by slovenliness and was thus less bloody than that of the Jacob in period, but it was none the less very real. It came to an end, however, when Napoleon seized power on18 Brumaire (9 November 1799). Napoleon had no strong beliefs where religion was concerned. His religious policy was governed by two main considerations, neither of which had anything to do with spiritual matters. First, he could not sec that it was worth stirring up trouble over religious questions if it could possibly be avoided. His policy, he told the Con.rezl d'Etat, was to govern men as the majority of them want to be governed. That, I believe, is the best way to recognize popular sovereignty. It was by becoming a Catholic that I put an end to the war in the Vendee, by becoming a Musulman that I established myself in Egypt, and by becoming an ultramontane that I won over opinion in Italy. If I governed a people ofJews, I would rebuild the temple ofSolomon. 23 Second, and most important, Napoleon saw religion, in the form of an established Church, as an excellent means of social control. Society needed religion, because it cannot exist without inequality of wealth, and inequality of wealth cannot exist without religion. When a man is dying of hunger next to another who has plenty, it is impossible for him to accept this difference unless there is an authority that tells him: God wills it so, there have to be both poor and rich in the world, but afterwards and for all eternity things will be different. 24

1

Napoleon thus wanted a clergy that would preach resignation and serve as a moral police force on behalf of the state. It was with these ideas in mind that in June 1800 he initiated discussions with Rome for a lasting religious settlement in France. After laborious negotiations, the representatives of Rome and of the First Consul signed a new Concordat in Paris, on 15July 1801. Negotiating from a position of strength, Napoleon got a lot of what he wanted. He got the Pope to instruct all existing bishops to resign their sees; to Napoleon this was crucial, in order to overcome the destructive conflict between refractory and constitutional clergies by the creation of a wholly new episcopate. He got the right to nominate bishops, the Pope merely conferring canonical institution, and the right to vet the bishops· choices of parish priests; his aim of creating a

48

The Revolution

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

wrps of 'prefects in purple' for purposes of social and political control was thus realized. The clergy were to take an oath of loyalty to the Government - despite all the trouble that oath-taking had caused in the previous decade. Finally, he got the Pope to accept the inviolability of the rights of the new owners of ecclesiastical property .sold off in the 1790s; Napoleon did not even accept that the State had a~y consequent obligation to pay the clergy, the agreement to do so being expressed separately. This was crucial, to avoid interminable trouble in France over the ownership of nearly a tenth of the country, and to secure the support of the most ecorwmically powerful element of French society. The Concordat thus gave Napoleon pretty much what he wanted. He added to his success by imposing unilaterally the so-called Organic Articles, consisting of detailed regulations for governmental control of the clergy. In particular, no papal or conciliar documents could be published in France without the prior approval of the Government: and no meetings of the clergy might be held without Government permission - a provision which prevented the holding of any proper .national council for the next century. (Article 54 made it illegal to go through a religious marriage ceremony before the civil ceremony ih front of the maire - a provision which has remained constantly in force until the present day.) Napoleon thus obtained, by the Concordat and the Organic Articles, the institutional framework for his desire for a clergy that would be a moral police force under tight governmeut~!_ control, and papal agreement to end the religious struggles in France, which he saw as uselessly divisive. For all these concessions - and concessions over the forced resignations of bishops and over former Church property were very major ones - the papacy did not seem to have got much in return. In fact, however, it did get two things that were very dear to Rome: the freedom of Catholics in France to practise their religion, and an end to schism. The first was explicitly guaranteed by article 1. The second was implied by the preamble, by which the Government recognized 'that the Catholic, apostolic and Roman religion is the religion of the great majority of French citizens'. Papal negotiators would very much have preferred the term 'dominant religion·, or even (if possible) 'religion of State'. But the important point was that it was the Roman faith that was recognized as that of the great majority - which implicitly ronsigned the constitutional Church to outer darkness. For a papacy that had seen the persecutions undergone by French Catholics in the 1790s, and which had always regarded schism as the very worst thing that could happen in the Church, these two provisions made up for a large number of defects in the Concordat, and rendered it- just- acceptable.

49

French Catholics meanwhile, seem to have greeted it with considerable enthusiasm, as permitting the firm re-establishment of parish life. As one maire in the Isere wrote to his prefect: 'The striking thing is this kind of infatuation that has got hold of the masses for the priests and for religion. ' 25 The Concordat of 1801 was to be the basic document governing Church-State relations in France until the Separation of Church and State of 1905. It was also to have major unintended consequences for the nature of the clergy and even of the Catholic religion in France. In the short term, it put an end to the religious conflicts of the revolutionary decade. It was not that there would not be conflicts thereafter, but never again would the public practice of the Catholic religion be seriously under threat, and Catholics would not again (with the possible exception 9f the Paris Commune) be called upon to die for their faith.

r

The Revolution in the west of France Perhaps the biggest conflict between the Revolution and the Church took place in the west of France. There has been a tendency since 1960 to play clown the importance of the religious factor in the civil war in the west, but there is no doubt that it was important, and perhaps more important than most historians now suppose. The occasion of the revolt was not, however, a religious one, but rather the introduction in March 1793 of what was effectively conscription. The immediate consequence in the west was an uprising in the six departments south of the Loire known as the Vendee mi/.itaire, which dominated the countryside and looked likely to overrun the towns of the area as well, until the insurrectionary army was stopped before Nantes on 29 June 179 3, decisively defeated at Cholet on 17 October 179 3, and more or less obliterated at Savenay two days before Christmas. The area north of the Loire did not produce the same kind of military uprising, but rather a smaller-scale and more lasting guerrilla warfare known as chouannerie. For a few years, the chottam made the countryside unsafe for republican soldiers and sympathizers, until they were effectively suppressed by Hoche in 1796. There were sporadic outbreaks of chouannerie thereafter, but the civil war in the west was in effect over. The split between the rural population of the west and the Revolution was to have spectacularly durable consequences. The areas involved in the Vendee war and in chottatmerie would ever thereafter represent the heartland of the political right in France. They would also \rove the most durably Catholic area of the country. The phenomenon

50

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

has so struck Frenchmen (and others) that a lot of work has been devoted to explaining how this situation came into existence. Historians like Bois, Tilly, and Sutherland have brilliantly investigated the structural fault-lines along which society in the west of France broke into two, in particular the conflicts between countryside and town, peasantry and bourgeoisie. 21' Areas like the Mauges (the heartland of the Vendee war) or the west of the department of the Sarthe (classic chottan country) were populated by self-contained rural communities which point-blank rejected an urban Revolution. Chottan areas were often those where a better-off peasantry were in unsuccessful competition with an urban bourgeoisie for land (including bien.r nationaux), or those where tenant farmers were the victims of revolutionary legislation. There is no doubt that such social and economic conflicts were very important. Until recently, however, con~cntration on them has tended to obscure the fact that it was the religious factor that was absolutely crucial. Historians have been fully aware that it was important, but there has been a curious unwillingness 'to sec it as a basic explanation in its own right. Nobody contests that the attempt to impose on the clergy an oath of allegiance to the Civil Constitution, and to replace that vast majority of western priests who refused to take it, became a subject of bitter confli~t in the.~untryside. The problem IS, however, to understand why re!tgwn and the clergy were so much more contentious issues in the insurrectionary areas of the west than elsewhere in France. Why did the clergy so overwhelmingly refuse to take the oath, and why did the countryside give them such ardent support? Paul Bois argued that in the isolated habitat of the bocage the Church was the only expression of community, and the cure its visible symbol; it was not a question of a more intense religious faith, but merely of the expression of a social need. Other historians of the war have more or less followed his lead, attributing the immense influence of the cttre in the west to his symbolic role as the expression of an intensely felt sense of community. The social structures of the bocage are for them the fundamental explanation; religion was important because those structures made it so. I do not think, however, that the greater religious intensity of the west of France can be so easily explained away. We saw in the last chapter that the religious geography of France clearly predates the Revolution, and that this was particularly true of the west. The divisions between the east and west of the Sarthe, and berween tht{ north and south of the Vendee - divisions which were clearly delineated frontier lines in the civil war - had existed in terms of religious fervour for a very long time. It is possible that the ultimate

The Revolution

51

explanation for these religious differences may lie in socio-economic factors, but the exact nature of such an explanation is hopelessly lost in the mists of time. When trying to explain the revolt of western France against the Revolution, therefore, we have to consider the fervent catholicism of the insurrectionary areas as a basic explanatory factor. That is what Timothy Tackett has recently tried to do. 27 Even he, however, is inclined to try and explain that factor in terms of the structure of Church property in the west, the greater presence on the ground of the parish clergy, and a higher rate of recruitment to the priesthood. These factors are probably consequences rather than causes of the fundamentally religious nature of the west, which- in the present state of knowledge - is not capable of being explained, let alone explained away. It was that fundamentally religious nature which was at least one of the major reasons why the west came into conflict with the Revolution, and it was over religious questions t~1at the civil war was fought. The crunching piece of evidence to this ef\fect is that all the counterrevolutionary areas were areas with a very high proportion of refractory priests, whereas in all the pro-revolutionary areas most priests had taken the oath. Socio-economic factors may have operated in certain areas in the way that Bois and Tilly and others describe; their conclusions are, however, difficult to extend to the west as a whole. 28 The universal factor behind the civil war in the west was the Catholic religion: those areas that revolted were those areas that had (for reasons so ancient that they largely escape us) accepted the authority of the cures and internalized the Catholic faith in its Tridentine form. This was not simply a war of countryside against town, or of peasant against bourgeois; it often was those things as well, but its most general characteristic was that of an exceptionally bitter war of religion. Or, as the republican ideologue Edgar Quinct would later say: 'This Vendee war was, essentially, a war between two religions. ' 29 The consequences of the Revolution Not just in the west, but in France as a whole, the Revolution had been - among many other things - a bitter religious conflict. The bitterness of that conflict left a legacy of hostility and misunderstanding berwcen fervent Catholics on the one hand and supporters of the Revolution on the other which would not begin to decline until the twentieth century. Too much blood had been spilled, too many friends betrayed, too many principles trampled upon for any of it to be forgotten or forgiven. Catholics could not forget the 148 priests who (along with other Vendean rebels) had been rounded up at Nantes at

52

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

the height of the war in the west and put in cages on barges which were then sunk in the estuary; 'last night they were one and all swallowed up by the river', wrote theJacobin representant en miuion Carrier; 'what a revolutionary torrent is the Loire' 311 Nor could they forget the 200-odd priests massacred in the Paris prisons in September 1792, or the 850 priests imprisoned on the pontom de Rochefort (hulks of old slave ships) of whom only 274 survived, or the 118 who never came back from the dry guillotine that was French Guiana. Revolutionary tribunals during the Reign of Terror sent to the real guillotine at least 794 priests and1i6 nuns; when lcssiudicial massacres of the kind described above arc added, the total number of deaths among the clergy may have been between two and three thousand. 31 Of the clergy who survived, an estimated 32,500 left the country - five-sixths of them deported by forcc; 32 their experiences in emigration were often of poverty, loneliness, and despair. All of these figures are for the clergy alone; they say nothing of those Catholics who lost their lives and/ or their livelihoods for their faith - for example. by sheltering refractory priests - for whom no remotely satisfactory statistics can ever be established. For both clergy and faithful, it was evidently going to be very difficult to regard the Revolution as anything but a work of the devil. This point needs emphasizing, because it is often difficult for inhabitants of economically developed democracies of the late twentieth century to understand how Catholics could possibly reject so vehemently the 'principles of 1789', enshrined in the Declaration of the Rights of Man- truths which appear to us to be self-evident. For many Catholics in the nineteenth century. however, these principles meant not liberty, equality, and fraternity (which were held to be a fraud anyway), but the September massacres, tbe noyades of Nantes, the pontom de Rochefort, the dry and wet guillotines. Only by keeping these things in the front of our minds can we understand what some-. times seems the mindlessly reactionary politics of Catholics in nineteenth-century France. Those who supported the Revolution had similarly unpleasant memories, handed down from father to son and perpetuated by a literature which was every bit as hagiographic as that of the Catholics. Catholics had not usually been in a position to commit atrocities on quite the same spectacular scale as their opponents, ~ut when they had the chance - as in the west - they were capable M the same good conscience about barbaric violence against those with whom they profoundly disagreed. Marguerite Martin, for example, daughter of a family that had probably acquired "biens nationaux and herself suspected of collaborating with the revolutionary authorities, was

The Revolution

53

abducted by a group of chottam, tied to a tree and raped, her eyes put out, and her breasts cut off; it took her three days to die. (She was one of those victims on both sides spontaneously 'canonized' by local people, becoming the miracle-working 'Sainte Pataude'; the tree where she died is still occasionally an object of devotion - though local people may now tell investigators that she was shot by the Germans during the Occupation. )33 There were plenty of other cases of Catholic violence, against oath-taking priests or (in the south) against Protestants.34 It was not simply, however, the memory of Catholic violence that lingered on in the minds of the supporters of the Revolution. Perhaps even more serious was ~he fact that the Catholic faith seemed to have been a crucial obstaclt to the revolutionaries' Promethean dream that human society could be reconstructed overnight by the application of right reason. The failure of this dream required scapegoats. and the Catholics were ready to hand: they had destroyed the Revolution. They had also done something else, perhaps even worse: they had sided with the enemy, against Ia patrie. Emigre priests took refuge in countries at war with France, and clearly hoped -as Louis XVI had hoped - that revolutionary France would be beaten. To be a fervent Catholic was thus to be both anstocrate and anti-patriote, the two cardinal sins in revolutionary eyes - sins that could not easily be forgotten. The 1790s thus established a barrier between supporters of the Church and supporters of the Revolution that would dominate French politics until at least the First World War. The association of catholicism with the right became so much a fact of political life that it came to seem somehow natural, rather than the product of a particular history. In some ways this was probably true: Tridentinc catholicism was so hierarchical in nature that it would always have difficulty with the principle of popular sovereignty - as the Civil Constitution of the Clergy had shown. But it has been argued, notably by Michel Lagree for the department of the Ille-et-Vilaine, that there was an important element among the Catholic faithful that was in no way hostile to the Revolution. He has shown that the department was divided between 'white' and 'blue' areas, the latter being both pro-revolutionary and fervently Catholic - to the point that an ex-refractory priest in the early nineteenth century was shocked to hear his parishioners begin their confession with the words: 'Bless me. citoyen, for I have sinned. ' 35 The blue areas would remain both Catholic and favourable to the legacy of the Revolution well into the nineteenth century; it would take all the aggressively reactionary politics of the established Church to begin to weaken their catholicism. It is also important to remember that just

54

A Social H£rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

over half the parish clergy did, after all, take the oath of loy;1lty to the Civil Constitution; their reasons may not always have been !,'evolutionary ideology, but they did not immediately reject the Revolution and all its works. The constitutional Church did continue to exist, and after Thermidor, under the leadership of Gregoire - who steadfastly refused to accept the existence of a contradiction between catholicism and the Revolution - it had some success. The split between Revolution and Church was thus not altogether pre-ordained, even if there were some important elements of both ideologies pushing in that direction. Those elements of the clergy and faithful who were sympathetic to the Revolution obviously lost out in the long run. After the Concordat, and above all after the return of the Bourbons in 1814-15, it was the refractory clergy that was in charge. Ex-jurem:r did of course continue in activity, and Napoleon insisted on having a dozen of them in an episcopate of forty-five, but a much smaller proportion of the oath-taking clergy remained active after 1801 than of the reftactaires (who thus codstituted about three-quarters of the concordatory clergy), and those that did were ever after regarded with suspicion. That is to say, those who had attempted to come to terms with the Revolution were - not surprisingly, seeing how it turned out - discredited and deprived of any influence in the Church. Among them were to be found those who had been more inclined to contest the Tridentine model of catholicism. We have seen that not alljttrem:r rejected that model, but those priests who did contest it were very likely to be /ttretm. They had considerable influence in Gregoire's 'constitutional' church, which thus experimented with things like having laymen in synods, a vernacular liturgy, and a more tolerant attitude towards Protestants. All of this was discredited by the defeat of the constitutionals. The ex-refractories who dominated the revived Church in the early nineteenth century were thus able to ensure that it was the dominant model of the eighteenth century that survived: hierarchical, clerically d01ninated, hostile to the world, obsessed with morality, and regimenting the faithful via the threat of damnation. It would take much of the century for the French clergy to come to a slow realization that this was not the best kind of religion with which to appeal to a population whose old traditions of automatic religious practice had been decisively broken by the Revolution. For that was probably the most durable consequence of the Revol- · ution where catholicism was concerned: the end of quasi-universal religious practice. The old automatisms ceased to function. It was partly that churches had actually been closed, for periods that varied from place to place and are not easy to determine. The actual interruption .

The Revolution

55

of all church services did not, however, in all probability, extend much beyond the period of revolutionary dechristianization (autumn 1793summer 1794). 3" Much more serious was the much longer interruption in the religious education of children, not only in the schools but above all in catechism classes, which in many places for long periods ceased to be held. Thus a whole age cohort grew up almost without a Catholic culture. Some of the consequences of this will be considered in chapter 8; the simple basic consequence is, however, clear: the quasi-universal religious practice of the ancien regime would never be re-established. The old automatic assumption .that you went to church, and indeed that you took Easter communion, was broken by the hiatus of the Revolution. French people were no longer automatically Catholic, simply by the fact of being French.

The secular clergy

3 The secular clergy

A clerical and hierarchical church Any study of French catholicism in the nineteenth century has to start with the clergy. Catholicism remained what it had been under the ancien regime: a highly clericalized religion, in which laymen were to remain firmly in their place. This tendency to reduce the laity to a purely passive and subservient role was even strengthened after the Revolution by the fact that the constitutional church had experimented with giving laymen a more important role, for example by admitting them to synods; so far as the nineteenth-century Church was concerned this was the mark of Cain, and clerical hostility to lay participation was thus intensified. Catechisms continued to define the Church in terms of a simple hierarchy of clergy over faithful. often in very crude terms: that of Nancy in 1824 stated baldly that 'the corps of the clergy is called the teaching Church, or simply the Church', and even in 1914 that of Paris continued to assert that 'the faithful are defined as those Christians who arc under the authority of their legitimate pastors' . 1 Seminaries continued to teach, in the tradition of Bcrulle, 'the eminent dignity of the priest'. The cure d'Ars. himself a model of humility, said that if he met a priest and an angel he would greet the priest before the angel. More crudely, a cttre of the diocese of Le Mans under the July Monarchy could tell his parishioners that 'the Gospel gave the Church [which he clearly understood as the clergy] the right to command, and it imposes on you the duty to obey' .2 Not only diCl this hierarchical mentality exclude any concept of the Church as the mystical body of Christ, but it also had serious practical consequences. In 1906 Pius X, faced by the law for the Separation of Church and State with a proposal for Catholic lay control over Church resources, preferred

57

to sacrifice all Church property in France, reminding Catholics that the Church was an essentially unequal society, that is to say, a society composed of two categories of people: the pastors and the flock .... The mass has no other duty than to let itself be led and, like a docile flock, to follow its pastors. 3 The clergy was particularly hostile to those old bastions of lay independence, the confraternities of penitents. These had been in decline before the Revolution, as the 'profane' side of their activities developed at the cost of the liturgical one, and as many wealthy members drifted away. But many of them were revived in the nineteenth century, particularly in Provence, either with or (less commonly) without notables at their head. They were vastly unpopular with bishops and lower clergy alike, because of their refusal to isolate the sacred from the profane and above all because of their independence of clerical control. They elected their own officers, and usually had their own chapel and their own religious offices, for which they demanded the services of the cure or even did without him. Bishops could not usually prevent the revival of these confraternities, but they did their best to impose on them statutes whereby (as in Grenoble in 1805) the cure should nominate members, indicate the offices they should attend, and preside over their meetings. Not that the penitents often took a lot of notice; they remained 'hidebound, obstinate, infected with religious republicanism. and full of themselves and their own importance·. In 183 7 Bishop Thibault of Montpellier found them 'purely and simply scum' .4 The penitents declined in the course of the century, and by the First World War they had almost disappeared. They faded away partly because their liturgical activities began to seeD{ anachronistic, but also because they were the object of such hostility from a clergy determined to stamp out all signs of lay independence. The classic confrontation came in 1842-3, when the Bishop ofEvreux smashed the independence of the charitons in his diocese. Evreux is in the north, and the charitom were not strictly penitents, but in their independent role in burial ceremonies and their penchant for profane feasting they were very similar. Monseigneur Olivier condemned their 'ridiculous encroachment on sacerdotal prerogatives', and with the support of his clergy destroyed their independence for ever .5 Penitents and charitom, and any other confraternity under lay control and forgetful of the distinction between the sacred and the profane, were replaced by a network of clerically controlled confraternities such as those of the

58

A Social Ht:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Rosary, the Scapular, the Blessed Sacrament, the Sacred Heart, etc., of which nearly every parish had at least one by the middle of the century, These confrerieJ were wholly under the cure's thumb and in practice recruited almost exclusively women - whereas the penitents and charitom had been in most cases an exclusively male form of sociability, Here, as in so many other aspects of the nineteenth-century Church, clerical domination - more easily exercised over women - had triumphed. Clerical domination could not of course be total, and there are a number of examples of lay initiative and power throughout the century. Wealthy Catholic families, especially aristocratic ones, upon whom a clergy which no longer controlled nearly a tenth of the country relied heavily for financial resources, wielded great influence simply by the tacit threat of cutting off the funds. They were often particularly influential in preventing the clergy from abandoning the cause of the Bourbons; Bishop Turinaz of Nancy was reported to have said in private (c. 1890) that if he adhered to the Republic he would not have a sou, and the Bishop of Seez would (according to his prefect in 1885) have been much more conciliatory had his diocese not contained the royalist political leader de Mackau, 'who corresponds directly with the Pope and possesses an absolute authority over all the priests of the diocese', 6 In Lyons and in the industrial north organizations of Catholic employers wielded a strong, independent influence and could coerce the bishop to their right-wing views. Throughout the century there was a continuous tradition of lay action by homme.r d'oeuvre.r- lay notables who, in one form or another (usually charitable), played an active and partially independent role. The notorious Congregation of the First Empire and Restoration was in fact an organization of militant laymen. Out of the Congregation grew Frederic Ozanam's Saint Vincent-dePaul society, founded in 1833 and claiming 32,500 active members by 1861, whose principle was for the rich to rechristianize the poor by the personal and face-to-face exercise of charitable work (though in practice it tended to become a society of conservative royalist notables). It was a body wholly independent of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, all the more able to be so because of the exalted social position of its members. Albert de Mun's Oeuvre de.r cercle.r, founded after the Commune and aiming to organize the urban working class under the strictly paternalist supervision of the wealthy- and claiming in 1875 to have mobilized some 3,000 members of the ruling dasses- was similarly a lay initiative sometimes viewed askance by the clergy. The A.r.rociation catholiqtte de Ia jetme.r.refi<mpa£re, established in 1886 and with 140,000 members by 1913, was less exclusively lay (the attm6nier.r played an important role),

The secular clergy

59

but it was in principle a self-governing organization of laymen. The twentieth century saw the development of Marc Sangnier' s Sillon, and the aftermath of the Separation of 1905 stimulated the establishment of a multitude of lay organizations (particularly in the north). 7 The development of the lay Catholic press was so important as to merit a separate treatment. It centred on the career of Louis Veuillot, son of a cooper, who between the early 1840s and his death in 1883 was the editor and inspirational force of the newspaper L 'Univer.r. His readers were essentially the lower clergy, with whom his aggressive championing of Catholic causes and his brilliant polemical style made him wildly popular. L 'Univer.r became a major institution in the Church, and its lay editor a man the bishops had to reckon with. Many of them did not like it. They objected not only to his intransigent ultramontanism, his aggressive tone, and his fiercely reactionary stances, but also (and in some cases above all) to the fact that he was an uncontrolled layman wielding influence and power within the Church. Bishop Angebault of Angers complained in 1852 to Dupanloup (who had just been virulently attacked by Veuillot) about the way in which these writers have allowed themselves to assess, to judge and to censure an act of your episcopal authority; I find therein, Monseigneur, an intolerable excess, an enormity against which we must all raise our voices with all the force of our divine authority, Bishops refused to see in the offices of even an ardently Catholic newspaper 'the permanent Council of the Gauls', They did not succeed despite some vigorous efforts - in crushing L 'Univer.r, partly because many of them agreed with its content and valued it as a weapon against the ungodly, But the ambivalence of much of the episcopate towards Veuillot, great Catholic champion that he was, is indicative of the strength of their conviction that the Church was composed of .the clergy, and that the job of the laity was to watch and pray. 8 The strict hierarchy between clergy and faithful in the Church was really only part of a more extended hierarchy, tersely summed up by the 1823 statutes of the diocese of Valence: 'Let the faithful be subject to the pastors, the pastors to their bishops, the bishops to the Supreme Pontiff. ' 9 In the bishops' eyes, the essential link in this hierarchical chain was their authority over their cttrC.r Thus Bishop Bouvier of Le Mans warned his clergy in 1847: All of you, my worthy collaborators, to whom the task of steering this barque has not been entrusted, do not go and occupy your minds

60

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914 uselessly with the intentions of those on whom that burden has been imposed. It should suffice for you to know that they will not make mistakes and that in letting yourselves be guided by them you will not perish.w

Nor was this picture of the bishops' authority over their cures merely an episcopal pipe-dream: it existed in fact. Napoleon had intended that the bishops of France should be his 'prefects in purple', whose spiritual authority would back up that of the lay administration. He therefore ensured that the Concordat conferred on them much greater powers over the lower clergy than bishops under the ancien regime had ever enjoyed. U ncler the ancien regime, a parish priest effectively owned his benefice; once appointed to it he could not be removed, except for gross moral turpitude and even then with difficulty. This security of tenure gave him a real independence of episcopal authority. Moreover, bishops only controlled a minority of appointments to benefices. The loss of Church property in the Revolution, however, meant that benefices simply ceased to exist, and the Concordat established a new system by declaring that 'the bishops will nominate to cures. They may only choose persons agreed by the Government.' It is true that once nominated and agreed on, such cttrex were inamovibles, i.e. they had security of tenure, and the bishop could not remove them at will. But the Concordat was only referring to a very limited number of curii.r, essentially those in the chief town of each canton. Article 31 of the Organic Articles made it clear that all the others in ordinary parishes (who were technically known as desservants, though the mass of the population still called them 'Monsieur le cure') were amovibles, appointed by the bishop without Government involvement and removable by him at will. This gave the concordatory bishop tremendous power over his lower clergy. Not all bishops used it, but some did, quite ruthlessly. Dupanloup, in his struggle to reform the diocese of Orleans under the Second Empire, shifted incompetent or recalcitrant priests around indiscriminately: of 243 des.rervants in situ just after his arrival in 1849, only SO were still in the same parish eight years later (and only 38 of them had died). Hippolyte Taine, with his usual acumen, put his finger on the change that had taken place by comparison with the ancien tigime when he wrote that 'in the diocese, a limited and tempered monarchy has been changed into a universal and absolute one' . 11 This new episcopal absolutism did not of course go uncontested. From the 1830s onwards, the lower clergy looked increasingly to Rome as a counterweight to the otherwise untrammelled authority of the

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bishops, and this was one of the major sources of the 'ultramontane' ideology that came to dominate the lower clergy. Priests subject to what they thought was an abuse of power could and did appeal to Rome to get their bishop· s decision overturned. Not surprisingly, many of them came to regard Rome not only as a counterweight to episcopal power but also as the unique spiritual centre of the Church, and they thus became ardent supporters of the doctrine of papal infallibility. But their ultramontanism was rooted, at one level at least, in their desire to break free of the authority that the Concordat had given to French bishops; as Bishop Angebault said in 1849, some declarations of fervour for the Pope were genuine, but there arc also some priests who are only looking for a way of getting away from an immediate authority which they find onerous and constricting by appealing to a distant one: hence the repeated complaints against the episcopate, its arbitrary power, and declarations of the necessity to counterbalance what some have dared to call its despotism. 11 In the diocese of Orleans this was particularly clear. Dupanloup, bishop from 1849 to 1878, tried to impose his detailed and inquisitorial control on a clergy that his predecessors had left pretty much to its own devices. He was also a firm opponent of the doctrine of papal infallibility, and the leader of the opposition to it at the Vatican Council in 1870. His clergy detested him on both counts, but perhaps more virulently on the first one. In the second half of the century ultramontanism increasingly penetrated the episcopate as well as the lower clergy, but the bishops remained as jealous of their authority as ever. When progressive cures held national congresses in 1896 and 1900 they ran into a great deal of hostility from their hierarchical superiors, which was one of the reasons why no further congresses were held. The Bishop of Annecy spoke for many of his colleagues when he deplored the tendency 'to try and substitute for the government of the Church by the bishops a mixed government on the parliamentary model'. 13 The bishops

The bishops were thus the centre-piece of the concordatory church, and their authority in their diocese - although not uncontested - was very great. '•Although they had to receive canonical institution from the Pope, they were effectively nominated by the Government. Napoleon, after the Concordat, nominated fifty of them (which was the maximum

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A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

number of dioceses he was prepared to sec re-established). They included 18 former bishops who had refused any oath to revolutionary regimes, 12 former bishops of the constitutional Church (at Napoleon's insistence), and 30 former members of the lower clergy, of whom only 3 or 4 were ex-constitutionals. The Bourbons, in 1821, provided for thirty more dioceses; only another two were added in the course of the nineteenth century (apart from those acquired with Nice and Savoy in 1860). The Restoration thus had occasion to make 96 nominations to the episcopate. Every single one of them came from the clergy of the ancien regime (and were thus mostly old); all were counter-revolutionaries. Seventy-six of them were members of the nobility. The French episcopate of 1830 was thus not radically different from that of 1789, except that it did not contain sceptics and unbelievers. The July Monarchy ( 1830-48), however, was to sec a radical transformation. Nominations were decided on by the king, the nuncio, and the minister of cults, after extensive consultations with prefects, politicians, and senior bishops. The resulting choices were a radical break with tradition, as the mitre was increasingly conferred on men of modest origins. Of 77 nominees, only a dozen were nobles, and only 4 had known revolutionary persecution and emigration. They were young men, mostly in their forties. Twenty-one of them had been engaged in seminary teaching or other intellectual roles, a background that sharply differentiated them from those nominated under the Restoration. Some of them were of humble origin indeed. Goussct, a seminary professor at Bcsan<;on who was appointed Bishop of Pcrigucux in 1836, came from a family of peasant proprietors; he was sufficiently highly regarded to be transferred to be Archbishop of Rcims in 1840 (and later cardinal), but could not be considered for Paris because of' the imperfections of his manners·. 14 The appointment of Graveran to Quimpcr in 1830 was opposed by the prefect on the grounds that the senior clergy and local society would be pained to sec the prelate in his episcopal palace 'surrounded by relatives from the working class and without education' . 15 Not all bishops appointed under the July Monarchy were of such modest backgrounds, but the social profile of the episcopate was certainly rapidly changing. Austin Gough has calculated that in 1850 it contained 42 men of 'broadly middle-class' origin, 21 from the nobility (though not usually from the greatest families), 10 from farming backgrounds, 8 sons of artisans, and 1 son of a sailor. My own calculations (for 1852) suggest that at least 25 can probably be classified as of modest origins: peasants, artisans, small traders. Some of these would have very distinguished careers. Dupanloup's initial career may be explained by the fact that, although he was

The .recu!ar clergy

63

the illegitimate child of a poor peasant girl, the Faubourg SaintGermain knew who the father was and looked after their own. But others of humble origin made their way without aristocratic patronage. Four were archbishops; others, like Pic (Poiticrs), Parisis (Arras) and Guibcrt (who would become Archbishop of Paris) were major clerical figures of the age. Goussct ofRcims and Bouvier ofLc Mans (the son of a joiner) were perhaps the most important and influential moral theologians of the century. The injection into the episcopate of men of popular origin was certainly doing it no harm. The process would continue in the second half of the century. Between 1848 and 1870 less than 10 per cent of nominees were nobles (cf. 13 per cent under the July Monarchy and 82 per cent under the Restoration); the period 1870-83 saw a slight increase (13 per cent noble nominees}, but this was a transient phenomenon largely due to the Government of Moral Order in the early 1870s. Of the 167 bishops who held office in the period 1870-83, Jacques Gadillc has calculated that 12.6 per cent were nobles, 33 per cent bourgeois, and 53.3 per cent 'sons of the people'. This process of proletarianization was accompanied by a process of intellectualization: 56 per cent of the 167 had been at some point or other engaged in teaching theology, 11 as professors at the Sorbonnc. Under the Second Empire (1852-70), a staggering 65 per cent of nominees had a background in teaching (37 per cent under the July Monarchy, 45 per cent in the period 1870-83). Seminary teaching and diocesan administration were in fact the royal road to the episcopate; relatively few bishops had extensive experience of running a parish (in 1850, one in four). We are clearly looking at an episcopate in which a career was open to intellectual talent, or at least to what was held to be intellectual talent at the time. Julien Sorel, in Stendhal 's Le Rouge et le nair, had imagined under the Restoration that the only way for a poor boy to rise in the world was through the priesthood; it was, however, under subsequent regimes that the episcopate offered a path of social mobility quite undreamed-of in any other area of French society Ir. The parish clergy: recruitment Reconstituting the episcopate after the Revolution was a relatively easy task, at least when compared with that of rebuilding the parish clergy. The 1790s had seen only a handful of ordinations to the clergy_ Even in a frontier diocese like Besan<;on, which could get its priests ordained in Fribourg, the total for the decade was not much more than for a single year of the ancien regime. We have seen that perhaps 2,000-3,000

64

The secular clergy

A Social J-hrtory o{French Catlwlicirm 1789-1914

priests died in the Revolution. More seriously, from the point of view of staffing the parishes of the early nineteenth century, many of the clergy had simply given up. In the diocese of Grenoble, only about 30 per cent of the clergy of 1789 took up their priestly roles again after the Concordat; in that of Gap, about 4 5 per cent. By 1817, in France as a whole, only about half the surviving clerics were active; a fifth still lived as priests but were inactive, and a quarter had definitively abandoned the priesthood. Those that did continue were many of them aged and infirm: in 1801, for example, over half of the clergy in the diocese of Bourges were over 600 Many were discouraged and disheartened. Some at least were of dubious value. In 1819 the Prefect of the Dordogne drew up an annotated list of the clergy of his department in which, although 169 clerics were classed as 'recommendable for their zeal, their piety, their ability, and their morals', 99 were listed as 'without ability, without morals, dangerous, adventurers, etc.' - of whom a not untypical example was the cmi (between 1803 and 1825) of the small town of Sainte Alvcre, who was described as

intm.r, he did several campaigns as a soldier and tried to marry He acquired a few bien.r nationaux during the Revolution, he was an intm.r and then worked in the army administration. He is reliably reported to have preached as a sansculotte in the Temple of Reason at Le Buguc. 17 0

There is, it is true, some reason to be sceptical of the evaluations of exconstitutional clergy by administrators of the Restoration, but it is still clear that the clergy of the early nineteenth century was a very mixed bunch. If not actually immoral, they were often old and disillusioned, either unable or unwilling to give proper attention to their parishes. The task of renewing the clergy was slow in getting under way, Seminaries had to be re-established; usually this was clone within a few years of the Concordat, but in 1815 there were still some dioceses without one. The Concordat had allowed seminaries to exist, but it made no provision for financing them; in most cases the buildings of the former seminary had been sold as biem natioua?tX, and many dioceses didn't get hold of reasonable buildings until the end of the first decade. Even when the physical eqtupment had been reconstituted, there was the problem of attracting seminarists. The Concordat had indeed agreed to pay clerical salaries, but the future was still uncertain for any young man contemplating the priesthood. Perhaps more seriously, the effective suspension in the 1790s of all forms of religious education (except in the family) meant that few young men were contemplating it anyway.

65

The establishment ofGoverment scholarships in 1807 and the effective exemption from conscription after 1809 for those seriously preparing for the priesthood no doubt did something to help. The gradual reestablishment of minor seminaries and the initiatives of some dedicated cures in teaching Latin to promising youths in the presbytery were probably more important. At any rate, the major seminaries began to fill up, and the number of ordinations to rise. The late Canon Boularcl produced a now famous graph of ordinations in France since the Concordat, the nineteenth-century section of which is reproduced on p. 66. What has most struck commentators about it is the rapid rise in ordinations under the Restoration, followed by an equally rapid fall in the first decade of the July Monarchy, and the disastrous fall after the turn of the century, particularly after the Separation of Church and State in 1905 (whereby. among other things, the State ceased to pay clerical salaries). The interpretation that leaps to mind is that young men were more likely to opt for the priesthood when the Government was favourable to the clergy and when the material situation of the priest was assured. Thus the 'clerical' Restoration encouraged recruits to the priesthood, while the generally anticlerical July Monarchy (especially in its early years) seems to have put them off, and the prospect of penury after the Separation even more so. There arc, however, some problems with this rather simplistic picture. There are a number of dioceses that we know about (and no doubt some others yet to be studied) where the pattern was rather different. Some dioceses in the west (Vannes. Quimper, perhaps Rennes) peaked in the early years of the Restoration - reflecting decisions made under the late Empire, when the regime was not particularly favourable to the Church. Nantes did as well under the July Monarchy as under the Restoration. Even where (as is most frequently the case) the July Monarchy did see a significant drop in ordinations, it is by no means clear that this should always be attributed to the political climate. The more fervent dioceses had often, by 1830, made up the ravages of the Revolution, and were getting choosy about whom they would accept for the priesthood. The Bishop of Le Mans told a priest from another diocese in 1830 that he could not accept the offer of his services, having 'more priests than posts to put them in'; in 1844 he warned his seminarists that cttri.r weren't dying and one couldn't drown them like unwanted kittens; those seeking a post might have to look outside the diocese. 18 In fervent areas, therefore, the fall in ordinations in the early July Monarchy may reflect more the reaching of a clerical saturation point than the hostility of the regime. Even more striking is the fact that a number of dioceses (Le Mans, Quimper, Arras, Perigueux), while

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showing a peak in the late years of the Restoration much in the manner of the national graph, reached even higher peaks under the hostile Third Republic. Almost every diocese that we know about showed a mini-peak at the very end of the nineteenth century or the very beginning of the twentieth (as indeed does the national graph), just before or even during the anticlerical offensive under Combes that culminated in Separation. These phenomena are difficult to reconcile with an interpretation of the ordinations graph that emphasizes the political conjuncture and the hostility or favour of the regime. Perhaps the minipeak referred to was a response to the esprit nouveau of the 1890s, but the generally high levels of ordinations under the Third Republic suggest rather an interpretation in terms of response to persecution: ardent young men chose the priesthood precisely because it was difficult and challenging. 19 The crunch argument against such an interpretation appears to be the sharp fall in ordinations in all dioceses after the Separation law of 1905, with the obvious implication that those ordained before must have been primarily interested in the cushy number that the life of a country cure regularly paid by the State seemed to offer. But Separation did not only mean the end of the payment of clerical salaries; it also meant (largely because of the pigheadedness of Pius X) the loss of all Church property, including seminaries. The training of priests in the years after 1905 was severely disrupted, as seminarists lived a mobile and hand-to-mouth existence. This may have been as important a factor in the sharp decline in ordinations as was the fear of penury on the part of potential priests (or their families). The First World War introduced so many extraneous factors that we do not have a long enough perspective to be sure. What we can say, for the nineteenth century as a whole, is that, although ordinations to the priesthood were affected by the political conjuncture, they also reflected a lot of other factors of a more subtle kind. A Catholic, moreover, might want to allow for 'that mysterious element that statisticians call chance ... and Christians grace' 20 Whatever the inner motivations of those who devoted their lives to the priesthood, the result of their decisions was that France was provided, at least up until the First World War, with a numerically adequate parish clergy. In 1821 there was one priest (excluding religious orders) in activity for 814 inhabitants; by 1848 this figure was down to 752, and in 1877 to 657; by 1901 it had risen again, but only to 690. The massive recruitment of the Restoration period meant that for much of the century the clergy tended to be not only numerous but young: in 1820, 40.6 per cent were over sixty, but by 1847 this was down to 5. 6 per cent; the proportion increased thereafter, but the first

68

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

half of the century had in effect seen the replacement of an old and worn-out clergy by a young and vigorous one. Some of the consequences of this will be considered in chapter 8. The parish clergy: social origins and motivation

What kind of young men opted for the priesthood, and what were their reasons for doing so? We know quite a lot about their social origins; whether we shall ever know much about their motivations is a moot point. The classic picture, articulated by the senior clergy at the time and taken up by lay commentators and historians, was that the parish clergy was dominantly recruited from the poor peasantry - thus contrasting sharply with the clergy of the ancien regime. As early as 1811 the Bishop of Quimper lamented that 'we no longer find in the upper classes of society young men aiming at the clerical estate; it is to the class of poor peasants that all our resources are confined.' The lament was frequently repeated by bishops in the course of the nineteenth century, and in 1893 Hippolyte Taine gave it the form that has much influenced historians: 'Of the 40,000 cttri.r and desservant.r, more than 3 5,000 belong to the labouring class of workers and peasants, and among them to the poorest, to hard-up families living by manual labour, in which children are often numerous.· Subsequent historians thus concluded that the mass of the nineteenth-century clergy had been 'of essentially popular origin, recruited above all from the peasantry' 21 To a very large extent, this is an accurate picture. There was a massive contrast between the ancien regime clergy' of disproportionately urban and bourgeois origin (even if these elements were declining in the second half of the eighteenth century), and its nineteenth-century successor. Certainly the aristocracy showed little interest in entering the parish clergy: studies of dioceses as diverse as Orleans, Quimper, Le Mans, Nantes, Rouen and Perigueux show only a tiny handful of noble recruits for the whole of the nineteenth century. As one disabused Catholic militant remarked, 'les fils des croises n 'ont plus rien de croise que les bras' .22 Much the same was true of the non-noble wealthy: the electoral lists of the July Monarchy, which list everybody paying more than 200 francs in direct taxes, usually show only a dozen or so priests in each diocese having the right to vote. Very significantly, sons of the liberal professions were relatively rare in the parish clergy - usually well under 10 per cent, and under-represented by comparison with their proportion in the population. A huge majority of the clergy thus came, as everybody knew, from very modest social backgrounds, essentially

The secular clergy

69

from the peasantry and the artisan class. Within these broad categories, however, certain distinctions (which were not always clear at the time) need to be made. It was (and is) quite widely believed that the clergy came dominantly from the countryside. In most dioceses this was the case: in that of Besanc;on, between 1820 and 1914, between 82 and 91 per cent (depending on the period) came from the countryside; in that of Perigueux, between 1801 and 1914, 65 per cent came from ordinary communes (i.e. neither from cantonal nor arrondissement centres). There were some dioceses, however - usually the less fervent ones where the majority of priests were of urban origin: 63 per cent in that of Orleans between 1818 and 1850 (though this includes small towns), and in that of Limoges (1835-63) 'a very large majority were sons of artisans and small traders of the towns and bomgs'. In many dioceses, the proportion of those of urban origin in the clergy was greater than that in the population as a whole. Major cities produced less than their share of priests: if we list dioceses in terms of ordinations per head, those containing Paris, Bordeaux, Lille, and Marseilles come out bottom, and second, seventh, and ninth from bottom respectively. But lesser centres, and the bottrgs of rural France, produced considerably more than their share. The majority (though probably not a large one) of the clergy did come from the countryside, but the countryside was less favourable to vocations to the priesthood than were the towns. It is true, however, that this was decreasingly so in the course of the century. In most dioceses, the rural element increased steadily. In that of La Rochelle, for example, between 1812 and 1837, the towns contained 20 per cent of the population and provided 52 per cent of the ordinands; in the period 1887-1911, the figures were 30 per cent and 27 per cent respectively. The French clergy was thus undergoing a process of ruralization so far as its social origins were concerned, at a time when the rural population was declining in both relative and absolute terms. This should not, however, make us forget that towns contributed more than their fair share, and in many areas continued to do so throughout the century. Given this disproportionately urban recruitment, it is not surprising that a considerable - and disproportionate - element of the clergy came from the large and heterogeneous class of artisans and small traders: shoemakers, tailors, carpenters, butchers, bakers, and the whole bewildering variety of trades that made up this crucial element of pre-industrial society. In many dioceses, those whose fathers came from this group outnumbered those from the peasantry. It is fairly easy to understand why this was the case. It was not that the artisan class was

70

A Social Hirtory o_fFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

necessarily more religious than the peasantry, but rather that the sons of artisans were more literate and articulate than their country cousins; they were the kind of lads that a cure might pick out in a catechism class - often the first step on the road to the priesthood. They were not needed to help out on the farm, as peasant children often were from the age of about 7 (guarding flocks etc.), and in the increasingly common case of an only son they would not be reserved by their father as the inheritor of the property, as would certainly be the case with the land-owning peasantry. For purely practical reasons, therefore, the sons of artisans and small traders were more likely to finish up in the priesthood than were the sons of peasants. This is probably the basic reason why towns were over-represented in clerical vocations. Towns were not necessarily more religious than their hinterlands (usually the reverse, as we shall see in chapter 6), but they contained people whose life-style and economies made them more likely to take the first steps on the road to the priesthood. Whether rural or urban, peasant or artisan, it is clear that the vast majority of families from which priests came were not well-off. In most cases, however, they were not the very poorest elements of society. We can see this by looking at the literacy figures: priests came from families significantly more literate than the average (though their advantage did decline throughout the century). For the diocese of Perigueux, we know the estimated wealth of the parents of those who attended the major seminary between 1841 and 1881: 32 per cent had less than 10,000 francs in property, 33 per cent between 10,000 and 25,000, 23 per cent between 25,000 and 50,000, 9 per cent between 50,000 and 100,000, and 4 per cent more than 100,000; generally, the artisans and small traders were poorer (in terms of capital) than the peasants. There is strong reason to believe that the vast majority of peasant families from which priests came owned land: the poorest sections of rural society were not a source of vocations to the priesthood (though in some cases the poorest artisan families may have been). This was in fact very much to be expected. The poorest families were in the nature of things the most culturally deprived, and their children, without the training in memorization and bodily control that primary education gave, were unlikely to shine in the catechism class. Their parents could make no contribution to the cost of attendance at minor and major seminaries, and although government scholarships were available between 1807 and 1884 there were still considerable expenses, as well as the loss of family earning power involved. In any case, the Church by and large discouraged recruits from very poor families. As Bishop Bouvier of Le Mans (himself the son of a joiner) told his clergy in 1846 (in a circular

The sect~lar clergy

71

letter that the Bishop of Valence would shamelessly plagiarize in the following year), poverty is c.errainly no sin . . . but . . . all too often hardship engenders VICe, or at least degrades thought and feeling. It follows that those who are brought up in what are called the lower classes exposed from their earliest childhood to reprehensible behaviour, 0 ; at l~ast to.manifold ways of speaking and behaving unacceptable in poltte society, do not usually possess either generosity of heart or elevation of spirit, or anything of what constitutes the high moral tone so important in our holy calling. 23 Bouvier is tryi.ng to be morally neutral, but he- like many other senior clencs - certamly thought that the very poor were an unsuitable source of recruits to the priesthood. They clearly thought that extreme cultural deprivation was undesirable in the background of a priest. Thev also suspected that voca~ions from such backgrounds were too likely 'to be prompted by matenal rather than spiritual concerns. It was a commonplace of clerical literature that young men from poor families often envisaged the priesthood as a path of social mobility, to be entered upon so t.h:y could eat white bread and chicken on Sundays, and that thm .families. often pushed them in that direction. Typically, in 1864 a very mfluenual work claimed that poor families push their sons into this career, without even asking ~hemse.lves wh~t?er th~y have the motivation and the aptitude that 1t reqmres. Thts IS particularly true offamilies in the countryside, in whose eyes the pnesthood presents itself as a life of idleness both well-paid and respected. 24 The question of motivations in the priestly calling is evidently a complex one: they can never have been simple, and they leave little stratghtfotward documentation behind. The whole issue, furthermore, has been obscured by Stendhal's Le Rouge et le nair, in which he pres~nts the seminarists of Besaw; on (chosen as a typical major provtnctal town) at the end of the Restoration as being largely composed of peasant boys who had opted for an easy life instead of one of hard agricultural labour; the majority were vulgar beings who were not really sure of understanding the Latin words that they repeated all day long. Almost all were sons of peasants, who preferred to earn their living reciting a few words of Latin to tilling the soil.

72

A Social Hi.rtory ofFrench CatholiciJm 1789-1914

Stendhal' s picture of the clergy has been a very influential one, but in fact he was only mouthing the anticlerical prejudices of his age. At almost exactly the same time as Stendhal wrote the above passage, the jouma! de Rauen wrote that for most future priests it is already a considerable ambition to rise above the poverty line ... , For the majority it is a question of not having to eat bread soaked in the sweat of their brow, and of not having to put on the heavy cloak of the conscript , , . their sole vocation is the fear of remaining an artisan or of serving in the army. 25 But Stendhal and the Journal de Rotten offer only a very simplistic model of motivation, and tell us more about the anticlerical mentality of liberal circles under the late Restoration than they do about vocations to the priesthood. The complexities of clerical motivation need looking at more closely. It is true that vocations were often a matter of family rather than of individual decision. As Philippe Boutry says in the context of the diocese of Belley, 'any vocation in the nineteenth century was a more or less collective one; the seminarist was backed up, financially and psychologically, by the approbation of a family, a kinship network' .26 The moving force was often an uncle who was already a priest, and clerical 'dynasties' were thus not uncommon. The mother, and female relatives in general, were probably even more important: the father of the cttre d'An· was for a long time hostile to his son entering the clergy, not wanting to pay the fees or lose one of his three sons from work on the farm; it took the mother, aunt, and sister some years to win him over. Priestly uncles and fervent mothers thus often played an important role; more generally, a strongly Catholic home background was in most cases crucial- which explains why, for example, in the diocese of Bourges between 1846 and 1875, a third of seminarists had brothers in the seminary at some point in the period. But these family pressures were clearly not of the materialistic kind that both clergy and anticlericals feared or suspected. And even where parental motives were essentially terrestrial, that does not necessarily mean that those of the young men concerned were of the same order. A recently ordained priest in the diocese of Montpellier wrote to his seminarist brother in 1890, in a very illuminating passage: No it's not for a life of idleness that I have enlisted in the ranks of the' clergy. The priest is today more than ever a soldier always attacked and always having to defend himself. Good eating, leisurely

The .recular clergy

73

hours passed in the shade or by the chimney corner, that is all that a large number of ill-willed or ill-informed people see in the life of a priest; it is also perhaps - though certainly not entirely - what our beloved parents see in it; it is something like that that they dream of for us, when they look forward to the day when you will be in your little presbytery, with one of our sisters by your side to look after you and love you - and the same for me. 27 The good abbe, while understanding his parents' worldly motives well enough, clearly does not see himself as sharing them. I am convinced in fact that the vast majority of the nineteenth-century clergy, at a conscious level at least, was equally sincere. It would in fact have been very difficult to go through the long clerical training (all but a handful spent at least some years in a minor seminary, followed by four or five in the major seminary) with purely material motivations in the forefront of one's mind. The standard of pious behaviour required was too demanding to have been conformed to by anyone who had not internalized the dominant values of the clergy of the time. It is possible to argue that social mobility was the early motivation, forced back into the sub- or semi-conscious by seminary indoctrination, or that seminarists, while sincere Christians and devoted priests in their conscious selves, would nevertheless have lost their vocation if it had ceased to be materially rewarding as well. But even this more sophisticated model of motivation fails to account for the almost universal rise in vocations in the last years of the nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries. One is forced back to the conclusion that most young men who opted for the priesthood were responding to an inner call that was as sincere as complex human motivation can be. Here is a young man writing to his brother on the eve of his ordination in 1854: Who can express how great a privilege God is granting me, unworthy as I am; the news of such a favour [grace] threw me into an indescribable state: a mixture of admiration, fear, and joy, a nexus of thoughts, feelings, and diverse emotions that I experienced at the same time, without being able to sort them out or understand them. Today I am calm again; all that remains in my heart is a profound joy that brings me happiness. I no longer fear the priesthood, I ardently desire it. Pray for me, my dear brother. I am utterly unworthy of such grace. 28 That the motivations of young men who wanted to become priests were essentially religious is borne out by the striking correlation between the geography of clerical vocations and that of other indicators

Ordinations to rhe priesthood, 1875 1886: annual average of ordinations per 10,000 Catholic men aged 25 to 29 (national average: 57,7)

> 90 70-90 60-70

.......... .... . . . -. .. .. .......

50-60 <50

The secular clergy

75

of religious fervour. The map of vocations between 1875 and 1886 29 (p. 74) is very similar indeed to that of 'religious vitality' in 1877 (p. 172) drawn up by Jacques Gadille on the basis of reports by prefects and bishops. It is also remarkably similar to the post-Second World War map of religious practice (p. 171 ). The same kind of correlation is evident in the vast majority of diocesan studies: the religious geography of the diocese is nearly always very closely paralleled by the geography of vocations to the priesthood. Plainly a religious environment was a favourable factor in motivating young men to contemplate such a life. This would in fact scarcely be surprising, were it not for the emphasis that anticlerical commentators and historians have placed on the materialistic motivations of those entering the clergy. The sincere piety of most priests may help to explain what most anticlericals at the time found very hard to believe: the chastity of the clergy. Anticlericals were convinced that clerical chastity was a sham, that cure.r used the confessional to seduce their more attractive penitents, that they slept with their servants or their nieces. But all historians who have a close knowledge of the documents (with the possible exception of Alain Corbin for the diocese of Limoges) agree that the level of sexual immorality among clerics was very low indeed. In the early years of the century some of the survivors of the Revolution may have been less than lily-white in this respect - though one has to be very wary of accusations made by the refractory clergy against exconstitutionals. But the clergy ordained in the nineteenth century managed to a very remarkable degree to resist the promptings of the flesh. Among some two thousand priests in the diocese of Belley between 1815 and 1880, for example, Philippe Boutry has found only six cases of sexual immorality that were well established - and similar statistics are available for many other dioceses. There were plenty of accusations of it, but very rarely supported by any evidence at all; in many cases such accusations were clearly a weapon of last resort against cure.r who were already in conflict with their parishioners over quite unrelated matters. There were always the few black sheep, even at the highest level: at least one priest who had had an affair and a child subsequently made it to the episcopate, and another in the same situation very nearly did. 30 But the great majority of the clergy kept rigorously to their vow of chastity. To us, living in a society obsessed by eroticism, that may seem implausible. But seminaries provided very rigorous training in sexual repression: keeping one's eyes lowered. not lingering in bed, not being alone with a fellow-seminarist (under pain of expulsion), and above all by the repeated association of sexuality with sin. These techniques for dealing with the libido proved remarkably

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A Social Hi.rtory ofFrench Catho!ici.rm 1789-1914

effective. They have since been abandoned- with the result that many French priests today have great difficulty with their celibacy, in a way that their nineteenth-century predecessors on the whole did not. 31 The parish clergy: standard of living The joys of physical love being eliminated, what other worldly pleasures did the clerical estate have to offer? Did it offer a reasonable standard of living? The Concordat and Organic Articles had stipulated that the State would pay clerical salaries: bishops would get 10,000 francs per annum, archbishops 15,000 (and very generous expenses); cures would get 1,000 or 1, 500. But by this was meant cures in the strict sense of the term; the des.rerz;ants and vicaires, i.e. a large majority of the parish clergy, were supposed to live off the pensions accorded them by the Constituent Assembly (266 to 400 francs) and the generosity of the faithful. In practice, however, this soon proved unworkable, and in 1804 de.rservant.r were given 500 per annum; in 1809 communes were obliged by law to ensure that vicaire.r were also paid at least 300 a year (either by the parish or the commune}, though in practice this was often not done. The Restoration made more serious efforts to improve clerical salaries. A series of ordinances took bishops to 15,000 per annum, 'second-class' cure.r to 1,200 ('first-class' ones stayed at 1,500), and des.rervantJ to 800 (with various supplements for those over 60, taking the oldest up to 1, 100); for the first time, the State agreed to pay vicaire.r, or at least those of them in recognized posts (about half), such that by 1830 they were getting 700 per annum (half paid by the State, half by the commune). The July Monarchy let clerical salaries stagnate. In 1849 de.rservant.r' salaries were raised to 850 a year, and in 1859 the Second Empire raised them again to 900, with 1,100 for the over-60s, 1,200 for the over-70s, and 1,300 for those over 75. These salary levels then remained unchanged until the Separation law of 1905, whereby the State ceased (apart from some transitional arrangements) to pay the clergy. Despite gloomy prognostication, the offerings of the faithful did more or less manage to compensate for this loss, though the security of a Government salary and the status that went with it were gone for ever. The bald figures of clerical salaries are, however, not much more than half the story. Both cures and desJerz;ants (not vicaire.r) got free lodging in the form of a presbytery (or, in the few cases where there wasn't one, an indemnity). All parish clergy received the caJuel. This consisted basically of payments by parishioners for marriages and funerals, and other religious services rendered (e.g. reading a passage

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from the Gospel over the head of a pilgrim at a local shrine). The term was often also used to include the profit from selling wax left over from candles supplied by the faithful for various celebrations, payments for masses for the souls of the dead, and other small payments for the curiJ's services. In many parishes there were regular quetes or collections for the priest, either in money or (decreasingly) in kind. Some communes, and a few fabriqttes (vestries), provided supplementary allowances for the cttre. Some parishes owned bits of land, from which the cure took the profit. There were, in sum, a large number of supplementary sources of income for the parish clergy. The total value of such income would vary wildly from place to place, the more fervent parishes usually providing more, as did the larger and wealthier (i.e. usually urban) ones. It also varied over time: bishops under the July Monarchy and Second Empire made great efforts to maximize the extra income of their clergy, with considerable success (as in the case of Dupanloup at Orleans) - though the Third Republic often saw a decline, as republican municipalities abolished supplementary payments, and the parishioners themselves grew more hostile to the casuel. It is thus quite impossible to make any general statement about what such sources of extra income were worth. A national enquiry of 1848 concluded that salary and casuel together amounted to less than 1,200 francs in one-third of parishes, between 1,200 and 1,400 in another third, and over 1,400 in the rest. In the mostly fervent diocese of Le Mans, in towns of over 5,000 inhabitants (excluding honoraria for masses and any supplements to salaries) the casuel ranged between 1,000 and 2,000 francs for cures and between 450 and 1,000 for vicaires; in rural parishes, it ranged between 25 and 500 francs for desservants and cures, 25 and 200 francs for vicaires. In the less fervent diocese of Perigueux, the average figures were 1, 000 (cures) and 160 (vicaires) in towns, 233 (cures and desservants) and 150 (vicaires) in the countryside. The range of total income in 1848 was therefore very wide - to say nothing of its evolution over time. Most historians seem to conclude, however, that the parish clergy, while rarely wealthy, was fairly comfortably off. They did eat white bread and meat on Sundays, and the clerical estate was one that might materially appeal to the son of an artisan or a peasant. Their standard of living should not be exaggerated, however. Few of them were wealthy men. In the diocese ofLe Mans, between 1830 and 1854, only a quarter of those that died left more than 5,000 francs; of the 24 who left more, 14 left more than they themselves had inherited, but they were mostly urban clergy (including two bishops). In a sample from the diocese of Perigueux (including the episcopal town but excluding those dying

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under 40), covering the whole of the century, 37 per cent left more than 5,000 francs, but less than 2 per cent more than 50,000. The ordinary parish priest was therefore only very modestly well-off. He was not in a position to practise the extensive alms-giving that his parishioners expected of him. He was compelled to be exacting in the wllection of his ca.rttel, such that for rural populations 'the camel did more to put people off the institutional Church than did all the philosophers of the eighteenth century' .32 He was not really rich enough to compel the respect that peasants usually accorded to wealth, whether they liked the person who owned it or not. He had, in most cases, risen in the world, but he had not risen that far. In the second half of the century, his actual salary (excluding his other income) was less than that of a gendarme, and even less than that of many skilled workers; a rural cure, in an irreligious area providing little ca.ruel, might be on a par with the working-class elite (though he did have the inestimable advantage of security of employment). In an average diocese he might be the equal of a small or medium landowner. The crucial comparison, however, was with the position of an in.rtitutettr or primary school teacher. For the first half of the century, cure and in.rtituteurwere economically and socially worlds apart: the teacher was crushingly poor, and in many ways the servant of the cure and the mayor. The Guizot law of 1833 gave him a minimum salary of 200 francs, and by the end of the July Monarchy his average total income was about 500 francs a year. The Falloux law of 1850 put the minimum up to 600, increased to 700 in 1862 and 800 at the end of the Second Empire. In 1875 a law finally gave the in.rtituteur parity with the de.r.rervmtt: 900 to 1,200 francs, depending on promotion. It was thus really only under the Third Republic that the schoolteacher became an economically independent figure, with professional pretentions, able to stand up to the cttre. Much of the struggle between cure and in.rtituteur in the last decades of the century can in fact be seen as a struggle for local influence between two local petty notables from similar backgrounds, with similar resources and similar professional claims - quite as much as a conflict over religious and educational matters. Until then, however, the cure in rural France, though only modestly well-off, was economically and socially much the superior of his only potential intellectual rival. 'L' esprit de domination'

Priests, even if they came from modest backgrounds and were only moderately well-off, were better off, better educated and more articulate than most. They were thus necessarily very much involved in the

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P?litics of village life. It did not always make them popular. Two quite d1~ferent but complementary factors wmbined to give many parish pnests an exaggerated sense of their own importance. The first was their own social mobility: they were often conscious of having risen above their peasant or artisan origins, and some at least intended that it should show. The second was the Tridentine tradition of the 'eminent dignity of the priest': seminarists were systematically indoctrinated with the idea that the sacrament of ordination made you a radically different and special kind of person. These factors were reinforced in religious areas by the extreme respect accorded to a priest: in the diocese of Rennes, in the first half of the century, a priest visiting his family was met by the father hat in hand; white bread was bought, and he dined separately while the women waited on him; he was always addressed in the second person plural. It is true that seminaries also attempted to inculcate the virtues of do11ceur and tendre.r.re, and that they tried to crush strong personalities into a uniform clerical mould. It may even be true that young boys attr~:ted to the priesthood tended to be those of a timid and retiring disposltlon, who had difficulty with the dominantly aggressive and macho values of male society. Nevertheless, a combination of social mobility and a sense of the eminent dignity of the priest gave many clerics a desire to lord it over their flocks. Many showed what Christianne Marcilhacy (following critics of the time) called an e.rprit de domination. A treatise on pastoral work published in the diocese of Orleans in 185 7 affirmed that a priest, 'with the authority of his sacerdotal character, the prestige of his religious dress, the superiority of his rank, education and virtue', would, if he were zealous, 'soon see all heads bow before him' .33 This arrogance was already evident under the Restoration, and it was well evoked by the Prefect of the Herault in 1828: In many small communes, young cttre.r are domineering figures who detest and denounce the mayor if they can't subjugate him, who don't always even recognize the orders of their bishop ... and who, involving themselves in everything, even with police work, impose on their parishioners constraints and penitences which alienate the population and which, when they don't reduce them to the level of animals, give them a feeling of repulsion for everything they should respect. Therein ... lies the great defect of the French clergy, especially of the young. 34 It was a commonplace of the time that the ex-ernigre clergy was- despite expectations to the contrary - more tolerant and easygoing than those

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ordained since the Revolution; their difficult experiences had made them long for a quiet life, and rendered them 'very indulgent towards human weakness'. 35 Stendhal accepted the stereotype of the aggressive young priest (the vz'caire Maston), as against the tolerant old abbe Chelan. There is reason to be suspicious of Stendhal's testimony, and even of that of the prefect of the Herault (writing at about the same time). But many cttre.r condemned themselves out of their own mouths. In 1841, in the diocese of Perigueux, a priest ordained in 1820, the son of a well-off peasant, could write that 'this parish is composed entirely of peasants, one can be master'. 36 Particularly as the century wore on, this kind of attitude was less and less accepted by the faithful. Thus in March 1848 the inhabitants of a village in the diocese of Belley petitioned against their cure, claiming that he reserved to himself to be the only person in the commune to be in control of everything ... [and that] those families where the father had refused to bow his head before the priest's tyranny and to be governed by him ... had been the object of his hatred and vindictiveness .... The population, in face of his haughty, proud, hatefilled, and vindictive character, have grown tired of his tyranny. 37 This petition was composed during a crucial period in national politics, but there is no sign that it was the cure's reaction to the February Revolution that concerned the parishioners; they were simply expressing accumulated resentment of his e.rprit de domination. Much rural anticlericalism in fact sprang from this source - particularly when the cure tried to control the activities of the municipal council. A clergy of modest origins, impressed by its own social mobility and filled with a sense of the eminent dignity of the priesthood, was clearly in danger of behaving in an authoritarian and intolerant manner. An increasingly wealthy and literate peasantry was less and less disposed to tolerate it. 38 The clergy and intellectual enquiry

The mass of the population were concerned about whether their priest was kind, tolerant, and pious. It is less clear that they were concerned about whether he was a thinker and a scholar. This was perhaps fortunate, since he was very unlikely to be either. The accepted picture of the nineteenth-century rural clergy in France is in fact one of very limited intellectual attainments indeed. In 1904 the abbe Baudaire formulated the classic indictment, declaring that 'during the whole of the century

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which has just ended, the clergy of France has remained a stranger to, and bas shown itself even hostile to, the progress of human knowledge·. 39 Baudaire ·s aim was to attack the reactionary clergy, rather than to deplore the intellectual attainments of the clergy as a whole, but there is a fair bit of evidence that be could legitimately have done both. In the diocese of Le Mans, out of 129 clerical wills between 1830 and 1854. only 37 included a library that was thought worth a separate mention; two-thirds of these libraries were worth less than 200 francs and only two more than a 1,000. It may be that parish priests did no~ have the resources to build up an extensive collection of books, but it is likely that most of them did not feel the need to do so. In the diocese of Orleans, under the Second Empire, Christianne Marcilhacv found herself dealing with a clergy who could not spell, whose gram~ar and expression were defective, whose prose was often illogical, and whose theological ignorance was alarming. Her picture of the parish clergy has been a very influential one. It may be to a certain extent an unfair picture, inasmuch as Orleans was a very irreligious diocese, and a much neglected one until the arrival of Dupanloup in 1849. But it is clear that the parish clergy in many dioceses was intellectually limited, and at worst frankly ignorant. There were a number of reasons why this should have been the case. Some were purely practical: the need rapidly to reconstitute the clergy after the Revolution meant accepting almost anyone, training them as rapidly as possible, and pushing almost every priest into parish work at the expense of further study or fuller staffing of the seminaries. The result was that the teaching staff of the seminaries, in the first half of the century at least, was often pretty poor. The Archbishop ofBesanyon commented on the three professors in his seminary under Napoleon I that 'the first had never learned very much, the second could have done so if he· d had the time and the books, and the third was only a mediocre mind'. 40 Emmanuel d 'Aizon, founder of the Assumptionists, asked a friend in his seminary days in 1832 'whether it did not make his heart tremble to see those whose task it is to guide us in Catholic learning not have even the vaguest idea of what such learning might be about' .41 It was widely assumed that anybody could teach anything, and seminary professors changed discipline at the convenience of the administration. There was little or no special training for such teaching, at least until the establishment of the Catholic universities in 1875. Monseigneur Affre, Archbishop of Paris, established the Ecole de.r Camze.r in 1840, intended as a centre for higher ecclesiastical studies, but in practice it turned out graduates to staff Catholic secondary schools rather than a scholarly elite among the clergy.

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Some seminary professors did some training at the Sulpician seminary in Paris, but many did not, and had never studied beyond the level they were attempting to teach. The academic quality of teaching to which most seminarists were exposed was thus severely limited. They were not helped by the fact that it was supposed to be given in Latin; the degree to which this was actually done varied, but Dupanloup for one insisted that all seminary teaching be done in Latin, including oral contributions bv students. This was no doubt asking too much of seminarists frorr{ culturally deprived backgrounds, whose first language was often the patois, and Baudaire was right to claim that 'for the majority of these young men, Latin is like a veil between their understanding and the ideas they are studying'. Late twentieth-century teachers might also deplore the emphasis on rote-learning that pervaded French seminaries in the nineteenth century: definitions and arguments were to be extensively memorized, and teachers were warned to stick to the manual from which they were working, any critical comments being likely to discourage students from learning by heart what the manual contained. The intellectual deficiencies of seminary teaching were not, however, clue simply to shortage of resources and personnel, or to pedagogical methods which strike us as undesirable. French seminaries were dominated by the traditions of the Sulpician teaching order. The Sulpicians themselves only staffed something over 20 seminaries in the midnineteenth century, and 24 in 1892, but their ideas on the purpose of a seminary education were largely adopted by other orders like the Lazarists and Picpucians, and by the diocesan clergy to whom a varying number of seminaries were entrusted. The basic principle was that piety was more important than intellect. Intellectual study did matter, but it was placed a clear second after the pious exercises that dominated seminary life. The Sulpician superior of the seminary at Bourges from 1829 to 1842 made it dear that his order has never proposed, and should not propose ... to make its members into scholars and doctors, but rather useful servants of the clergy, which has a great deal more need of the prayers, example, and guidance of those whose task it is to train them than of their lessons and their teaching, and for whom piety is a great deal more necessary than extensive and profound learning. 42 In a sense this is obviously true of a clergy, and can scarcely be criticized. It seems, however, that many seminary heads went out of their way to snuff out any intellectual curiosity. Asking awkward questions

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was a sign of indocility, and perhaps even of impiety_ The most able students were likely to be noted as 'a bit vain ... touchy', 'a bit original', or 'self-important ... needs training in modesty and charity ... harsh in his criticisms'. Monseigneur Latty, Archbishop of Avignon, who in 1890 had published a resounding and very influential diatribe against the poor quality of ecclesiastical scholarship, in 1913 instructed the staff of his minor seminary that the fundamental virtue that they should inculcate was humility; teachers were recommended to seek out the brightest, liveliest, and most admired students and destroy their self-love and attachment to their egos. 43 Throughout the whole of our period, in fact, the Catholic church in France showed itself suspicious of the independent and enquiring mind: thinking for oneself was too likely to be incompatible with a fundamentally hierarchical Church. The picture so far is the traditional one of a clergy either hostile to intellectual enquiry or incapable of undertaking it anyway. A number of historians, however. have recently tried to modify this picture to a greater or lesser degree. Paul Catrice has thought to perceive in the nineteenth century as a whole 'an extraordinary flourishing of theological publications, exegetical and patristic studies, apologetics, and multiple editions of the Bible at an astonishing rate' 44 Harry Paul has recently concluded, from a survey of clerical scholarship in the nineteenth century, that there was 'an astonishing variety of systems of thought ... rather than the stagnant pool of orthodoxy in which, some writers assume, the Church was drowning' .'15 There is also a lot of evidence that at least the episcopate thought that intellectual attainments mattered, and was worried that the intellectual level of the lower clergy was not all that it might be. The provincial councils that were able to meet between 1849 and 1868 frequently emphasized the need to raise the general level of clerical scholarship. From the late Restoration onward, bishops made sporadic attempts in many dioceses to establish annual exams for young priests for five years after ordination, and some of them promised that success in these exams would be taken into consideration when deciding postings. The young clergy seems often to have been stubbornly recalcitrant in the face of these attempts to make it continue its studies, but at least an attempt was made. A rather more systematic attempt was made, initially in the 1830s and more seriously in the 1850s. to revitalize the tradition of conferences ecclesiastiques, monthly meetings of the clergy of each canton to discuss questions of theology. Here again, the attempt met with only limited success. Attendance was variable, depending on the pressures exerted by the bishop: an active bishop might achieve an attendance

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rate of over 90 per cent, but it was difficult to maintain this level of enthusiasm (or discipline). Some dioceses published annual digests of the conclusions of these conferences, which suggest that they did actually meet and send in reports of their proceedings, even if they were evidently given to massive plagiarism and theological naYvety. There isn't much reason to take at face value Gustave Courbet's brilliant anticlerical satire 'Returning from the conference' - even if it proved on occasion necessary to stipulate that dinner at these reunions should consist of no more than five or six courses. The conferences ecc!esiastiques in fact probably caused priests occasionally to look at a theological work they would otherwise never have opened, and to exchange a few superficial remarks with colleagues (written up by the one or two more dedicated members), before getting down to the more serious business of feasting and criticizing the diocesan administration. The only way a concerned episcopate could really get the parish clergy to take intellectual pursuits seriously was to ensure that it made a difference when it came to promotion, i.e. to ensure that careers were open to talent. There was a definite career structure in the parish clergy, particularly at the point of promotion from desservant to cure de canton, and in appointments to official and honorary canonries. There was also the simple question of whether you were appointed to a large and I or fervent parish, where the priestly existence was more rewarding and the casuel larger. We have already seen that intellectual ability mattered for getting into the episcopate, and it is thus less surprising that promotion up the lower rungs of the ecclesiastical ladder also depended, in part at least, on similar qualities. Yves-Marie Hilaire, for the diocese of Arras in the first half of the nineteenth century, has concluded that 'in the selection process social origins mattered less than intellectual and pastoral ability', and a similar meritocracy has been observed in other dioceses as well. 46 No doubt it will not do to exaggerate: those nobles who did enter the clergy were mostly assured of a meteoric career, and there was also the distrust of the exceptionally bright already noted. But normally those who got good marks in their seminary days had more successful careers - though it is interesting, if unsurprising, to note that they were usually also those from less culturally deprived home backgrounds. There is of course the further problem of what seminary grades represented: professors may have been inclined to see those that were docile and pious as more intellectually able. But there is a considerable body of evidence that bishops did favour, in the promotion stakes, those whom they and their associates perceived as being brighter than the others. There is not, it is true, all that much evidence that this stimulated clerical scholarship at the

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grass-roots- though for the diocese of Nantes it appears (for example) that young priests took their annual exams seriously, because they knew that getting a good parish largely depended on it. The crisis point in the intellectual deficiency of nineteenth-century French catholicism is usually seen as coming with the publication in 1863 of Ernest Renan 's Vie de jesus. Renan transmitted to the general public in France, for effectively the first time, the well-established conclusions of German biblical criticism. For a Church still unrelentingly committed to a rigid biblical chronology (Dupanloup's Easter letter of 1850 could still present the decalogue as being given to Moses in the year 2513 after the creation of the world) this was a very dangerous attack. The major responses offered by Catholic spokesmen like Dupanloup and Veuillot were literary and oratorical, and made no serious attempt to come to terms with Renan ·s critique. In the case of the clergy, this was largely a consequence of the fact that the time given to the study of the Scriptures in seminaries was very limited, and usually only consisted of pious commentary. Knowledge of geology was limited to a bland assertion that scientific discoveries confirmed the Book of Genesis, and particularly the story of the Flood. It has seemed in fact to many historians that the tremendous impact of the Vie de }esm (comparable to that of The Origin of Species in England) was merely the nemesis of the Church· s manifest intellectual failings. We now know that this picture needs considerable modification. It is true that biblical scholarship and the natural sciences were neglected in French seminaries. but there were significant exceptions. Bishops and seminary directors made various attempts to introduce them into the curriculum, at least as minority interests for the more able. Hebrew in particular was recommended, even if only a tiny minority of seminarists ever actually got to study it. There was, in Renan's day, a small but significant elite of the clergy quite capable of arguing with Renan on his own level. Meignan, Bishop of Chalons (1865-82) and Arras (1882-4) and Archbishop of Tours (1884-96), had trained in biblical exegesis in Germany, and could point out that German scholars were unimpressed by Renan's work. A few other bishops, like Hugonin (Bayeux, 1867-98) and Ginouilhiac (Grenoble, 1853-70, and Lyons, 1870-5), were authentic scholars not in the least embarrassed by Renan's attack. Harry Paul concludes that 'the prevalent idea that the Church was dumbfounded by La Vie de jesus because there was no one among the clergy to. meet Renan on his own ground of Biblical exegesis is obvious nonsense' .47 The real problem for the clergy was not Renan 's scholarship, but his axiomatic rejection of the supernatural, which a Catholic clergy could by definition not accept. It is true that the mass of

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the clergy were ignorant of the bases of the argument (just as were most of those who took the opposite side), but the intellectual elite of the clergy was not as empty-handed in the face of biblical criticism as used to be believed. There arc at least two other reasons for modifying the picture of a Catholic clergy of very limited intellectual attainments. The first is that anyone who has actually attempted to read the theological works produced in the nineteenth century will realize that it was not that the clergy did not know very much, but rather that they knew different things from what today passes for knowledge. Partly because the best theological arguments were regarded as being those ex attctoritate, i.e. based on the authority of the great theologians of the past, the knowledge that nineteenth-century theologians had of the theological traditions of the Church, from the Fathers downwards, was absolutely encyclopedic- and we shall no doubt never sec its like again. The most mind-boggling manifestation of this was the publishing enterprise of the abbe Mignc, which between 1837 andl868 produced221 volumes of the Latin Fathers, 242 of the Greek Fathers, 99 of clerical classics, 52 of an encyclopedia of theology, 27 of a complete course in ecclesiastical history, and many morc. 48 The scholarly elite of the clergy read as much as scholars do now; it was simply that they read different books. It should not be supposed, furthermore, that this continuous appeal to a massive tradition was entirely stultifying. Theologians like Bishops Bouvier and Gousset, for example, were able - within the framework of appeal to tradition - radically to renew the moral theology of the day (sec chapter 8). There was thus an enormous body of theological scholarship among the clergy, now almost forgotten, which was far from being contemptible. The second modification that needs to be made in the picture of an ignorant clergy is that, to the degree that it is a correct one, it was an almost inevitable consequence of the social and cultural environment from which most priests ~arne. Peasant families, even well-off ones, did not have books in the home, and much the same was true of artisan ones. In an important minority of cases the father could not even sign his name, and it is probable that in a majority the even more important mother was illiterate. Few priests came from literate and cultivated homes, especially not from those of the professional bourgeoisie. Priests thus came overwhelmingly from backgrounds that we would now describe as 'culturally deprived'. It was not, of course, that such families did not have a very rich culture of their own, but it was a culture (particularly when based on the patois) that simply made it more difficult for the sons of peasants and artisans to assimilate and

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operate within the culture of the literate elite. The young men who entered seminaries were thus, almost inevitably, of limited intellectual attainments - because the criteria for such attainments were set by a culture which was not their own. Bishops and seminary directors, who had either come from a different background or had been successful precisely because of their exceptional ability to assimilate the culture of an elite, were acutely aware of the problem. This is strikingly illustrated in the case of the grand.riiminaire ofPerigueux in the 1840s, for which we possess the records kept on each student. The professors commented on the talents, application, conduct, and character of each of their charges. The vast majority were considered to be tre.r bien, bien, or as.rez bien in their application (97 per cent), conduct (100 per cent), and character (99. 5 per cent). But where talents were concerned, none were tre.r bien, only 5 per cent bien, 18 per cent a.r.rez bien, 17 per cent 77tediocre. and 59 per cent foible or tres faib!e. The professors were evidently confronted with a group of pious, hard-working, and docile young men, who would, however, never shine in scholarship, no matter how good the teaching or how great the encouragement to intellectual pursuits. The situation in Perigueux was probably typical of most dioceses in rural France, if not in the major cities. The parish clergy came from backgrounds which to a very large degree prevented them from being able to shine in the intellectual culture of the clay. That is the major reason why the great mass of the clergy was intellectually weak. It did not mean that there was not a very competent intellectual elite in the clergy, quite capable of debating with Renan or of reversing the moral theology of the clay. But it did mean that the mass of the parish clergy was not interested in formal intellectual pursuits, or indeed capable of being so. Clerical values

We have so far considered clerical education largely in the perspective of its academic content. It is clear, however, that this was not, and was not intended to be, what seminary training was essentially about. It was essentially about creating priests who were pious, grave, and docile. This was what the Council of Trent had required; it had been elaborated in the seventeenth century by the French school of spirituality. and was relayed to the seminaries by the Sulpician Order. This tradition involved some highly sophisticated techniques of control, which the work of Michel Foucault can help us to understand. Foucault, analysing the development of such techniques in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, particularly in armies, schools, and factories, emphasized the

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importance of constant .rttrvezllance, and of the minute and detailed regulation of bodily activities, in making 'docile bodies' and obedient soldiers, students, workers, or citizens.'19 Foucault did not use seminaries as an example, but they illustrate his argument very well. Techniques of surveillance and bodily regulation were extensively used in the seminaries of the eighteenth century, and the reconstituted seminaries of the nineteenth century attempted to follow this model as closely as possible. Seminary reglemmts required that the teaching staff never let the students out of their sight, joining them in all their recreations and excursions: survet!lance was to be a permanent feature of aseminarist' s life. The major seminary at Viviers, rebuilt after a fire in 1777 and still visible today (though no longer a seminary), was characteristic: it was constructed so that the Sulpician Fathers could discreetly sttrvet!lerevery cell, not only along the corridors of each storey but also from top to bottom. In nearly all nineteenth-century seminaries, entering a fellow-student's room- i.e. engaging in social relations not under the eye of the staff - was an offence meriting expulsion. All seminaries had detailed rules against forming fixed friendships, prescribing that the students should never be in groups ofless than three, and not regularly with the same friends, in order not to contract these amities particu/ieres which are based on purely natural inclination and not on charity or the desire for perfection, and the least harmful consequences of which are dissipation, waste of time, contempt for others, infraction of rules, and distrust of those who are there to guide us. 50 It is true that the hostility to amities particttlieres was partly due to the panic fear of homosexuality, but it was also an essential part of the control technique of survet!lance. This technique further required that every moment of a seminarist's day be regulated in the minutest detail: timetables were complex and rigid, and every activity carefully ordained according to fixed rules. The rules governing the trip from the seminary at Rouen to the cathedral are both typical and reveaiing: At the first ringing of the bell, they [the seminarists] go down to the front courtyard and line up in rows of three behind the choirmasters ... and wait silently for the second ringing of the bell, which is the signal to set off. The seminarists will take as their companions the first persons they meet. At the second ringing of the bell, the choirmasters will check that everyone is present, and they will set off slowly .... For reasons of modesty, silence will be maintained. 51

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The whole of a seminarist's day was governed by such rules, and the good student was one who obeyed the reglement unquestioningly. Thus the Tridentine traditions of survet!lance were maintained and if anything intensified in the seminaries of the nineteenth century. The related technique of the detailed control of bodily movements in order to create 'docile bodies' was similarly retained. Seminarists were not supposed to rush about in a disorderly and uncontrolled manner: a grave and regulated deportment was seen as an essential sign of piety. As the reg/ement at Rouen laid down, seminarists 'will carefully avoid cries, loud laughter. joking ... arguments, disputes, games of skill, levity, news from the outside world, in short everything that is contrary to ecclesiastical modesty and gravity'. The ideal was to walk slowly, with one's eyes to the ground, and to avoid all rapid gestures and movements. Such an ideal may not have been easy to achieve with the sons of peasants and artisans, whose home backgrounds had taught them little about the traditions of po/iteJJe, but it was inculcated with all the more obsessiveness by the seminaries of the nineteenth century. At a conscious level, these techniques of surveillance and of detailed regulation of the body were intended to promote what was perceived as piety, application, and good conduct. They clearly had, however, an important disciplinary function as well. They had been developed to rreate a clergy that was docile; docility was one of the major clerical virtues, and a necessary sign of piety. Young colleagues on the staff at Bourges were appreciated because they were 'very pious and very docile', or 'goodness and docility itself'. The term of approval often used was dottx, gentle. Gentleness and docility also meant not doing anything out of the ordinary, never showing any individuality. Thus a seminarist at Nantes under the Second Empire was noted as having long since won the esteem of his fellow-students by his piety, his charity, his zeal, his regularity ... , He would be the perfect seminarist if there were not in his make-up a slight streak of originality, a rather too exaggerated need for action, even if always for the good. His zeal could easily carry him beyond the limits. 52 The seminaries thus produced a docile, regimented, and uniform clergy, to a degree that even their eighteenth-century predecessors (dealing with young men from more independent backgrounds) had failed to do. Only the most enlightened of the professors realized this might not be an entirely good thing. Canon Vizy of Perigueux was

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swimming against the tide in 1854 when he wondered, in his private diary, to what degree the uniformity of a detailed set of rules and a cloistered education may be damaging to the soaring of the spirit and the free development of character. ... At no point in the past has the clergy been more unified than today: never has it been more uniformly dressed, educated, trained, and ... regimented. The whole lot walks, thinks, talks, and behaves as if attached to some invisible thread .... We seem these clays to be afraid of those strong characters against which the steel of the enemy was blunted, of those irregulars who, for all their indiscipline, could deliver a solid blow. I would even go so far as to regret the passing of that race of cures originaux, of whom the people retains the memory of their amusing eccentricities and ... their solid virtue. 53 The clergy and 'the world'

Another crucial aspect of the training in piety that nineteenth-century seminaries gave was the contempttt.r mundi, the rejection of the world. We have seen in chapter 1 that this was an essential feature ofTridentine catholicism. It was particularly strong in the traditions of the Sulpician Order, and continued unabated in the Sulpician and other seminaries of the nineteenth century. It was expressed in the architecture: seminary buildings (those ofViviers are again the classic example) were always inward-looking, and tried hermetically to seal themselves off from the outside world. Nearly all seminaries tried to maximize the proportion of boarders, and usually only the preliminary year (if any) involved living beyond the walls. Rules made the aim of separation quite explicit: the reg!ement of the Montpellier seminary, operative from 1809 onwards, stated baldly that 'it is essential to accustom oneself from the beginning to divorcing oneself from the outside world'. 54 Contact with the outside world was indeed reduced to a minimum: events like Napoleon's return from Elba or the 1830 revolution passed wholly unperceived, and as late as 1900 the reglement at Rouen forbade all works of literature and all newspapers save the diocesan bulletin. Holidays were the great worry of seminary directors, who saw them as a time when exposure to the outside world would undermine vocations. In the cholera epidemic of 1832 the head of the Sulpician Order wanted students to be discouraged from returning to their homes, 'where they lose their seminary training, their morals, and their vocation'. 55 Young boys who showed signs of a vocation were to be

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encouraged to give up the friendship of other children. It is true that there was often an exception to this policy of isolation in the case of minor seminaries. Throughout the nineteenth century the clergy was torn between the desire to isolate future priests in petits seminaires from the outside world, and the desire to use these institutions to give a good Catholic education to the sons of notables and as places where the future priests could make contacts with the wealthy that would later be useful to the Church. Dupanloup was the great champion of the second line, and under his episcopate the minor seminary at Orleans gave a secondary education not only to candidates for the priesthood but also to the very cream of Orleans society. But, although such exceptions to the general contemptu.r mttndi were allowed and even encouraged in many minor seminaries, the major ones, exclusively devoted to the training for the priesthood, remained closed institutions teaching contempt for and rejection of the outside world. Once he had left the seminary, the parish priest was under very strong pressure to be in the world but not of it. The 1880 statutes of the diocese of Montpellier declared that the priest is not of the world. He cannot therefore desire it [aimed. The more he shows himself in public, the more he exposes himself to letting the human element in him show, and 'the less, as a result, he succeeds in inspiring respect for his [sacerdotal] character and affection for his person. 56 In the Triclentine tradition of rigorously demarcating the sacred from the profane (and devaluing the latter), priests were not supposed to hunt, play bottles or other games, or enter a cafe or hotel unless absolutely necessary. They were (in most dioceses) strongly discouraged from visiting the homes of their parishioners, except in the case of illness - and then the purpose was to ensure that the last sacraments were administered in time and not to socialize. Frequent visits' result in waste of time, are damaging to piety, and cause a decline in charity'. As the cure of Laval said succinctly, 'the priest should be seen only at church, in his presbytery, and at the bedside of the sick' .57 Clearly this was an ideal that was not easy to live up to, and there were no doubt many gregarious priests who enjoyed feasting, drinking, and playing cards with their parishioners. There is some evidence, however, that the Tridentine ideal was put into practice in the nineteenth century, perhaps even more than before, at least by an elite. A cure of the

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diocese of Quimper drew up in 1862 a memo on the reforms he had introduced in his parish: Since the priest should be above all a mysterious being who should live only between the vestibule and the altar, I first of all ceased attending all the dinners given in the parish at carnival time. I do not enter any houses unless there is a sick person to be seen, except that of the mayor from time to time because I prefer to be in his good graces. This retiring life is very worth while for a cure in the countryside, where familiarity is not slow to breed contempt. 5 8 This particular cttre may have been exceptionally isolationist, but his text does suggest that at least some priests lived up to the ideal of cutting themselves off from the world, and that this was what the mass of Catholics expected them to do. The clergy and sexuality

One central element of the rejection of the world about which the faithful were less than happy (at least when it was applied to them, not the cure) was the blanket condemnation of sexuality. Here again, of course, we are looking at the continuation of a long and powerful tradition within Christianity. We have seen in chapter 1 how the Tridentine Church emphasized this tradition, resulting (for example) in a reordering of the seven deadly sins so that those of the body were stressed more than those of the mind. The nineteenth-century church simply continued along these lines. A mission preacher writing under the Restoration devoted 264 pages to the sin of lechery, as against 172 to pride and 166 to avarice (though he did include the latter two, sins of the spirit, among the top three of the seven deadly sins). The Sulpicians maintained the traditions of their founder, M. Olier, for whom the flesh was 'the consequence of sin, the basis of sin'. For the dergy in general, the body was 'the greatest enemy that we have, the greatest traitor to be feared, a traitor that seeks at every moment to be the death of us, an eternal death for the soul that sustains it and supplies all its needs' .59 The thinking of the clergy was profoundly marked by a tradition of a simple dualism between soul and body: a human being was composed of a soul and a body, and the former was incomparably the nobler element. Priests had (or were supposed to have) a contempt for their own bodies. A good priest did not take a bath, because it was (said the Bishop of Belley) 'to preoccupy ourselves with a part of ourselves which is already too demanding in requiring food, sleep, and

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exercise. Baths provide, it is said, a little moment of well-being; but one can live a long time without that.' 60 Women's bodies were of course even more to be despised and shunned than was one's own; the clergy was thus marked by what Yves Le Gallo has called a kind of gynophobia, such that priests were unable to tolerate the thought of sexual pleasure being experienced by their female flock, and could tell a young bride, the night before her marriage, that she should regard the flowers to be placed on her head in the morning as a crown of thorns. 61 Clerical gynophobia in the nineteenth century found its most insistent expression in the condemnation of dancing. The Tridentine Church had always opposed dancing as at least the proximate occasion of sin, but in the nineteenth century such condemnation seems to have reached a paroxysm. This may be partly because the nature of the dance was changing. Traditional dances, whether among peasants or high society, were done in groups or solo, and physical contact between the sexes was not great. But the armies of the Revolution and Empire brought back from Germany the waltz, where man and woman held each other closely and exclusively. It was not just the clergy that regarded this as unbridled eroticism; it is never easy to know what Flaubert was really thinking, but when Emma Bovary and the Viscount waltzed together the erotic charge in what they were doing is made very explicit. The introduction of the polka in the 1840s simply made things, in the eyes of the clergy, worse. Thus the eroticization of dancing in the nineteenth century may have been part of the reason why priests attacked all dancing with such virulence; it would l:ertainly explain why, in the early part of the century, the older clergy (who were accustomed to the more communal dance) were less intolerant than their younger colleagues. But new dance forms like the waltz and the polka were fairly slow to penetrate the countryside, where traditional dances like the bourree remained popular well into the second half of the century - yet country cures were quite as virulent as urban ones in their condemnation of dancing en bloc. One wonders whether Edward Shorter is right to see a 'sexual revolution' taking place in Europe between about 1750 and 1850; if so, the clerical fear of dancing might then be seen as the form taken by their fear of a rising tide of eroticism clashing dangerously with traditions of soul/body dualism and the devaluation of the flesh. At any rate, it is clear that the moral dangers of dancing became a total obsession of the nineteenth-century French clergy. Girls - against whom the offensive was almost exclusively directed -were made to sign undertakings not to dance. The penalties were exclusion from prized membership of the Enfonts de Marie, sometimes denunciation from the pulpit, and above all the refusal of

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absolution. Most cures would not admit girls who danced, to holy communion. One, in the diocese of Orleans, boasted that he used to have 'several very Christian [sic] souls, who brought me at six in the morning, in the church, the list of all the girls who, the night before, had strayed so far as to dance' - no doubt so that he could catch them out in confession, and refuse absolution. It did of course prove impossible to eradicate the popular passion for dancing. Saint John Vianney managed to do so at Ars, and many others were able to reduce the incidence of dancing in their parish, but in both town and countryside dancing remained one of the chief forms of popular festivity and relaxation. The real consequence of the clergy's attitude was to alienate the young, and particularly young men in the countryside, who deeply resented the cure's role in cutting off the supply of girls for the village bal. 62 The clergy and modernity

The clerical condemnation of dancing had something to do with an eroticization of the dance, and perhaps of society at large. More broadly, the condemnation of the world in general may have had something to do with the fact that the world was becoming (or so it seemed to many priests) a more alien and hostile place for the clergy. The old contemjJtttJ tmmdi was reinforced by a condemnation of the modern world, of modernity. With some priests this took the form of a deep suspicion of nineteenth-century science and technology. This suspicion was not as universal as is sometimes supposed: for Bishop Bouvier, blessing the new station at Le Mans in 1854, the marvellous discoveries of our scientists ... have in no way undermined the truths of the Christian faith and will never do so .... True religion comes from God as does the creation, and God, who is truth itself. cannot contradict himself in his works. May scientists increase in number, may they advance ever further in human knowledge and multiply their discoveriesY Blessing new railway stations was in fact fairly standard practice, and normally the officiating clergy found nice things to say about them. But an excitable bishop like Berteaud ofTulle could follow his benediction by an attack on railways as part of the triumph of modern materialism, and many were at best ambivalent, such as the senior cleric who blessed the new station at Laval in 1855, expressing his fear that 'these rapid convoys may serve only to communicate to the people the doctrines of disorder that precipitate the ruin of Society', while hoping

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that 'the apostles of the Gospel, carried on wings of steam, will succeed more rapidly in extending the empire of the true God' .64 Roads, too, were a dubious benefit, or even a disaster: in 1865 a cure near Nantes exclaimed: 'Goodbye to the calm and the solid religious practice that one saw before all these roads. We have six of them that cross the parish, and the devil knows it well. ' 65 The spokesman of many ordinary mre.r, Louis Veuillot and his newspaper L 'Univer.r, probably expressed their views on science and technology better than they could have done themselves. He poked great fun (for instance) at an 1875 brochure on the treatment of the vine disease phylloxera (which was at that time untreatable ): You put your faith in physics and chemistry. Physics and chemistry . , . have become the modern names of Baal. . . . Physics and chemistry alone will never cure the phylloxera of the vine, nor will any science alone cure any other phylloxera, because no science without theology has any meaning. Any unaided science - i.e. which eliminates God or isolates itself from Him - is incomplete, corrupt, and leads to destruction. 66 Veuillot's readers, essentially the lower clergy, if they did not exactly regard physics and chemistry as the modern names of Baal, shared his suspicion of the ambient enthusiasm for the conquests of nineteenthcentury science and technology. They also shared a deep dislike of urbanization. France was not an urban society in the nineteenth century: even at the outbreak of the First World War, only about 45 per cent of the population lived in towns (very generously defined). But urbanization was gradually increasing throughout the century, and the clergy had few good words to say for it. Towns were perceived as destructive offaith and corrupting of morals. In the countryside there were fewer distractions (particularly in the form of the cabaret or drinking den), fewer sources of authority to compete with that of the cure, fewer opportunities for ambition and the heavens declared the glory of God. A rural cure in the diocese of Nantes in 1875 wrote: The man of the fields hears only the voice of the humble cure of his village calling on him to serve God, and the voices of the heavens and the earth which tell His glory. More religious, he is also more moral, and instead of devoting himself to chimerical ambitions, the popular plague of our time, he is sober and restrained in his desires and his wishes do not extend beyond extending by a few yards the borders of his field. 67

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There was one form of modernity about which the clergy were rather more ambivalent: mass education. The extension of schooling could have some considerable advantages. For as long as primary education involved a large clement of religious instruction - which was the case until 1882 - it was obviously a good thing. Furthermore, cures found that children with formal schooling were usually faster in learning the catechism than were their untutored fellows. Many of them probably also genuinely felt that the diffusion of basic skills was in itself a good thing. Thus the rapid development of primary schooling after the Guizot law of 1833 by and large met with clerical approval- especially as the law placed primary schools under the joint surveillance of mayor and cure. Cures in the diocese of Valence exhorted parents from the pulpit to send their children to school, helped to pay the fees of the poor, and on occasion took over as teachers themselves. Bishop Bouvier, perhaps remembering his own lowly origins, was even prepared to countenance education for social mobility (so feared by many of his colleagues): If the children of the labouring and indigent classes arc deprived of an education proportionate to current knowledge, they will be no good for anything; they will only vegetate in misery and will never rise to the life of honest comfort that intelligent work and sensible industry can procure. 68 After the laic laws of the 1880s the issue was obviously transformed: there was no way the clergy could approve of an education in /'ecole sam Dieu. But until then the extension of mass education - vcrv largely complete before the legislation of compulsion in 1882 - mc~t with much wider approval from the clergy than has been commonly supposed. Nevertheless, there was also a strong current in the clergy that was hostile to the extension of literacy to the mass of the population. In the diocese of Orleans, a clergy confronted by a universally hostile - and literate - petty bourgeoisie had little desire to extend the benefits of education. Primary education will simply result in the reading of bad publications and people will become worse . . . it produces neither scholars - which we could happily do without - nor the Christians that we lack. . . Learning is thus bad? dangerous? Y cs, for many .... Our best people arc those who can neither read nor write.

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In another irreligious area, the Limousin, the Archpriest of Rochcchouart declared in the pulpit in 1864: 'I protest with all my strength against compulsory primary education which allows our poor classes to learn how to read evil books and find evil teachings in them. ' 69 Therein lay, for many priests, the problem: les mauvaises lectures. The French clergy was absolutely obsessed with the idea that irreligion and immorality were being propagated essentially by the written word. The obsession was clearly an irrational one, because, even if an increasing proportion of the population could sign their names (66 per cent of men and 55 per cent of women could sign their marriage certificate in 1853, and by 1900 95 per cent and 94 per cent rcspcctivcly}, 70 functional illiteracy remained very widespread, at least in the countryside. Peasants did not read books; they might from time to time laboriously decipher a newspaper, or- more often- have it read to them in the cabaret, but the clerical denunciation of mauvaises lectures predated the spread of literacy and manifestly attributed to the written word an influence out of all proportion with reality. It was in fact a classic conspiracy theory: the flood of evil books was seen as the result of a 'vast conspiracy', an 'odious machination of the spirit of darkness to lead souls to perdition·. For many, illiteracy was desirable when such literature was freely propagated. The Bishop of Saint Die deplored, in 1867, that today everyone, or nearly everyone, especially in this diocese, is initiated into the science of reading .... Let it be no surprise if, while applauding the progress of public instruction, we seck to put souls that arc so easily seduced on their guard against the attraction of pernicious literature .... It would be a thousand times better that they remain in ignorance, keeping their faith, simplicity, rectitude, and old-style probity, than that they should sacrifice these sacred possessions for the ability to read irreligious newspapers, obscene stories. and socialist novels. Many bishops - including the politically more liberal element- called for the destruction of evil books by fire. Few of them dwelt on the possible power for good in mass literacy: it was an aspect of the modern world with which they found it often - not always - difficult to come to tcrms. 71 Clerical antipathy to eroticism, to science and technology, to urbanization, to mass education, and to other aspects of modernity often culminated in a general lamentation on les malheurs des temps, the evils of the age. This lamentation intensified under the Third Republic,

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as the legislative offensive of Ferry and his associates was added to the more general offensive of the modern world. Priests began to develop a siege mentality, perceiving themselves as fighting a losing battle (even if ultimate victory was in principle assured) against a rising tide of sexual, technical, and political modernity. They developed a mythical vision of an unspecified past: 'autrefois', in past times, became one of the commonest words in clerical discourse. The Semaine religieuse of Montpellier gave this mentality an absolutely classic formulation in 1877: The times are bad ... in past times, everyone stayed at home ... in past times, the family was a little world where there was room, work, and pleasures for all ... in past times, life was calmer, the demands of society less absolute ... in past times, each province had its costume, varied, but simple and modest ... today the country girl knows and wears the exaggerated fashions of the town ... in past times, there were as many languages as costumes ... it was a barrier against undesirable change .... In past times, the priest was held in great respect in the countryside ... the family was the vestibule of the church ... in past times no one read pernicious books in the countryside ... in past times there was more joy, more gaiety, you could hear singing everywhere ... in past times, there was dancing only on the clay of the local festival, today Sunday is no longer the Lord's day but the clay of the bal ... in past times ... there was neither cafe nor billiard-hall ... there weren't any newspapers. 72 The writer did not specify what period he was thinking about, because the whole thing was an a-temporal figment of his imagination, a reassuring myth in a diocese precociously affected by the forces of modernization. In so far as the myth was localized in time, it was situated at some point before the Revolution. Perhaps the first half of the eighteenth century, the apogee of Triclentine catholicism in France, would (had they known more about it) have been the closest approximation to this clerical dream. They associated that period, however, with the morals of the Regency, and thus saw it as a precursor of their own. It was to be expected that such a tension between clerical ideology and the modern world would lead to attempts to resolve it, and from the late nineteenth century some attempts were made to do so. A new clerical ideal began to spread, according to which the priest, instead of shutting himself off from the world as in the Sulpician tradition, should involve himself actively in the economic and social lives of his parishioners. He should organize what were called oeuvres sociales - most of them

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particularly directed towards men: mutual aid societies, agricultural cooperatives, patronages (boys' clubs), etc. In a society where men in particular seemed to be deserting the Church en masse, the Sulpician ideal of turning one's back on the world made no sense: it was necessary to go out into the world in search of the lost sheep and bring them back into the fold. As one particularly ardent propagator of the new ideal said: What good are beautiful singing in churches, golden chasubles, and solemn sermons, when the people don't go there any more? We must get out, we must go out into the highways and byways. We must preach on the roof-tops .... Get out, gentlemen, leave the sanctuary. Be present in the church, well and good! but don't be there all the time. 73 This attitude was essentially that of the abbes democrates of the 1890s, who attempted the double reconciliation of the Church with industrial society and democratic politics, based on the encyclical Rerum novarum of 1891 and the ralliement policy (rallying to the republic) initiated by Leo XIII in 1890 and 1892. It was perhaps most fully expressed in the national congresses of the lower clergy held in Reims in 1896 and Bourges in 1900, of which the abbe Lemire was the moving spirit. They were attended by about 700 priests on each occasion, mostly from the parish clergy (though the figures for attendance from outside the diocese concerned were more like 600 at Reims and 300 at Bourges). Speeches and resolutions were a series of attacks on the failure of the Church to come to terms with the modern world. In a dechristianizecl society, the Church must re-establish dialogue with science, with the government, and with the people. This meant accepting scientific progress, political democracy with universal suffrage, and social legislation. One should establish oeuvres sociales (especially patronages), and work through the press - Saint Paul, had he lived at the end of the nineteenth century, would have been a journalist. Above all, the priest must go to the people, and in that way bring them back into the spiritual fold. 74 All this constituted a fairly radical reaction against the dominant traditions of the nineteenth-century clergy. It was, however, rather less radical than it appeared at first sight. In the first place, it was still a programme for clerical action: priests were to establish and control such oettvres, and laymen were seen as the objects of action, not as actors themselves. The clergy who attended - essentially the radical wing of the clergy as a whole - still manifested, despite their ideas about

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welcoming the modern world. a hostility to towns. to industry, to the concentration of capital, to the abandonment of the countryside. Most called themselves democrats and welcomed Leo XIII's initiatives, but they also denounced 'revolutionary individualism', and presented the revolutionarv idea and the Christian idea as irreconcilable; they also attacked th~ Jews. Despite the totally honest desire to 'go to the people', there was little acceptance of the principles of 1789, but rather a dream of a corporatist and decentralized society. French catholicism would have to wait for a lay initiative, Marc Sangnier's Sillon in the early twentieth century, for a movement genuinely accepting the principles of the Revolution. Despite the limited nature of its radicalism, the movement represented by the congresses ofReims and Bourges was cut short after 1900. The intensifying struggle between Church and State meant that ideas about accepting the republican form of government could have little audience among the clergy. Furthermore, even before leo XIII died in 1903, Rome was moving towards the intransigent reactionary position of his successor Pius X. Finally, the opposition to the spirit ofReims and Bourges among the French clergy remained strong. Bishop Isoard of Annecy spoke for many of his colleagues when he complained that at this moment three essentially evil tendencies threaten the spirit of the clergy of France .... The first is the tendency to duplicate the person of the priest: priest at one moment, ordinary citizen the next; priest today, layman tomorrow .... The second tendency consists in the attempt ... to substitute for the government of the Church by the bishops a mixed government modelled on parliarnentarism .. The third tendency is much more widespread, getting stronger every day, and already almost dominant; it can be summarized in one sentence: We should soften the facts of Catholic doctrine that the generations of today arc not ready to accept. 75 Monseigneur Isoard thus made very clear his opposition not only to a movement of the lower clergy outside episcopal control, but also to the idea that the clergy should go to the people and share their lives, and that some effort, some compromise was needed to come to terms with the modern world. It was an attitude that would continue to dominate in France until at least the First World War.

The 'cured' Ars' The figure who best represents the French clergy of the nineteenth century was not the abbe Lemire and his associates at Reims and Bourgcs,

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but an earlier and ultimately more famous character: Saint John Vianney, the cure d'Ars. 76 Jean-Marie-Baptiste Vianney was born in 1786 near Lyons, to peasant parents who owned a few acres; the family was strongly religious, and particularly the mother. The future saint thus carne from the paradigmatic family for stimulating a vocation to the priesthood. He was also typical in the limitations of his academic ability: his seminary professors noted him as debtlissimus (though this probably referred to his inability to learn Latin). His sermons were a staggering case of plagiarism: he copied out great passages from a handful of sources, sticking them together with only the thinnest mortar of originality; he was manifestly incapable of writing more than a few sentences of his own. In 1818 he was nominated to his first and only parish: Ars, in the desolate swamp-ridden area near Lyons known as the Dornbes. Ars was not quite such an irreligious parish on his arrival as hagiographers have made out, but it showed the signs of long neglect during and after the Revolution - as did so many rural parishes at the time. Most women practised their religion fairly regularly, most men did not. Within twelve vears. the shv and limited cure effected a total transformation: by 1830 religious p;actice was universal for both men and women, and the classic 'abuses' in the eyes of the clergy- dancing, the cabaret, and Sunday labour - had all but ceased. More significantly. this formerly lukewarm parish was marked by a religious fervour quite abnormal in the region, and probably unique in France. The spiritual transformation of Ars was indeed so complete that it is difficult for a historian who excludes the grace of God from his explanatory armoury fully to account for it. Vianney was certainly helped by the willing support of the well-off peasant elite that dominated the parish and by the active collaboration of the local noble family. Conversely, he was also helped by his rigorous egalitarianism: he kept his relations with the chateau to a minimum, and treated rich and poor absolutely alike (the rich could not, for example, jump the queue for his confessional). He also remained totally apolitical all his life. Egalitarianism and apoliticisrn were much appreciated by his parishioners; even more, they appreciated the maniacal austerity of his way of life, and his utter devotion to his religious duties. Most of all, however, they appreciated him as a confessor. It is not now possible fully to know what made him so compelling in the confessional. In the crucial period of his life, he practised the moral rigorism of the eighteenth century, often delaying absolution many times; it was only in the 1840s that the influence of Saint Alphonsus of Liguori and Bishop Gousset helped him to move in a more tolerant direction (see chapter 8). We know a little about the

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moral and spiritual problems people consulted him about, since in later years those who could not get to Ars wrote him confession-letters - like the woman whose sexual passion for her son-in-law had led her to masturbation, and which the cure's prayers had only succeeded in transforming into violent hatred. But the secret of the cure d'Ars's confessional remains effectively closed to historians; all we know is that it was essentially through the confessional that he achieved the spiritual conversion of his padsh. Vianney was heavily marked by the rejection of the world and the fear of the flesh that typified the Tridenrine clergy. 'The place of evil par excellence', he said, 'is the world.' The body was an enemy: he tamed his own by hair shirts and self-flagellation, and by reducing eating and sleeping to an absolute minimum. He exhibited to an extreme degree the gynophobia of his kind. 'I know that it is allowed,' he said, 'but several times I have-refused to embrace my poor mother.· His greatest campaign was against dancing, which he succeeded in stamping out at Ars: a single dance meant automatic refusal of absolution and exclusion from holy communion, even at Easter. (Not surprisingly, the element that held out longest against his domination was that of the young men of the village.) Vianney was in fact an obsessive campaigner against sexuality in all its manifestations - which only makes it more difficult to understand how he was able to subjugate a whole parish. From about 1830 onwards, Ars became a major place of pilgrimage, attracting 60,000-80,000 pilgrims a year even during the cure's lifetime (of whom perhaps two-thirds were women). Numerous miraculous cures took place, both before and after his death in 1859. He was canonized in 1925, and is the patron saint of parish priests the world over. He is, however, a historical figure located in a very specific situation: the Indian summer of Tridentine catholicism in France in the nineteenth century. He was of course not a typical figure, but rather the quintessence of the clergy of his time, actually achieving what all priests were supposed - and many tried - to be. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century clergy In respect of the continuation ofTridentine traditions, the nineteenthcentury French clergy was (at least until near the end of the century) very much like its eighteenth-century predecessor. The concept of a Church that was rigidly hierarchical, with laymen denied any independent role, was merely a prolongation ofan idea that had been dominant in the eighteenth century. The rejection of 'the world' (and particularly of

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sexuality) was similarly the continuation of a long tradition, perhaps intensified in the face of a world that began to seem even more hostile than that of the Enlightenment. Much the same was true of the tradition that piety mattered more than intellect, though it seems that the eighteenth-century clergy, coming from backgrounds that were less 'culturally deprived'. was probably more interested in intellectual enquiry. Where the post-revolutionary clergy differed radically from that of the ancien regime was in its social origins, coming as it did from the artisan class and the better-off clements of the. peasantry, as against the more dominantly urban and certainly higher class origins of its predecessor. It also differed in its standard of living: there were poor priests under the ancien regime, reduced to the portion congme, but most of the clergy were significantly better off than the governmentsalaried cures and desservants of the nineteenth century. One consequence of a more lowly social origin and a less comfortable life-style was a clergy that was relatively uncultured (not to say intellectually deficient), and often closer to peasants and artisans than it was to the notables. Another consequence (though a less direct one) was that nineteenth-century priests had a clear structure, through which they .could rise by merit: poor boys could and did rise to the very highest levels, as the Cardinal-Archbishop ofReims could testify. Despite the existence of a career open to talent, however, there is little evidence that ambition was the chief motivating force in vocations to the priesthood, at least not at a conscious level. The vast majority of the clergy in nineteenth-century France were pious and chaste and did their best to 'get on with their religious duties. They were intellectually limited, on ''occasion arrogant, and increasingly exasperated with the modern world. But they did number among them the cztre d'Ars, and many other kind and good men who have left no memorial. Their ideals are not ours, in particular where their p·anic fear of sexuality is concerned. But ideals they were, and many did their best to live up to them.

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4

105

female orders, and in 1809 a decree conferred on them a number of favours (as well as restrictions). The scene was set for their spectacular development.

The regular clergy

Female religious orders

Spectacular it was, as Claude Langlois's reconstituted figures for the number of religieuses (members of female religious orders) in France make clear: 2

Alongside the diocesan or 'secular' clergy, the nineteenth century saw in France the spectacular development of a variegated mass of religious orders, loosely termed the 'regular' clergy. They were a much less homogeneous mass than the diocesan clergy: the social and spiritual gap was immense between (say) an ordained Trappist monk taking solemn vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, devoting his life to silent contemplation and worship, and a village schoolmaster (not in holy orders) from one of the myriad teaching orders of freres, taking only a temporary vow of obedience to his superior (even if this always implied personal poverty and chastity as well). Above all, the regular clergy included women: perhaps the most striking- and until recently much neglected - aspect of the nineteenth-century Church in France was the mushroom growth of women's religious orders. The female religious orders in fact came, in the second half of the century, to outnumber the men of secular and regular clergy together. At the beginning of the century, the growth of religious orders appeared unlikely. The eighteenth century had seen an increasing hostility to monks and nuns, perceiving them as a standing affront to the Enlightenment doctrine of utility. The Revolution had thus attacked them much more systematically than it had the parish clergy, whose social usefulness was praised even by Voltaire. Napoleon, in so many ways a child of the Enlightenment, was initially hostile to thereestablishment of religious orders in France. The Concordat said nothing about them at all. 'I do not', Napoleon wrote in 1805, 'want to see any religious orders; they serve no useful purpose." He soon came, however, to see that the orders- particularly those of women might indeed serve a useful social purpose, especially in education and nursing. From 1808 money was provided to promote recruitment of

1808: 1815: 1830: 1850: 1861: 1878:

12,300 15,000 30,000 66,000 104,000 135,000 (excluding Alsace-Lorraine)

In the first eighty years of the century, nearly four hundred successful new female orders were established, and some 200,000 women entered the religious life. At the apogee of recruitment, in the late 1850s, perhaps one girl in twelve who did not marry entered a religious order. By 1880, seven out of every thousand women were religieuses - compared with about four in a thousand on the eve of the Revolution. Already in 1830 women constituted two-fifths of the whole clergy (seculars and regulars combined); some time in the 1850s they became a majority, and in 1878 they were nearly three-fifths (compared with only about a third in 1789). For most of the century, the growth of the female clergy continued independently of the political conjuncture: in particular, the July Monarchy, usually seen as an anticlerical regime, does not seem to have affected it. After about 1860 there was a fall in recruitment in less fervent areas, compensated for by a rise in the traditional bastions of catholicism. After 1880, as the anticlerical offensive of the Third Republic turned its attention particularly to religious orders, new foundations largely ceased, and overall numbers remained fairly steady until the end of the century. But long before then the female orders had become one of the most striking features of the French religious scene, particularly in many rural communes, where one or two bonnes soeurs looked after a school and a pharmacy and established themselves as an integral - and usually welcome - part of the village scene. The female orders of the nineteenth century came increasingly to adopt a form very different from that which had predominated before

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the Revolution: they were congregations, and their members were, in the terminology of the time, congreganistes rather than religiettses. The distinction was not an entirely precise one, but it did reflect a very fundamental transition that was taking place. Schematically, the difference can be presented as in table 4 .1. 3 The congreganiste model was not new; its prototype was the Filles de Ia Charite founded in 1633 by Saint Vincent-de-Paul. Nor did the model of the religiettse disappear in the nineteenth century: not only did contemplative orders like the female Cistercians or the Carmelites revive, but traditional (if more practically oriented) orders like the Ursulines and Visitandines had considerable success in runningpemionnats, effectively the only secondary education available for girls until the 1880s. But the trend was very decidedly towards the congreganiste. It was in fact a trend that was already observable before the Revolution. Just when all the warning lights of dechristianization that were considered in chapter 1 were beginning to flash, recruitment to congregtttiom began to accelerate: congreganistes represented only 11 per cent of the female clergy at the beginning of the eighteenth century, but 21 per cent on the eve of the Revolution. In the nineteenth century. the congregatiom swept all before them, such that by 1880 their members Table 4.1 Differences between congreganistes and religieu.res Congregrmirte

Religtettse

No solemn vows; sometimes simple promises, sometimes private vow of celibacy. No legal weigbt to any such vows

Solemn vows; under the ancien regime; they were policed by the civil authorities

An active and mobile existence; membership of the order is disseminated

Sedentary existence in a community with a strict enclosure

Dominant activity is social (teaching, nursing, etc.); religious activity secondary

Dominant activity is religious (prayer, meditation, etc.); social activity (e.g. running boarding school) is secondary

Scattered communities under control of superior-general in

Each community is autonomous, though each belongs to a religious family defined by its spirituality and its rules for communal life

ma1.ron-mere Subject to bishops; spiritual direction by secular clergy

Two-thirds of such orders have a masculine branch; spiritual direction usually by male regular clergy

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107

represented more than four-fifths of the female clergy. The biggest ones were still the seventeenth-century foundations: the Filles de Ia Charite (over 9,000 members in 1878) and the Filles de Ia Sagesse (3,400 in 1878). But nineteenth-century foundations were often a spectacular success. The most striking case is perhaps that of the Little Sisters of the Poor, founded by an elderly domestic servant, Jeanne Jugan, in the 1840s, to look after the aged and infirm that nobody wanted, and to ensure that they died in the bosom of the Church. By 1878 there were some 2, 700 Little Sisters, and the order was well on the way to becoming a massive multinational organization. There were hundreds of other smaller but extremely successful congregations founded in the nineteenth century. Wherever one went in France the familiar habit and head-dress of the bonne soettr- the common term for a congregani.rte was almost as much a part of the religious furniture as the c11re himself. In many parts of France one might also see another female figure: the tertiary. There existed, especially in the early part of the century, a shadowy world, almost undocumented by historians, of pious spinsters wearing a kind of religious habit, devoting themselves to religious activities and good works. They were attached to the major religious orders, but usually lived with their families, disseminated in rural parishes and under the control not only of their order but also of the local cure. Typical were the beates of the Haute-Loire. They taught the catechism, some basic literacy (badly), and lace-making (rather well); they also operated a primitive creche system, looked after the sick, accompanied children to church, and presided over communal prayers -i.e. they fulfilled, in a backward rural society, a number of important social functions. Local populations provided food, and a locale for their teaching activities. Beates took no vow of celibacy, and some subsequently married, but it was a useful response to a situation of female celibacy imposed on many by the structure of rural society. Tertiaries of a similar kind were also common in Brittany, and no doubt in other areas where pious spinsters could serve the needs of a local community in similar ways. They began to fade out as the State increasingly provided such services, especially primary education, as domestic industries such as lace-making declined, and as the more formally structured congregation took over. But for much of the century they were a standard feature of the more religious parts of rural France. 4

Male religious orders In comparison with those of the female clergy, the development of male religious orders was unimpressive. Napoleon distrusted them,

108

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A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

and most of his successors continued to look askance at the male regular clergy. In any case, there was for men the competing appeal of the diocesan clergy; bishops, furthermore, especially in the first half of the century, were desperate to fill vacant parishes and often tried to prevent vocations to the regular clergy. Nevertheless the male orders gradually began to re-establish themselves. The Jesuits reappeared in France (as elsewhere) in 1814, followed by Trappists, Capuchins, Carmelites, Carthusians, etc. In 1837 Dom Gucranger re-established the Benedictine Order at Solesmes, and in 1841 Lacordaire re-established the Dominicans in France. These were all orders dating from long before the Revolution. but new ones also sprang up, most notably Eugene de Mazenod's Oblates of Mary Immaculate (1815), beginning with the preaching of local missions in the Midi but destined to become a major international missionary order. All of these were organizations composed essentially of ordained priests, strongly influenced by monastic traditions. Much more typical of the nineteenth century. however, was the upsurge of teaching orders, composed of unordainedfreres, which were the male counterpart of the female congregations. They got off the ground much more quickly than the traditional orders. By the end of the Restoration (c. 1830) there were an estimated 2, 370 such teaching brothers in France. with some 117,000 pupils in primary schools (thefreres did not tackle secondary education). 5 The majority of these were from the Christian Brothers founded by Jean-Baptiste de Ia Salle in the late seventeenth century, but new orders, such as Jean-Marie (brother of Felicite) de Lamennais's Brothers of the Christian Doctrine, were taking on a rapidly expanding role in rural France, while the Christian Brothers concentrated on the towns; and in fact the new orders would soon represent a majority of thefreres. It is a striking testimony to their importance that the cttre d'Ar.r, in the course of his ministry, directed about a hundred young men into the teaching orders, but not a single one into the diocesan clergy. The development of the male orders was much more dependent on the political conjuncture than was that of their female counterparts: most foundations (or refoundations) dated from the 1820s and the 1850s. The 1861 census counted nearly 18,000 re!igieux, of whom nearly 13,000 were in teaching, the vast majority of them freres (as compared with more than 90.000 relt'gieuses, of whom nearly twothirds were in teaching orders). The 1878 inquiry found more than 30,000 religieux, of whom more than 20,000 were in teaching, the vast majority againfreres (and nearly 130,000 religiettses. over 50,000 of them in teaching orders). 6 Under the anticlerical republic expansion effectively stopped: the history of all religious orders - but

109

especially of male teaching orders -would be a tormented one, as we shall see. The best known, and always the most controversial, of the male orders was of course the Society ofJesus. It had been dissolved in France in 1764, and shortly thereafter the Pope dissolved the order as a whole. It was re-established by Rome in 1814, and immediately started up again in France. With one or two hiccups (to which we shall return) it grew steadily until the end of the century: 7 1815: 1828: 1832:

91 456 416

1837: 515 1850: 1,209 1864: 2,329

1870: 2,658 1880: 3,245 1900: 3,868

These figures include trainees ('scholastics') and lay brothers; ordained priests usually constituted about half the membership. In 1900 there were in France 1,664 priests, 712 scholastics and 709 lay brothers; 783 (of all ranks) were employed in foreign missions. Jesuits engaged in a wide variety of religious activities, including preaching, running retreats, hearing confessions, teaching in seminaries, publishing learned treatises, and so on. Their major activity in nineteenth-century France. however, was in secondary education; Jesuit colleges provided a high-level academic education for the children of the Catholic elite. By 1828 they taught 2,200 students in eight establishments which were technically minor seminaries, but in reality independent secondary schools for lay pupils, which the law did not otherwise allow. These schools were closed by the Government in 1828, and Jesuits had to abandon their educational activities in France (they ran prestigious colleges at Fribourg, and at Brugelette in Belgium). until the Falloux law of 1850 gave Catholics the legal right to open their own secondary schools. Then in less than two years 14 or 15 new Jesuit colleges sprang up; by 1869 there were 16 of them, with about 6,500 students, and by 1878-9 there were 29, with over 10,000 on the rolls- representing more than a fifth of students in clerically run schools, and about 7 per cent of all those receiving secondary education. Many of these Jesuit establishments were academically and socially prestigious, most notably the college in Paris in the Rue Vaugirard. In 1880 the Jesuit Order was dissolved again in France, as the new republican Goverment began to flex its anticlerical muscles, and its schools had to be manned by laymen or the secular clergy. After ·a few years, however, the Jesuit staff began a cautious return, and by 1890 nearly all the old Jesuit colleges were back at full strength. In 1901

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A Social H£rtory a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

the Jesuits would be definitively expelled from their schools, most of which closed before the First World War. Quite separately from its college.r, the Jesuit Order in France ran special schools preparing for entrance to the elite grande.r eco/e.r' particularly for Saint Cyr (for the officer corps) and Polytechnique (for the army engineers). By far the most famous and important such institution was the Ecole Sainte Genevieve, established in 1854 in the former Rue des Postes, from which it took the name by which it was universally known. By the 1870s it was getting enough men into Saint Cyr radically to transform the atmosphere of the place, as a nucleus of ardently Catholic students made religious practice respectable there. In the 1890s some 18 per cent of the entrants to Saint Cyr and 13 per cent of those to Polytechnique were po.rtard.r. There is some dispute as to how influential they became in the army. During the Dreyfus affair it was widely believed that graduates of the Rue des Postes, manipulated by the sinister director of the school, Father Stanislas du Lac, were at the heart of a conspiracy to prevent the rehabilitation of Dreyfus. This was demonstrably a total delusion, but it may be that Jesuit preparation for the grande.r eco/e.r did help to ensure that a fervently Catholic elite was influential in the army. Perhaps they did not rise to high command: there is a suggestion that the Rue des Postes was favoured by ambitious middle-class families as a successful cram school, and that its products thus did not have quite the social status later to occupy key positions. 8 The belief in a Jesuit conspiracy at the time of the Dreyfus affair was merely one manifestation of a powerful tradition in France of hostility to the Jesuit Order. It was a hostility that led to the closing of Jesuit schools in 1828, the temporary partial dissolution of the Order in France in 1845 (when Guizot's diplomacy got the Jesuit general in Rome to impose the measure), the total if temporary dissolution of 1880, and the definitive dissolution of 1901. These measures were the legal and administrative form taken by a deeply rooted suspicion of Jesuits which could cause normally intelligent and reasonable people to accept the wildest imaginings. Beranger's popular song Le.r Reverend.r Pere.r set the tone in 1819: Hommes noirs, d'ou sortez-vous? Nous sortons de dessous terre.

The regular clergy

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double-dealing, enormous wealth, and so on. Stendhal'sLe Rouge et /e nair ( 1829) has only a marginally more sophisticated version of the Jesuit conspiracy. Under the July Monarchy the very respectable middlebrow newspaper Le Con.rtittttionne/ practically made its living out of anti-Jesuitism, and in 1844 bumped up its circulation from 3, 720 to 24,000 in a few months by serializing Eugene Sue's anti-] esuit novel, Le}ttifErrant. A major scientist like F. V. Raspail could believe that the Jesuits had conspired to kill him to prevent recognition of his discoveries, that they were the definite or probable murderers of PaulLouis Courier, Eugene Sue, Rousseau, Voltaire, Marat, etc .. and that they saved Wellington at Waterloo - plus much more febrile imagining. The most spectacular piece of anti-Jesuitism, however, was probably Paul Bert's La Morale de.rje.rttite.r; Bert was a distinguished science teacher as well as a leading republican politician, but he seems to have convinced himself that the 'erotomania' of the Jesuits in the confessional was corrupting the morals of the nadon. 9 Nineteenth-century anti-Jesuitism had in fact all the hallmarks of a classic conspiracy theory. In particular, it did not rely on evidence: when defenders of the Order pointed out that there was no evidence for such-and-such an accusation, the answer came smoothly back that the Jesuits had made sure there was none. Geoffrey Cubitt has recently argued that supporters of the revolutionary tradition in France had great need of such a conspiracy theory. To men brought up on the 'general will', and on the belief that human reason was unfolding itself in the world, the conflicts and compromises of a pluralistic society were not only unacceptable but actually incomprehensible. If liberty and democracy did not untrammel the general will, liberating a previously dormant consensus, then some sinister force must be working to destroy it. The Jesuits- traditionally the object of a conspiracy theory anyway - were ready to hand, and on to them was poured all the embittered vituperation of men whose Promethean dream seemed to be going sour. There were no doubt other explanations of the popularity of anti-Jesuitism in France in the century following the Revolution - in particular the close association of the Society of Jesus with what could be perceived as a foreign power in Rome. But the intellectual need that the French left had for a conspiracy theory seems to have been fundamental. Geography and social class

-with its ritual accusations of regicide (and of murdering Clement XIV}, paedophilia, abuse of the confessional, sinister political conspiracy,

Religious orders, both male and female, did not flourish equally in all parts of France. The maps on pp. 112-13 give an idea of their regional

Male religious orders, 1861: number of religieux per 10,000 of male Catholic population (all ages) (national average: 9.8)

Female religious orders, 1861: number of religieu.re.r per 10,000 of female Catholic population (all ages) (national average: 49.4)

> 15

> 70

10-15

50-70

5-10

40-50

<5

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A Social History ojHYmch Catholicism 1789-1914

distribution at the time of the 1861 census. It is important to note that these are maps of the presence of the regular clergy, and not of vocations to it (for which systematic figures will never be available). Many regulars did not operate in their diocese of origin; indeed, some larger congregatiom specialized in recruiting members in fervently Christian areas and sending them to dechristianized ones. That is part of the explanation why these maps only very partially resemble those of religious practice or of Catholic fervour on pp. 171 and 172. The big di.fference is that Brittany does not figure very prominently on the maps of the regular clergy. This is probably in part because rural and relatively backward Brittany did not, in the first half of the centurv manifest a demand for the services that congreganiste.r might offer, I~~ particular primary education and paramedical services. The orders preferred in any case to establish themselves in towns, where demand was greater and facilities for the religious life (buildings etc.) more readily available. This may help to explain their preference for the more urbanized south-east - as does the presence, in areas like the Gard and the Vaucluse, of the Protestant menace which congreganirte.r so loved to combat. Taken together, these factors largely explain the apparent anomalies of the 1861 map. These anomalies were in any case about to disappear, or at least to decline: after 1861, the orders recruited more and more from traditionally fervant areas like Brittany (and the southern Massif), and when the anticlerical republic began to expel them from State schools they were best able to continue their educational activities in fervent areas that were prepared to pay for private primary schools. Thus by the turn of the century Brittany had largely made up the deficit, and the map of the religious orders came to look much more like other maps of Catholic activity. 10 There are so far only five available diocesan studies of recruitment of the regular clergy . 11 They show, at least in the more fervent dioceses, the same tendency for vocations to peak at the very end of the nineteenth century that was evident in some dioceses for the secular clergy. In that of Nantes, women's vocations reached a maximum in the late 1890s; we do not have similar information for the male regular clergy, but the maximum number of ordained regulars operating in the diocese came in 1901 (vocations to the male regular clergy having outpaced those to its secular counterpart in the second half of the nineteenth century). In the diocese ofRodez, male vocations to the regular clergy (mostly teaching brothers) increased steadily until1900 :_as thev did for the secular clergy; the same was true of female vocations, whicl~ reached a spectacular peak in the 1890s. In the less fervent department of the Creuse (part of the diocese of Limoges), the overall number of

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115

female regulars present increased until 1900, although it is likely that vocations began to decline after about 1880. In the diocese of Montpellier, finally, the maximum number of ordinations to the regular clergy came in the mid-1890s, but for women the decline appears to have set in about 1860; this was a diocese where social and economic change had a very disruptive impact on traditional religious practices in the second half of the century. For France as a whole, recruitment to the regular clergy appears to have flattened out after about 1880; what seems to have happened is that the orders did better in fervent areas but worse in bad ones. It is still striking, however, that in many areas- and even in grim ones like Montpellier, where men were concerned - the anticlerical offensive of the Third Republic seems to have stimulated vocations rather than inhibited them. It would take the systematic attack on the orders launched in 1901 to have an appreciable effect. From what social classes did the religious orders recruit? The answer is that it depended almost wholly on the order. Both sexes had elite orders, usually with their own internal class divisions. Both had large orders, mostly devoted to primary education and paramedical services, whose recruitment - especially in the latter case - was much more plebeian. To a noticeable extent, the regular clergy was of more urban origin than its secular counterpart, although here too the general trend was towards ruralization and democratization. On the male side, the social elite tended to favour the Jesuits, the Benedictines, and one or two other orders. The Jesuits are the only ones about whom we have much information. They recruited their priests quite disproportionately from old landed families, the military, and the professional bourgeoisie - although artisans and peasants were by no means excluded, and in the diocese of Nantes at least they were quite common. The lay brothers, whose activities were essentially domestic and physical, came almost exclusively from the peasantry and from the world of artisans and small traders. 12 It was clear, however, that the Jesuits (and probably also some other elite male orders) were able to recruit their priests from the upper ranks of society in a way that the diocesan clergy was quite unable to do; perhaps the extra sacrifices which the life of a regular involved appealed to the Catholic elite - though it is also likely that the sons of the aristocracy and wealthy bourgeoisie did not fancy spending their lives rubbing shoulders with the vile populace, preferring to act as confessors to rich women, as society preachers, or as teachers of the sons of their own social class. Even in the case of less exclusive orders than the Jesuits, the recruitment of the male regular clergy tended to be more urban, and of a somewhat higher social class, than in the case of the secular clergy - at

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A Social HZ:rtory of French Catholicism 1789-1914

any rate in the very different dioceses of Nantes and Montpellier. It was not always easy, however, to tap the elite: when Father d' Alzon founded the Assumptionist Fathers in 1845 (destined for a turbulent history at the time of the Dreyfus affair), he was aiming at men of his own very elevated social class; he soon found, however, that although the social elite of the Midi would send their sons to the Assumptionist college at N!mes, they would not join the Order, and it had to found its own alumnat.r or charity schools for poor boys, from which over half the recruits came. 13 The male teaching orders - a very large slice of the whole - did not even try to recruit from the upper classes of society; Jean-Marie de Lamennais told a regional superior of his Frcres de !'Instruction Chretienne in 1825 that if they [the brothers] had pretentions to be great minds, they would be very bad frere.r. I want them to be in complete command of what they teach, but nothing more ... , The most dangerous temptation for these good brothers is the desire to rise above their station. The early recruits to the Order - which was aimed at the countryside were in fact rough peasant lads with very little book-learning. 14 As time went by the male primary-school teaching congregations did tend to recruit from young men with a certain cultural accumulation - which was one of the reasons for their disproportionately urban origin. But their members remained both in and from a different world from that of the elite orders like the Jesuits and Benedictines. The question of the social origin of female religious orders is complicated by the issue of the dowry. The old contemplative orders required it; many newer congregations did not in theory, though in practice novices were often supposed to pay various fees that could add up to a considerable sum. In one form or another, the dowry usually ranged from 1,000 to 10,000 francs, establishing a social hierarchy between the orders. Thus the elite orders - usually those with a more severe rule recruited from the daughters of the well-off, who peopled the convents of the Carmelites, Visitandines, Clarisses, Ursulines, and the more recent Sisters of the Sacred Heart. The Visitandines of Perigueux are a case in point. Their archives contain an interesting - and often very frank- series of obituaries of sisters dying between 1866 and 1914. 15 Of 43 .roeur.r chort:rte.r whose social origins are indif:ated, 2 were orphans brought up by the Order, perhaps 6 were from the peasantry or the world of artisans and small traders, 6 or 7 were noblewomen, and the rest came from families that were clearly well-off. Twenty-four .roeur.r conver.re.r (also called .roeur.r touriere.r or .roeur.r dome.rtiqtte.r) were

The regular clergy

117

exclusively from poor backgrounds, mostly from the peasantry (though one was an Ethiopian slave girl bought by a Christian); they spoke the patois, and did the domestic tasks of the convent. This system of internal class distinction was very widely practised by the elite female orders (as by the] esuits ), and even by some of those with fewer pretentions, although usually not by the large, socially oriented congregation.r like the Little Sisters of the Poor. In some ways it was inevitable in those orders, like the Ursulines or Visitandines, engaged in secondary education: recruits from culturally deprived backgrounds were inappropriate for, and probably incapable of, teaching the daughters of the elite. The general run of female congregations, however, presented a more democratic picture. Their founders, it is true, came in a proportion of nearly two-thirds from the nobility and bourgeoisie - including its commercial and even industrial elements. The mass of the membership, however, was of plebeian origin. The Soeurs de Saint-Gildas (primary-school teachers in the diocese ofNantes), for example, were 65 per cent from the peasantry and 26 per cent from the artisan class and small commerce. One of their spiritual directors, the abbe Deshayes, instructed them in 1838 'never to lose sight of the idea of your lowliness, think of yourselves always as little sisters, as the lowest of religious organizations'. 16 Female congregani.rte.r did still tend, at least in the first half of the century, to be of disproportionately urban origin. But as the century progressed the trend was definitely in the direction of ruralization and democratization, and it was the traditionally fervent rural areas which increasingly served as a reservoir of new recruits. This was particularly the case as the new congregation.r specializing in paramedical services took off from about the 1840s: those who minded the old and the sick did not need the same cultural accumulation as those who taught, and the orders concerned drew their personnel increasingly from the more backward elements of the peasantry. 17 Reasons for growth

The success of religious orders in France in the nineteenth century, and particularly of female orders, is so striking as to require some careful analysis. The most basic explanation is that the religious life offered much that was very appealing to women. Most importantly, it was the most available and satisfactory form of female sociability. Men had the cabaret, the chambree (in the Midi), and even the workplace. Women were not without possibilities of informal association, particularly at the lavoir (the open-air place for doing the laundry). But the congregations did afford women unrivalled possibilities of sociability and

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A Social HZ:rtory of French CatholiCZ:rm 1789-1914

collective action, which clearly had considerable appeal. They also provided a function in life, and security in old age, for those unwilling or unable to marry: those who were deformed or marked by the smallpox, those whose chances of marriage were sacrificed because the dowry money was spent on training their brothers for careers, or those who for any reason could not expect a family to care for them in a world without social security. The religious orders were also, and crucially, about the only institutions in nineteenth-century France to offer women a real vocation in life, apart from the normally obligatory motherhood. They appealed to young women with a desire to serve their fellow beings, as one can see from the real devotion with which the bonnes soettrs tended the young, the old, and the ill. 18 Novices were the kind of girl who might nowadays enter a teacher training college or a nursing school, or train as a social worker. The orders also offered, at least to a few, not only a vocation but a very real career. The superior of a female congregation commanded scores or hundreds of women and directed a major enterprise; she could confront a bishop on equal terms. It was uncommon for a poor girl to rise to such dizzy heights, but by no means unknown: something like a third of the founders of successful congregations were the daughters of artisans, small traders, peasants, or salaried workers. In any case, for a poor peasant girl merely to become a nurse was already social mobility of a very attractive kind. The best career opportunities were probably available to the daughters of the professional bourgeoisie. In the case of the Visitandines ofPerigueux, none of the noblewomen ever made it to be mother superior (an elective position), but the daughters of a tax-collector, a primary-school teacher, and a cavalry officer did. A dynamic young woman from a Catholic and cultured home, with drive and ambition, could not do better than become a nun. There was often, it is true, a tendency for a male 'superior' to be appointed, and for him to try and control the dynamic females at the head of the order. It is also true that, in cases where the female founder was of a lowly social status, the male clergy sometimes tried to push her to one side and to belittle her achievements:JeanneJugan, the domestic servant who was the real founder of the Little Sisters of the Poor, was sidelined by the local cure, who arrogated all the credit to himself and his protegees. 19 But, although the male clergy did not always take kindly to uppity females, there is no doubt that the congregations were the best, indeed the only, chance of a real professional career that an able woman in nineteenth-century France had. Young women of the late twentieth century, when presented with the idea that the female religious orders provided women with the

The regular clergy

119

best chance of a professional career, are often horrified. As children of a materialized and eroticized society, they are distressed by the idea that you bad to give up the pursuit of personal wealth, and above all the pursuit of sexual pleasure, in order to have a career; these sacrifices seem to them both great and deplorable. But perhaps to women of the nineteenth century the sacrifices were not so great as it seems to their (collateral) descendants. The sex life that was on offer from most men was perhaps not all that wonderful; in any case, married women were not supposed to enjoy sex - as Alain Corbin remarks, the idea of a wife and mother having an orgasm was deeply scandalous (which is essentially why Flaubert was prosecuted for Madame Bovary). 20 Women who wanted to teach were likely to remain unmarried anyway. Those who entered a religious order, furthermore, were subject both before and after their vows to such a fearful system of sexual repression that the vast majority of them undoubtedly regarded their virginity as an unmixed blessing. The body, in the continuing Tridentine tradition, was regarded as the great enemy: at the end of the century, a sister would pass a dry chemise to a young boarder after a bath (which was also taken in a chemise), saying 'Raise your eyes to Heaven, my child!' so that she would nor see her own body; with the Dominicaines, as late as 1917, boarders had to choose between a bath and confession. 21 Women brought up and operating in this environment certainly did not regret the absence of a sex life, at least not at a conscious level. By all accounts, in fact, nuns seem to have been singularly happy people. They had companionship, security, a vocation in life, perhaps even the chance of a career. It is little wonder that many women found such sacrifices as had to be made a small price to pay. · One basic cause of the success of female orders in nineteenth-century France, then, was that they had a lot to offer women. Perhaps even more important, however, was that there was an almost insatiable demand in French society for the kind of services they could provide. The nineteenth century saw a unique combination of a sharply rising demand for such social services, with the unwillingness (as yet) of the State to provide them: the female religious orders in particular filled the gap, and that is the main reason for their spectacular success. It also explains why their growth continued almost independent of the political conjuncture: the July Monarchy was as good a rime for them as the Bourbon Restoration, and if the Third Republic put a stop to their growth it was less because of negative anticlerical policies than because of the beginnings of a positive willingness on the part of the State to provide the services in question (particularly education). Until then, and indeed well into the Third Republic, the orders fulfilled a bewildering

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A Social H£rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

variety of functions that we now think of as the province of theW elfare State: primary and secondary education, and a wide array of paramedical and social services. These were forms of religious activity that were clearly socially useful, breaking away almost entirely from the old image of the cloistered religiett.re, in favour of that of the socially active congregani.rte. This was not (as we have seen) an entirely new development, and indeed it had been responsible for the success of the socially active congregations in the last decades of the ancien regime. But it was in the nineteenth century that the model of the congreganZ:rte active in this world became the dominant one for the female religious life. This is in many ways surprising, given the wntinuing strength in French catholicism of the old tradition of the contempttts mundi, the rejection of the world. Any observer of the French clergy cannot fail to be struck by the contrast between the secular clergy's continued hostility (at least until late in the nineteenth century) to the concerns of this world, and the increasing orientation of the female clergy (and of many elements of the male regular clergy as well, particularly the Jesuits) towards precisely those concerns. It was of course a direction that was not adopted without backward glances and second thoughts: nostalgia for the cloister and for the old contemplative life was always afflicting the congregatiom. The nineteenth century did see the development, alongside the socially active congregations, of new, more or less contemplative orders like the Soeurs de Picpus. More importantly, even the most socially active were regularly tempted by the old contemplative tradition, with its binding and solemn vows, greater enclosure, and time-consuming religious exercises. Monseigneur Angebault, Bishop of Angers ( 1842-69) and a great encourager of female orders (provided they were under his control), did his best to limit their contacts with the world, minimizing any journeying abroad, contact with the family, use of the par/air, and correspondence. The constitution that he gave to one order, which ran a girls' secondary school (pen.riormat) was typical: The nuns must frequently bear in mind the reasons for which they have abandoned the world: either the fear of damning oneself in it by following with a fatal passion the perversity of its ways, or the continual pain of seeing one· s virtue incessantly undermined or its progress stopped by inevitable contact with worldly persons. 22 Yet Angebault was a strong supporter of the teaching and paramedical activities of congregations. His career is in fact a good example of the tension that marked the existence of the socially active orders, a tension

The regular clergy

121

between the contemptus mundi and the desire to serve humanity. This tension was never fully resolved, but it is clear that on balance the latter force won out over the older tradition of rejection of the world. Anticlericals continued to keep their prurient eyes fixed on what was happening 'in the shadow of the cloister', but congreganistes had largely left the cloister for the outside world. As the rule of the Chanoinesses de Saint Augustin de Meaux said: 'Care of the sick takes precedence over exercises of piety, and may even often entirely replace them. ' 23 The greatest demand for the services of the religious orders undoubtedly expressed itself in the field of education, both primary and secondary, for both boys and girls. Initially the demand was greatest for boys' primary education, and it came not so much from the recipients as from the providers of it. Clergy and notables alike were convinced, in the early nineteenth century, that the Revolution and its aftermath had resulted in youth being left to run wild and loose, and that the only way to rechristianize the young and to make them law-abiding citizens (often not perceived as separate aims) was to get them into school. As the Prefect of the Aisne warned in 1800, children have been abandoned in a state of most dangerous idleness, the most alarming vagabond'age; they have no idea of the Divinity. no notion of what is just and unjust: hence their wild and barbarous behaviour, and their resemblance to a people of savages. 24 The development of the teaching orders ofjreres under the late Empire and Restoration was in many ways a response to this perceived menace. The freres were thus quite explicitly more concerned with religious training than they were with the transmission of skills. We have already seen that the new male orders aiming at the countryside often had themselves only minimal literacy skills to transmit. They were nevertheless probably quite as well or better qualified than most lay primaryschool teachers, who seem, at least until the Guizot law of 1833, to have been a sorry bunch. The Christian Brothers, concentrating in towns in relatively large schools, provided probably the best available primary education for boys. As the nineteenth century progressed, the notables' desire to use primary education to control turbulent youth (especially boys) began to run together with a desire by the recipients to acquire basic skills. In the second half of the century social and economic change began to make primary education look useful to the consumer: the school certificate might get you a job as a postman. as a minor clerk, or on the railways,

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A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

or even a place in a teacher training college .25 All classes of French society thus wanted the diffusion of primary education, if for different reasons; the problem was how to pay for it. It was cheaper to use the teaching congregatiom (who accepted a lower salary), and communes faced with the burden of paying a teacher often opted for afrere or a soeur. They were all the more likely to do so if they preferred a clerical education anyway, or if they were under heavy pressure from the cure and his supporters. Where the communal school remained in lay hands, the congregatiom might find that the demand for education enabled them to open a rival, private, primary school (which after 1833 they were free to do). They thus made progress in both the public and private sectors, as table 4.2 shows. 26 Table 4.2 Percentage of all primary pupils taught by congregant:rtes Boy.r

1850 1865 1875 1880-1 1890-1 1900-1 1910-11

Girl.r

P11hlic .rector

PritJate .rector

Total

Public .rector

Private sector

Total

11.8 17. 1 19 4 11.2 3.7 0.7

3.3 3.9 4.3 7 1 12.0 14.7 0.6

15.1 21.0 23.7 18.3 15.7 15.4 0.6

30.4 34.9 40.6 30.5 18.8 9.7 0.4

14.2 20.9 16.1 21.9 26.0 30.8 1.6

44.6 55.8 56.7 52.4 44.8 40.5 2.0

>

What most characterized the nineteenth century was the great increase in the demand for primary education for girls. On the eve of the Revolution only about 30 per cent of women could sign their marriage certificates; by 1890, 95 per cent. This was a much greater transformation than that achieved for men. The services of a congreganiste were, furthermore (for reasons developed in chapter 6), held to be much more appropriate for girls than for boys - as the table shows. There was thus tremendous demand for the services of the teaching orders, such that by 1860 their numbers constituted some two-thirds of the total for all female orders. The willingness of women to found and enter such orders was thus not only a question of their personal motivations but clearly also a response to the immense demand generated for girls' primary education in the course of the nineteenth century. The demand for secondary education was less enormous, because the secondary school remained an elite institution throughout the century;

The regular clergy

123

one did not normally progress from primary to secondary education. But the demand was still there, and growing. The State, however, made no provision for secondary education for girls until 1880 (except for an ill-fated attempt by the education minister Victor Duruy in 1867, which foundered in the face of clerical opposition and the bourgeoisie's preference for a religious education for its daughters 27 ). Until then, the bourgeois who wanted some kind of secondary education for their daughters had to send them (nearly always as boarders) to a pensionnat. Increasingly, such institutions were run by the prestigious female orders such as the Dames du Sacre-Coeur, Visitandines, or Ursulines (who taught Emma Bovary). By 1863 the soem'S controlled 73 per cent of the inhabitants of pemionnats. There they dispensed an education compounded of piety, sexual repression and the social graces, which even anticlerical bourgeois men found appropriate as a way of ensuring that their daughters would be virgins at the altar, and subservient wives and mothers thereafter. 28 Seconda.,ry education for boys was a much more contentious matter, because the hearts and minds of the future ruling elite were at stake. For the first half of the century, the Church was severely hampered in this area by the fact that Napoleon had given a monopoly of secondary education for boys to his Universite, a government corporation established in 1808. This was particularly galling to Catholics, because under the Bourbon Restoration (1815-30) the lycees and colleges of the Universite were mostly hotbeds of anticlericalism and atheism (see chapter 7). There was thus massive demand for a more Catholic secondary education. The only way this was legally available was in minor seminaries, and that is why the jesuits took over eight of them (with up to 2,200 students), using then as a front for high-quality secondary schools for Catholic boys who had no intention of entering the priesthood. They could have had a lot more if they had had the manpower to staff them. In them they taught the creiize de Ia creme of Catholic society: when Saint Acheul at Amiens (admittedly the snobbiest of the lot) was closed along with the others in 1828, the list of 149 ex-students in Paris who signed a protest contains 73 particules (names with a 'de'). 29 The demand for Catholic secondary education for boys continued strong after 1830, but the governments of the july Monarchy refused - in the face of a vehement campaign - to grant 'freedom of teaching', and until 1850 the Church was unable to offer a proper Catholic secondary education for boys. Those who could afford it sent their sons to the prestigious Jesuit establishments at Fribourg (where many students and staff were French) and Brugelette in Belgium (a wholly French school). The Falloux law of 1850, however, passed by

124

A Social Ht:rtory ofFrench Catholic£rm 1789-1914

legislators who had previously opposed any infringement of the Universite monopoly but who now looked to Catholic education to control the threatening forces of social revolution, finally allowed Catholics to open boys' secondary schools. The lid was thus taken off an immense accumulated demand: 257 such schools were opened within a year, including 14 or 15 by the Jesuits - who also had to refuse another 52 before the middle of the year, for lack of manpower. The impact of the Falloux law is evident from the 1854 figures in table 4.3. 30 There was therefore, after 1850, immense demand for the services of male teaching orders in secondary education - to the degree that by 1898 the Church's secondary schools were threatening to overtake the public sector (and, if minor seminaries and alumnats were included, had already done so 31 ). The orders did not, it is true, run a majority of the schools staffed by the clergy ('ecclesiastical' in the table): only 43 out of 278 in 1865, and 89 out of 309 in 1876. 32 But they ran the biggest ones, and an increasing proportion of all Church schools. The demand to which they were responding varied. The Jesuits (with the partial exception of their colleges in poorer and very religious areas, particularly those at Vannes and Saint-Affrique), the Assumptionists with their famous elite establishment at N!mes, and some others continued to cater for the aristocracy and upper bourgeoisie; they competed with the prestigious lycees of the State system. 33 They were popular in such circles not merely because they were Catholic, but because they offered the kind of education which the (ycees did not. They cultivated an intense communal life, concentrating on character training as well as instruction (much like the British 'public' schools, including the emphasis on manly games), while maintaining a very impressive success rate in public exams for the baccalaureat; they maintained an unswerving Table 4.3 Percentage of pupils in boys' secondary schools in the public and pnvatc sectors

P11blic -···~~~.~-··-··-

1820 1831 1842· 1854 1865 1876 1887 1898

-

Private lay

Private eccle.ria.rtical

Totalno.r.

-·~·~~----··--~--~----·---···

61.4 59.2 55.6 40.6 44.4 49.5 55.6 52.7

38.6 40.8 44.4 39.6 30.7 20.2 12.7 5.9

19.8 24.9 30.3 31.7 41.4

50,573 60,432 70,531 107' 109 140,253 154,673 158,238 161,876

The regular clergy

125

loyalty to the classics at a time when the republic was trying to shake off their stranglehold; and, especially in the aftermath of the Commune, they appealed to the reactionary conservatism of a terrified bourgeoisie. Such was the appeal of the prestigious schools of the Jesuits, the Assumptionists, and a few others. There were also, however, lesser establishments staffed by male orders, catering for a less distinguished (though still fairly well-off) clientele; they competed with the college.r communaux of the public sector, or provided a secondary education where none was available. Thus the anticlerical municipal council of Annonay, in the Ardeche, subsidized the local Marist school- despite the Order's reactionary reputation; in 1880 the council told the Government that it would be happy to see the school closed, but that the ministry of education would have to establish a college communal in the town first. Male and female religious orders thus responded, in the course of the nineteenth century, to a great and increasing demand for primary and secondary education for both boys and girls. It was a demand that until the last decades of the century the State was unable or unwilling wholly to satisfy. A very major cause of the growth of the regular clergy was thus the demand that existed for its services in education. Education was not, however, the only field where the pere.r,frere.r, and soettrs provided services that were much in demand. Indeed, it was in the area of paramedical and social services that the orders provided a service that the State was even more reluctant to provide. The two biggest religious orders, throughout the nineteenth century, were in this sector: the Filles de Ia Charite and the Filles de Ia Sagesse. These were in fact both Catholic Reformation foundations, but they were joined, particularly from the 1840s onwards, by a mass of new orders, of which the Little Sisters of the Poor were the most successful, becoming the third largest order by 1878 after only three decades of existence. The Am:rtance publique (the Government body in charge of what hospitals and hospices there were) soon found the congregations easy to do business with and employed their members on a large scale, essentially as nurses: by the 1860s the lay personnel of hospitals and hospices had been largely replaced by the congreganistes (except in Paris). The 1861 census revealed over 10,000 of them employed in such establishments, and this figure rose gradually, throughout the anticlerical offensive of the Third Republic, to reach a maximum of 12,887 in 1912; it was only in Paris that the municipal council was prepared, from the 1880s onwards, progressively to get rid of its bonnes soettrs. 34 The congregations hospitalieres did not, however, content themselves with working for the Government; they

126

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

rapidly developed their own paramedical establishments (pharmacies, sanatoria, home nursing, etc.), and then moved into a bewildering variety of social services: old people's homes, orphanages, homes for the blind and deaf-mutes, lunatic asylums, homes for ex-prostitutes, prison services, soup kitchens, job placements for domestic servants, and so on, almost ad injinit11m. These activities often fitted in very well with the long-term trend in favour of the enclosure of all forms of deviance in total institutions. The female orders in particular found themselves in a crucial conjuncture where the demand for such services was expanding, and nobody else cared much to satisfy it. They were also, it must be said, particularly well equipped to satisfy that demand. They were operating in a society where biological suffering and the Catholic faith were still seen as intimately related; they treated physical pain and spiritual distress, not separating the two. They we"re women, and illness and death were perceived very much as female specialities. They were often from poor peasant backgrounds, on a cultural level with the mass of country-dwellers that they tended. They were prepared to take on the repulsive, the incurable, and the financially unrewarding in a way that doctors were often not. Their medical knowledge was no doubt rudimentary, but until the later years of the century it probably did not lag far behind that of many officiers de sante (think of Charles Bovary, who was not as untypical as Flaubert implies). They penetrated into the most backward and under-medicalized parts of the countryside, where little co11vents would often consist of two soezm, one a teacher, the other (probably less able) running a small pharmacy and nursing the sick in their homes. It was in fact not surprising that the congreganiste ceased to be known as a religieuse and was universally dubbed the bonne soettr. The archetype of the bonne soeztr was undoubtedly Soeur Rosalie. She arrived in Paris from her native Jura in 1802, at the age of 15, and entered the noviciate of the Filles de Ia Charite. After taking her vows. she spent the rest of her life. until her death in 1856, in a small convent they ran near the Rue Mouffetard. There she devoted herself to caring for the Parisian poor with a charismatic power and a single-minded devotion that made her a legend in her lifetime. Her attitude was strikingly modern, and even now would pass for left-wing. When attacked on the grounds that the poor were only poor because they drank, she replied that they led such miserable lives that it was small surprise that they sought refuge in the bottle. When it was objected to her that her poor were also the ferment of social revolution, she simply replied: 'They are so unhappy!' She excelled in touching the hearts of the rich and getting them to give to the poor, but she treated rich and poor

The regular clergy

127

alike with scrupulous equality (like the cure d'At:r). She was decorated with the Legion d'honneur in 1852, and a street in Paris is named after her. She was the extreme incarnation of that desire to serve suffering humanity that drove so many girls into the religious orders, and she operated in one of the heartlands of social need that called many of the orders into being. 35 She and her kind tend to be forgotten by historians unreasonably determined to expose the social abdication of the Church. Her spiritual descendants are still with us, but they now tend to work for the Government social services, which is why the numbers of bonnes soeurs have declined so sharply in the later twentieth century. The religious orders, male as well as female, were thus carried along on a tide of demand foftheir services, which is the essential reason why the nineteenth century was the century of the congreganiste. In 1878 7 women in every 1,000 were in an order, compared with only 4 on the eve of the Revolution. The female orders also prospered because they offered young women what no other institution at the time could provide: a vocation, perhaps a career, certainly the organized company of her own sex. Nevertheless, there was also a steady undercurrent of hostility to the religious orders, particularly male ones, which was to break out in 1880 and to explode at the beginning of the twentieth century. It is with this hostility that the last section of this chapter will be concerned. Anticlerical hostility to the orders

The Society of Jesus had always been an object of intense suspicion (even among Catholics), to the point that anti-] esuitism in the first half of the century may well have been substantially the same phenomenon as that for which the word anticlericalism was coined in the second half. 36 The upsurge of other religious orders, however, and particularly of female ones, did not initially provoke the same kind of hostility. This may have been partly because the public was generally unaware of what was going on. The 1861 census of the orders was something of an eye-opener, and Government hostility in the 1860s was due not only to a general change of policy in the aftermath of the Italian War and the Roman Question, but also a sudden realization in educated opinion of the strength and importance of the regular clergy. Government authorizations of new orders were reduced to a trickle in the 1860s, and the education minister Rouland tried to block the expansion of secondary schools run by the orders and to discourage municipal councils from employing them in primary schools.

128

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

It was, however, the Third Republic which mounted the first real offensive against the religious orders. The story of that offensive has been told many times, and will not be repeated in detail here. In 1880 the Jesuits were dissolved in France and expelled from their establishments; some 5,643 religiettx belonging to 38 other unauthorized male orders were expelled from 261 monastic houses. This was probably further than the Government had intended to go (the real target was still the Jesuits), and most of the affected orders were functioning normally again within four or five years. Various other measures were taken in the 1880s to undermine the role of the orders in education: an 1879 law established training colleges for female primary-school teachers in each department; the Camille See law of 1880 established a state system of secondary education for girls; and in 1881 members of teaching orders were compelled to acquire the same qualifications as lay primary-school teachers (not that this caused most of them much difficulty). More crucially, the 1886 Goblet law required congreganistes in the public sector to be replaced by lay personnel, the men within five years, the women as posts became vacant. In principle it affected some 3.400 freres and more than 15,000 soeurs, but it took a long time to be fully implemented. In any case, the response to this secularization of the personnel of the public sector, and to the earlier (1882) sewlarization of the content of primary education in public schools, was the massive development of private Catholic primary schools, again staffed by the congreganZ:rtes. Table 4.4 makes it very plain what was happen37 ing. As the congreganistes were chased out of the public sector thev migrated to the private one, and in 1900 were in fact teaching more girl~ and nearly as many boys as in 1880, though the fraction of the whole school population under their control had diminished (see table 4.2). The aim of Ferry and his associates had in fact never been to prevent Catholics from running their own schools: it was only to establish a secular system of public education of a high standard. It would take the

The regular clergy

129

prime ministership of Emile Combes (1902-5) to launch an all-out attack on the right of members of religious orders to teach at all, or in many cases even to exist as an order. The story of this offensive is a complex one (and one which still awaits a really clear exposition). The key laws were the associations law of 1 July 1901 (applied in a manner which its progenitor, Waldeck-Rousseau, had never intended) and the 7July 1904law prohibiting teaching by religious orders; there were also minor laws, and many administrative decrees. The cumulative effect of Combes's campagne lai"qtte was legally to dissolve and disperse all but 10 of the 150-odd male orders in France (the missionary ones in particular were spared; anticlericalism was not for export), and 81 female teaching orders; finally, it was forbidden to any member of any religious order to teach in France (although the remaining teaching orders might still recruit for educational work in foreign missions). The property of the dissolved orders was confiscated, and sold off for a song amid massive corruption (the Grande Chartreuse, for example, being sold for less than a tenth of its value to the liqueur manufacturer Cusenier, who slipped the liquidator apot-de-vin of 80,000 francs). The century-long rise of the religious orders in France was thus shattered in the space of a few years. Congreganistes could and did get round the prohibition on teaching by secularizing themselves and continuing in private schools (though not, by law, in those in which they had previously taught), as table 4. 5 illustrates very clearly. 38 These figures suggest that between the onset of the campaign against the religious orders and the First World War secularized congreganistes managed to hang on to about three-quarters of the number of boys and a little over half the girls that they had taught at the beginning of the offensive. But they were no longer properly members of religious orders, and they had few means of replenishing their numbers. Those who could not find jobs as secularized teachers, or who had never been teachers but whose orders were dissolved, were often in a desperate

Table 4.4 Pupils in primary schools taught by congreganirtes (in thousands) Table 4.5 Pupils in primary schools (in thousands)

Public

Prwate

---·····--··~---·~~---------

1880-1 1885-6 1890-1 1895-6 1900-1

--------···--·-·

Boys

Girl.r

Boy.r

Girls

288 186 104 26 18

758 660 520 405 267

182 260 338 419 405

544 631 720 785 852

Lay

Congregamste

Public Boys

Prwate Girl.r

Boy.r

1900-1 2,295 1,569 46 1912-13 2,474 2,125 360

Public

Total Private

Girls

Boy.r

Gir/.r

Boy.r

Girl.r

74 672

18

266 2

405 8

852 28

5,527 5,669

130

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

position; Paul Bourget's L 'Lrolee evokes the plight of the ex-re!igieme w a very movwg manner. The century of the congregani.rte was definitely over. Reasons for hostility The question that remains to be asked is: why,were religious orders in France the object of such particular hostility on the part of the decisionmakers of the Third Republic? The old Enlightenment objection to them on the grounds of their inutility could scarcely be maintained in the face of the new model of the congregani.rte, very much engaged in socially useful work. Paul-Louis Courier could still refer in 1823 to religious orders as 'a society of people making public vows of idleness and mendicity', but this was an echo from the past that would not be much heard thereafter. The orders were of course an object of anticlerical animus simply by being part of the Catholic clergy, but there was also a special hostility reserved for them; as Ranc said in 1899. deliberately misquoting Gambetta: 'La Congregation, voila l'ennemi!' 39 We are therefore looking not just for the explanation of republican anticlericalism, but for the reasons why republicans (and a few others) found the religious orders peculiarly undesirable. One thing that got religious orders into deeper water than the parish clergy was that they were much more extensively engaged in education. Education mattered desperately to republicans. As Antoine Prost remarks, 'precisely because in France no regime has ever felt its legitimacy to be unquestioned, all regimes have sought to legitimize themselves via the education system' .40 Of no regime was this more true than of the Third Republic. Republicans were deeply concerned that the Catholic education system was creating deux jetme.r.re.r; as the history professor Ernest Lavisse expressed it in 1880, the two school systems 'are going to contend for French youth, divide it and cut it into two groups oriented in two opposite directions·. 41 As the proportion of secondary pupils attending Catholic schools rose under the Republic (see table 4.3), the fear spread that a new, anti-republican Catholic elite was being trained to take over key posts in the professions, the army, and the bureaucracy .'12 Education was thus the issue throughout the first four decades of the Third Republic. Congregation.r, whose major occupation was teaching, were therefore perceived as more dangerous than the parish clergy, even if their dislike of the republic was no more intense. They were perceived as particularly dangerous by lay primaryschool teachers, the in.rtitutetlr.r - and not just for political reasons. Under the Second Empire, there had been intense competition between

The regular clergy

131

instituteur.r and frere.r for the best posts in the public sector, and where there were two schools - for the students whose fees could supplement the meagre pittance that teachers were paid. These situations ceased to apply to the same extent under the Third Republic, but the long legacy of bitter rivalry over resources and professional advancement did much to make the instituteur.r the backbone of republican anticlericalism, and particularly of the campaign against the congregations. At a more profound level, however, the hostility that most republicans felt towards the congregation sprang from the deepest roots of republican ideology. The ]acobin tradition in France was nationalist, individualist, and statist (despite the internal contradictions between these values that we now perceive). The congregations appeared to be foreign, repressive of the individual, and a threat to the authority of the State. It was, fundamentally, because republicans found the orders a standing denial of the values they held most dear that they turned against them with a vehemence that they did not expend on the secular clergy. Congregations were thus unpopular, in the first place, because they were perceived to be foreign. It has always to be remembered that most priests had supported the anti-national side during the Revolution, and the ronsequent association of the clergy with treason took a long time to fade. In 1870, and again in 1914, there were widespread rumours that the priests were in cahoots with the Prussians. This legacy hit the congregations particularly hard, because many of the most important were international organizations, and most tended to have close ties with Rome. They were, in Gambetta's words, 'a multicoloured militia without a fatherland'. Or as one of his colleagues put it, 'they have a celestial fatherland which they prefer to the terrestrial one, and ... owe obedience to a foreign prince' _4 3 The accusation of not loving their country was particularly levelled against the Jesuits, because of the extra vow that they took of unswerving obedience to the Pope, but under the Third Republic it was applied to the religious orders as a whole. In a republic that was busily engaged;in turning the particularist loyalties of the peasants towards the nation-state, and which was increasingly worried about the industrial and demographic giant across the Rhine, the accusation was a deadly serious one. It was no doubt entirely unfounded, as thousands of congregani.rte.r and their ex-pupils would demonstrate with their lives in 1914-18. But it may well have been sincerely believed by at least some republicans, and account in part for the special hostility of which religious orders were the object.

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The second point at which the existence of the congregations offended the basic values of republicanism was their denial of the individual personality. Trouillot, the rapporteur of the 1901 law, himself educated in a congreganiste school, made the point bluntly: 'They tend to annihilate the individual, to destroy his will and his initiative, to bend him under an absolute authority in the face of which the human personality itself is effaced. ' 44 This kind of accusation recurs with monotonous regularity in the speeches of republican leaders. There was rather more truth in it than there was in the accusation of foreignness: religious orders did attempt to sink the personality of each member in a corporate whole. Convents and monasteries adopted the same techniques as did seminaries to control any kind of individuality or deviance, particularly the technique of surveillance (in the Foucaultian sense- seep. 87). The conventual rule prescribed the detailed control of bodily movements, down to the posture of head and torso, the direction of the eyes, the number of genuflections, etc. - a technique which we now understand was an essential part of subjecting individuals to authority, The religious habit itself was clearly designed to suppress individuality, But it was not so much the rule or the habit that offended republicans, as the existence of vows, those of poverty, chastity, and obedience, which were perceived as a denial of the essence of the human personality. In this, of course, they were to a considerable extent suffering from a time-lag: traditional orders such as the Jesuits or the Ursulines took the three solemn vows, but the new-model congreganirte usually made only personal vows, and not necessarily all three. Republican ideologues, however, could not rid themselves of the traditional image, which they regarded as not only physically but morally castrating. For them the purpose of social organization was to maximize the liberty and dignity of the human individual; their intense dislike for religious orders was rooted in what they saw as a denial of human individuality. Republican values were, finally, offended by the way in which congregatiom seemed increasingly to constitute a State within a State. As Jules Ferry told a group of schoolteachers in 1879. 'the State desires, requires, and will retake possession of all its rightful domain' .45 Waldeck-Rousseau in particular seems to have been concerned to assert the right of the State to control the activities of corporate bodies within it. This may seem surprising, inasmuch as neither Ferry nor WaldeckRousseau were by any stretch of the imaginationJacobins; their defence of individualism, furthermore. seems to fit ill with their assertion of the rights of the State. But it is important to remember that the Third Republic was a regime under which the activity of the centralized State expanded more rapidly than at any time in France's previous history,

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Average annual state expenditure in the late 1860s had been 1,729 million francs; by the late 1870s it was already 2.679 million, and in the years before the First World War 4,028 million. 46 The republican State was prepared to take on a whole new range of activities, and proportionately unwilling to see such activities in the hands of independent corporations outside its control. This was above all true of education. Annual state expenditure on education rose from 23 million in the late 1860s to 46 million in the late 1870s, and 300 million in the years before the war. The state was now prepared wholly to satisfy the demand for education in a way in which it had not been before; it was consequently no longer willing to leave it to the congregations to take up an important part of that demand. The State was, however, as yet much less willing to provide medical and social services, and it is striking that congregations specializing in these areas were the object of much less hostility, The Paris municipal council started a campaign in 1878 to laicize its hospitals, and within ten years had largely succeeded - at considerable expense. But central Government was not yet prepared to face that kind of expenditure, and (as we have seen) the number of bomtes soettrs employed in the hospitals and hospices of the Assistance publiqtte reached a maximum in 1911. In the crucial area of education, however, the republican State was indeed prepared to put up the money. A rival educating force within the State was thus increasingly intolerable - all the more in the light of old republican statist traditions hostile to independent corporations within the State. The rise and decline of religious orders in France thus followed a consistent logic. Their spectacular development was the consequence of a particular conjuncture, lasting for most of the century, in which a rapidly growing demand for a wide range of social services coincided with the reluctance of the State to provide them; the congregations sprang up to fill the gap. At the same time, they provided Catholic women with the structured society of their own sex and with a vocation and a career in a way with which no other institution could remotely compare. Towards the end of the century, however, a republican tradition came to power which perceived the regular clergy as foreign, destructive of individuality, and a threat to the State. The republican State was, furthermore, prepared to cater, at least in the realm of education, for much of the demand for which the orders had provided. It was not as yet prepared to take over the full range of social services offered by the congregations notably not in the hospitals. But by the early twentieth century the earlier conjuncture between increasing demand for such services and an increasing number of Catholics willing to offer them had ceased to operate. The century of the congreganiste was over.

mn~ent 'Universi~)!l

Popular religion

5 Popular religion

In most of the rest of this book. I shall be essentially concerned with external forms of religious behaviour that were clerically defined and approved: recourse to the sacraments for major rites of passage, attendance at mass, the taking of communion (especially at Easter), and so on. It was these kinds of behaviour that constituted the observable form of catholicism at the time. Evidently, however, they do not tell us everything about the religious behaviour of French men and women. In particular, they almost wholly exclude the area that has come to be known as that of 'popular religion', and which is currently a major growth industry among religious historians. The term itself is not an entirely happy one, and many historians have attacked it, usually on the grounds that there is always a considerable amount of interaction .between elite models and mass behaviour, and that there is thus no such thing as 'popular religion· in a pure form. This is true, but in practice the term is a useful one and covers a recognizable area of religious behaviour, even if it is not easy to define precisely. It will be used here to refer to the religious behaviour of the mass of the population, in so far as this differs from the model offered by a clerical or lay (in the nineteenth century, clerical) elite. Some further useful terminological clarification is offered by Gerard Cholvy, who distinguishes between 'natural religion' and 'popular religion' - two aspects of what he calls 'religiosity', itself defined as 'the wholly spontaneous trust that man puts in the protective capacities of religion'. Natural religion consists of 'practices heavily tinged with superstition and sometimes wholly foreign to religion ... which have taken on Christian forms without thereby obtaining official recognition or toleration'; popular religion consists of 'clements of religiosity tolerated and even encouraged by the clergy'. 1 These distinctions are

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not intellectually watertight (the use of the term 'superstition' in the definition of natural religion makes it to some extent circular), but they are useful. It is also useful to be reminded, by the definition of 'religiosity', that all or most of the phenomena we shall be dealing with under the heading of popular religion concerned attempts by French men and women to manipulate the concrete world by spiritual means. In the nineteenth century peasants in particular (i.e. a large majority of • the French population) had very little control over their physical lives: physical health and economic prosperity were at the whim of forces which they did not understand and which thev had no 'rational' means of controlling. For them, perhaps the crucial function of religion was precisely to offer: at least the hope that such f.Q.rces could be manipulated. It was, unsurprisingly, a very material kind of religion; equally unsurprisingly, the clergy did not on the whole like it. . Let us .look first at 'natural religion', that body of superstitious practices whtch had taken on Christian forms without ever getting real clerical approval. The French countryside was, for example, full of sorcerers of various kinds, who cast and/ or raised innumerable spells, in the efficacy of which most peasants believed unquestioningly. If one· s animals died in unexplained circumstances, they were victims of a spell; if one fell ill, or if one's luck was out, one was a victim of the evil eye. The only thing to do was to appeal to another sorcerer (or perhaps to the cttre) to get the spell lifted. These sorcerers usually operated with a lot of pseudo-Christian mumbo-jumbo; they might even consider themselves good Christians, and be regular attenders at mass. They might impose penances: one Perigord sorcerer imposed on an old couple the saying of 1.200 rosaries, i.e. 6,000 paternosters and 60,000 Ave Marias; it took the old couple all winter, cutting notches on the mantelpiece to keep count, 'but they did it. One particularly potent form of spell cast by sorcerers in the south-west was the 'dry mass': if you could get a mass said for an enemy without consecration of the wine, your enemy would 'dry up'. Notoriouslv, some sorcerers would 'tie the knot' on vour enemv thus rendering him impotent. When a young priest (and future herd ~f the Resistance) arrived in his Perigord parish in 1910, he encountered a new and strange twist to this tradition: a woman presented him with her wedding-ring to bless; he knew - because his predecessor had warned him - that in the envelope on which the ring lay was a dead rat's tail which, once thus blessed, would enable the local sorcerer to 'tie the knot' on the woman's husband- as a measure of contraception! This is only a particularly bizarre example of the casting and lifting of spells that was perhaps the major element of' natural religion' in the nineteenthcentury French countryside: it was pure superstition, mixed with

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pre-Christian mt1mbo-jumbo and quite unrelated to the teachings of the Church. 2 Country cures were, however, sometimes compelled to compromise with this sort of thing, like it or not. They were widely reputed to be themselves sorcerers of great power and skill - either beneficent or· maleficent. In 1854, in the diocese of Orleans (and elsewhere) the clergy was accused of being responsible for the cholera; when it was pointed out that one young priest had died of it, the reply was: 'Oh! him, he was only a little cure, the big ones hadn't given him the secret. ' 3 Priests were particularly seen as being able to control hailstorms. In the diocese of Chartres, in 1839, some of their number were physically threatened after a particularly severe hailstorm; it was claimed that they had been seen sitting in trees pouring down haiL and that when shot at, one of them had fallen to the ground in the form of a crow. Cmis might also, however, be beneficent sorcerers; as one of them reported from the diocese of Orleans in 1850, the cure was 'believed to be the greatest spell-lifter of all. ... When I try and persuade them of the contrary, they smile and reply that I know very well how things are but that I won't say. ' 4 A cure might thus judge it politic to go along with requests to lift spells, or conjure hailstorms, even if he regarded it as pure superstition. He would certainly never dare deny access to the church bells when storm douds threatened, for the ringing of them was universally regarded as the only way of diverting the hail. In any case, the Church made multiple provision for very similar activities. Devilish possession was known to occur (if rarely), and exorcism was the correct procedure. More simply, the Catholic liturgy was fully armed with prayers pro fmctibus terrae, pro aeris serenitate, ad petendam p!uviam congruentem, or against mures, !ocustas, vermes, bmchos et alia anima!ia nociva, and when these were used they may well have been perceived by peasants as a quasi-magical way of lifting spells. It was thus not easy for the clergy (in rural France at least) fully to dissociate itself from 'natural religion·. Generally, however, the magical world of spell and counter-spell that was so familiar to peasants was never accepted by the official Church. 'Popular religion', in Cholvy's definition, was another matter, and the clergy's relationship with it needs looking at more closely. Much of it was tied up with the cult of the saints, the validity of which a Catholic clergy still bitterly at loggerheads with the Protestants over the issue could scarcely deny. The difficulty was that many parishioners clearly went far beyond regarding the saints as merely intercessors, and ascribed to them independent powers for the manipulation of the physical world. Pilgrims in the diocese of Chartres would continue their

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devotions before the statue of a saint during the elevation of the host; when accused by the officiating priest of turning his back on God, one replied brusquely that it wasn't God that he'd come to see. but rather the good Saint Maur. At Etaples, in the diocese of Arras, the cure reflected ruefully that 'there are two bans diettx at Etaples. the real one and SaintJosse, and I'm not at all sure that SaintJosse isn't number one' .5 The clergy had simply to go on repeating that the saints had only the power to intercede. 'ThroYgh the saints,' wrote the Bishop of Montpellier in the 1840s, '. ~ . it is God that we honour ... it is to him alone that we look for all things ... we are not the idolaters that we are accused of being ... we don't worship the saints. ' 6 For much of the nineteenth century at least this kind of reaffirmation of orthodoxy had little effect: the saints continued to be endowed by peasants with powers in their own right, and to play a crucial role in the manipulation of the physical world. Towards the end of the century confidence in the thaumaturgical powers of the saints did decline, for a number of reasons: a successful clerical offensive; medical progress (quinine replaced the fever saints of the Sologne, and Pasteur made Saint Hubert obsolete as a cure for rabies); and the universalization under the Third Republic of primary education based on positivist assumptions. But for most of our period they were as common as doctors are today, and faith in them as unshakeable as that in modern medical science. 7 The major form taken by the cult of the saints was that of the local pilgrimage. Saints were usually highly localized, and one went to where the relevant image or relic or miraculous spring was situated; the pilgrimage was most effective if made on the saint's feast-day, though it did not have to be. Very often one is clearly looking at situations where preChristian pagan and animist places of worship had simply been taken over by the early Christian clergy, after the failure of efforts to suppress them. This was obviously the case for most miraculous springs, which were incredibly common: about 850 of them still functioning in the west and centre-westofFrance in 1900, and over 350 in the three departments of the Limousin. Another tell-tale trace of pagan origins is the widespread legend of the statue discovered in some isolated spot (often a spring) and removed by the clergy to a church, but which obstinately returns to the spot where it was found - recording fairly obviously the failure of the clergy to obliterate a pagan cult, and their decision to christianize it instead. 8 The Christian element often remained pretty superficial, restricted to the reading of a Gospel passage over each pilgrim's head, the blessing of various objects, and- with a bit ofluckthe saying of mass. The parish ofLigueux, in the diocese ofPerigueux, was the proud possessor of the relic of Saint Simeon's arm (which had

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Popular religion

held the baby Jesus); it was the object of quite a major local pilgrimage, here described by a clerical pen in 1884: The pilgrims who come to seek a cure at Ligueux buy a wax ex-voto representing the sick part of the body- a head, an arm, a leg. They hold this object with devotion during the mass, after which they go and kiss the relic and have a short passage from the Gospel read over their head by the priest. The priest places his stole over the head of each pilgrim.and says: Saint Simeon, pray for him, and the pilgrim offers his ex-voto .... The pilgrims then go to the spring at La Roche to drink the water and wash their sick parts; they leave a small offering. 9 This pattern was probably fairly typical of a cleaned-up local pilgrimage in the second half of the century, approved by the clergy. Some were more dubious. Not far away, at Clermont d 'Exideuil, there was a minor pilgrimage for mothers without milk: it involved the mother holding a cheese to her breast, while the priest read a passage from the Gospel over her head; the cheese was the payment- which is why the local cure could never offer his colleagues a cheese course when they came to dine with him. The clerical recuperation of popular religion

The cult of the saints, and popular religious practices in general, evidently involved clerical participation. They also, however, shared certain characteristics about which a clergy still firmly rooted in Tridentine traditions was less than happy. In the first place, such things usually happened outside the parish church, at a miraculous spring, by a wayside cross, in some chapel on the edge of a forest- i.e. it was to a greater or lesser extent beyond clerical control. A saint was usually considered to be more powerful in his sanctuary or spring than in the parish church. 10 Second (as already emphasized), popular religion was concerned almost entirely with the manipulation of the concrete world; personal sanctification, or any kind of purely spiritual relationship between God and man, was not on the agenda. Third, it nearly always involved a festive element, and that traditional bugbear of the Tridentine clergy: the mixing of the sacred and the profane. Pilgrims to local shrines usually expected to put in a good bit of feasting and drinking, and even (to much clerical wringing of hands) dancing, as well as to make their devotions to the saint. The fete patronale (the feast-day of the parish's patron saint) would start with mass, but would almost

I

1/

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inevitably degenerate into drunken brawling and crude sexuality. None of all this was acceptable to any of the clergy, throughout our period. There were, however, in the course of the nineteenth century, significant, changes in clerical attitudes to popular religion, related to changes in the social and cultural origins of the priesthood. The eighteenth-century clergy, as we have seen, was dominantly of an urban and bourgeois background. This may have been decreasingly so in the decades preceding the Revolution, but the c11res of the ancien regime still came, by and large, from relatively well-off families which shared in the high culture of their age. They thus had a healthycontempt for all forms of popular culture, religious or otherwise. This essentially class-based attitude was strengthened by two conflicting, but here complementary, traditions: Tridentine catholicism and the Enlightenment. On the attitude of the first towards popular religion enough has already been said in chapter 1. The second, even if finally rejected by most clerics, nevertheless exerted a strong influence over many~ we know, for example, that priests were prominent subscribers to the Encyclopedie. They shared much of the ambient rationalism of the age, at any rate to the degree of despising all 'superstition'. This was (as ever) particularly true of the Jansenists (except the radical convt~lsionnaires), whom Voltaire regarded as having done an excellent job in uprooting the worst aspects of Christianity in the educated mind. But for many ordinary clerics as well the Enlightenment contempt for superstition and magic fitted in well with their religious formation and their class origins, and all three elements combined to make them virulently hostile to manifestations of popular religion. Sometimes ~hey had to compromise, but always against their will. It is very likely, 111 fact, that the clerical dislike of popular religion had, in the later eighteenth century, effected a decline in the kind of popular practices described earlier in this chapter. Only the removal of clerical control in the 1790s allowed them to break out again and flourish, particularly in the early nineteenth century. The clergy that confronted this resurgent popular religion in the early nineteenth century was itself largely composed of survivors of the ancien regime, and was as hostile as ever. Monseigneur Brulley, Bishop of Mende, who had trained at Saint Sulpice and the Sorbonne before the Revolution, instructed his clergy in 1830 to devote all their powers to destroying all superstitions which might infiltrate their parishes; to inspire in the faithful a suitable horror of divinations and the casting of spells, and of everything that is

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opposed to real piety, which consists in worshipping God in spirit and in truth. 11 Brulley appears to have had in mind mostly 'natural religion', but 'popular religion' was almost equally an object of clerical anathema: a priest at Rennes in 1834 deplored the practice of assembling on certain days at various supposedly miraculous springs; making a circuit of the spring on one's knees; washing hands, arms or eyes therein amid ridiculous contortions, or paying a few old beldames to carry out these pious farces on one· s behalf. 12 Evidently the old unregenerate hostility to popular religion was still strong. Even the new clergy of the nineteenth century shared it to a considerable degree: Bishop Bouvier ofLe Mans, for example, tried in 1845 to suppress the pilgrimage to Saint Evenisse at Doucelles, on the grounds that (a) she didn't exist, and (b) it was on mardi gras (and thus competed with the formal liturgy of the Church); the relevant statue was buried, but pilgrims continued to make the excursion and to ask for masses for the non-existent Saint Evenisse. 13 The hostility of the Tridentine clergy to popular religion is the explanation of a phenomenon that has often been remarked upon but less often been properly understood: the inver.re correlation, in nineteenthcentury France, between formal religious practice and the practice of popular religion. This was perhaps most noticeable in the Limousin, one of the jJays de mission of modern France, where the percentage taking Easter communion could fall to almost nil in rural parishes, where baptismal delays were early and lengthy, and where priestly vocations were rare. But the Limousin was littered with manifestations of popular religion - most notably miraculous springs, but also the cult of the saints in a wider sense, the universal belief in magical spells, and the cult of the dead. The same inverse correlation has been noticed in the dioceses of Montpellier, Rouen, Orleans, Blois, Rennes, Albi, and Perigueux, and was probably a fairly general rule. It could produce some apparently curious behaviour in the populations concerned. In 1874 the cure of the Limousin parish of Burgnac refused to have anything to do with the traditional procession for the success of the harvest; when a violent hailstorm followed. he had to be rescued by the gendarmerie from an angry crowd, whose unrepentant leader (a poor sharecropper) exclaimed: 'Is it possible that priests who preach religion should try and abolish it?' 14 For the sharecropper, 'religion' was clearly something that prevented hailstorms; whether he practised religion in the Tridentine sense we arc not told, but quite probably not. Tridentine

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religion and popular religion were not only quite different entities, but even polar opposites. It was thus only to be expected that where one was strong the other was weak - as usually turned out to be the case. It cannot be said that in the course of the nineteenth century clerical attitudes to popular religion were reversed, but they did change quite significantly, as the clergy itself changed. It was emphasized in chapter 3 that the new clergy came from much more modest social backgrounds, and above all from backgrounds that were culturally deprived. They thus did not share their predecessors' natural contempt for popular culture: they retained - even after their seminary training -a certain sympathy for. or at least understanding of. the people from :vhom they had sprung. Furthermore, they no longer inhabited an Intellectual world dominated by the Enlightenment - which was now held responsible for the Revolution and everything evil. The new intellectual influence was Romanticism, and particularly Chateaubriand. One of the chief characteristics of the Romantic movement was a rediscovery of the value of popular culture, and Chatcaubriand had elevated popular religious practices to the status of 'harmonies of religion and 15 n~ture · . .A clergy with fewer intellectual pretentions, and inhabiting a dtfferent Intellectual world from those that did have them, was much more prepared to extend a welcome to popular religion. There was even a feeling that miracles, superstitions, the cult of saints, etc., were an excellent slap in the face for the scientism that was increasingly espoused by the enemies of the Church. As Louis Veuillot, spokesman of the new clergy, asked a journalist opponent in 1867: 'Are you sure that you understand the ''invariable laws of nature''? What if the first and most invariable law of nature were obedience to God?' 16 The change in attitude begins to become apparent from about the 1830s onwards. In some areas, it was encouraged bv the cholera epidemics of 1832 and 1849. when massive popular r~course to old plague ~aims like Saint Roch and Saint Sebastian seemed to the clergy to mamfest a return to piety. All over France, in the middle four decades of the century, the clergy began to revitalize local pilgrimages that had fallen into decline in the face of earlier clerical opprobrium. Superstition ceased to be a dirty word. In 1855 one Perigord cure found that the superstitions of his parish were 'neither contrary to faith nor contrary to morality. It seems to me that they should only be attacked with a great deal of prudence, and by greater religious instruction·; eight years later, a nearby colleague opined that 'these abuses, the fruit of ignorance. show an instinct for religion rather than the absence of faith'. As Gerard Cholvy remarks, 'from being suspect, manifestations of religiosity were becoming signs of faith'. 17 In 1863, in their cantonal

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conferences, the clergy of the diocese of Arras debated the cu_lt. of the saints, concluding that the contempt poured thereon by crmcs was unjustified, even if superstitious ab~1ses were to be deplore~; the renaissance of pilgrimages was a mamfestauon of a return to fatth by the people of the countryside. The mid-century thus saw a resurgence of many popular religious practices, now under _the ~a:ourab!e eye of the clergy. This might not be worshippin~
143

them drawn by the prospect of enjoying themselves . . . . They habitually turn up on the evening before the solemnity concerned, and to win the favours of the saint they all think themselves obliged to pass the night under the stars. They take care to arrange things in such a way as to find the time neither long nor disagreeable. 19 This sort of behaviour was unacceptable even to a new clergy sprung from the people itself. Sometimes it was simply a matter of unbridled sexuality: a cure of the diocese of Quimper refused in 1826 to celebrate the local pardons (group pilgrimages to local chapels), giving among his reasons that 'young people only go on them for fun and games, and in this connection such gatherings are morally more pernicious than any others'; in 1850 one of his colleagues in the diocese of Le Mans abolished the local wine-growers' feast of Saint Vincent 'because of the excessive licentiousness to which it gave rise every year'. 20 On other occasions the clerical objection could simply be to riotous behaviour in general. Thus in the parish of Caestre, ·in French Flanders, the procession in honour of Our Lady of Grace was traditionally interrupted by men disguised as brigands simulating an attack which legend said had been made on three local Marian shrines; this practice, already forbidden in 1784 but restarted after the Revolution, was definitively condemned by the Archbishop of Cambrai in 1854 in order to avoid situations that were 'too dramatic or too profane'. 21 The nature of the 'profanity' in these cases was different, but whether it was sexual licence or merely rowdiness the objection was to the mixing of the sacred and the profane, and to the generally 'festive' nature of popular religion. It was an objection which the new clergy steadfastly maintained. How successful they were was another matter: it is a littleknown fact among historians of religion that the major pilgrimage centres that developed in the later nineteenth century were also major centres of prostitution. 22 But they certainly tried, and they probably succeeded at least in driving the profane element underground. The third element of the clerical dean-up of popular religion was the attack on what was regarded as superstition. Thus in 1892, in the diocese of Rouen, the traditional hymn for a local pilgrimage was made more reputable by the suppression of references to 'superstitious· practices:

Old version

1892 ver.rion

Having thus prayed, After having bathed In the holy spring, Say a prayer With devotion, God will end your pain.

Having thus prayed With piety and faith, To all the holy saints, Say a prayer With devotion, God will end your pain. 23

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Often this process involved trying to shift the emphasis away from the traditional attempt to manipulate the material world, towards more spiritual concerns. In the Sologne, Saint Laurent- traditionally a protector against burns - was now portrayed as an intercessor for the avoidance of hell-fire. At Arras, the devotion to 'Notre-Dame des Ardents' originated in a twelfth-century epidemic of the 'mal des ardents' (ergotism, a very painful disease caused by eating mouldy rye); ;-rhen the bishop established a new confraternity in her honour in 1877, tt was not only for physical cures but also for the conversion of sinners, since sin was the mal ardent of the soul. Thus a popular religion which had been basically concerned with 'superstitious' practices for the health of men, animals, and crops was steadily reoriented by the clergy into more spiritual channels. Finally, the clergy tried to redirect the characteristic localism of popular religion in a more universalist direction. This can be seen in the development of diocesan propres, or liturgies for saints peculiar to a given diocese. The Bishop of Blois who died in 1844 left a draft propre allowing for 28 saints specifically connected with the marshy area known as the Sologne; the version published by his successor in 1851 suppressed those whose sainthood was not clearly established, leavin~ only 15. In 1912 the bull A.ffiato divino required bishops to check thetr propre.r according to very restrictive principles: the propre of Blois published in 1914 thus had only 6 saints of the Sologne. The ideal universalist saint of the nineteenth-century clergy was of course the Virgin Mary, and they pushed Marian devotion to quite an extraordinary degree (as we shall see). It was not that Marian devotion was foreign to popular religion: many of the local shrines were dedicated to the Virgin, and her thaumaturgical powers were among the greatest in the land. But the popular mind clearly worked with a multiplicity of Virgins, who were not interchangeable: Our Ladies of Capelou, Fontpeyrine, Temniac, etc., were purely local saints, each usually embodied in a particular - often small and battered - statue. In the diocese of Chartres, around 1890, two old women were overheard, after a sermon on the unicity of the Blessed Virgin, saying: 'Did you hear that imbecile claiming that it's the same Our Lady everywhere? As if we didn't know that it's the daughter here, and at Revercourt it's the mother! ' 24 The Marian devotion so dear to the clergy- and so successful -was of a very different order: it was universalist in nature, as opposed to the highly localized character of Marian devotion in traditional popular religion. The clergy born in the nineteenth century, of modest and above all culturally deprived backgrounds, was thus prepared to welcome and

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exploit popular religious practices - on certain conditions, notably that: 1 They were in charge. 2 The festive element was suppressed, and the sacred carefullv differentiated from the profane. ' 3 The element of 'superstition· was reduced. 4 Localism gave way to universalism. Typical was an 1890 instruction from the diocese of Blois on how to do a good pilgrimage: 1. Put oneself in a state of grace by receiving absolution from the holy tribunal of penitence. 2. Take holy communion with great piety. 3. Pray with all confidence to God, the Blessed Virgin and the saints. 4. Accept it without being disheartened if heaven is temporarily deaf to our prayers. 25 This was clearly an attempt to discourage the earlier emphasis on material interest, ritual acts, and the absence of sacraments. On the :Vhole, the attempt appea:s .to h.ave been successful: clerically patrontzed forms of popular reltgton 111 the second half of the nineteenth century often met with an enthusiastic response- even if in some cases the clericalization was so great that the term 'popular religion· no longer seems really appropriate. The upsurge of Marian devotion

Clerical enthusiasm and mass response seem to have coincided best in the series of Marian apparitions that marked nineteenth-century France .. The first of these is usually held to date from 1830, when Sister Cathen~e ~aboure, in a house in the Rue du Bac in Paris, had a vision of the Vtrgm shed~ing beams of light on the world, with the caption '0 Mary, co~~etved wtthout sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee'; a second vtsto~ recommended that a medal be struck showing the vision and the captton. The medal was struck in 1832, and was widely distributed from 1834 on-:ar~s, particularly through the Archconfraternity of Notre-Dame des Vtctotres, so called after the Parisian parish where it w~s founded in 1836. The medal became known as the medat!le mzracttlettse, and_ numerous miraculous cures (particularly of the cholera) were attnbuted. to it. This was the first Marian apparition of the century to become wtdely known, but it was certainly not the first to

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stimulate mass devotion at a local level. In 1814, in the Perigord, MarieJeanne Grave, aged 14, was guarding sheep near a sp:in~, when she twice received a visitation and a message from the Vtrgm. The first message did not mince its words: the girl's. parents, said Mary.' were blasphemers who worked on Sundays and dtd not attend mass; tf they did not mend their ways, they would die within the year and no one would carry them to their grave. Marie-Jeanne told her p~rents, who were not impressed; the local mayor, who was also thetr landlord. laughed at her and threatened her with his stick. The Virgin then appeared a second time, approving what the girl had done, and saymg that the man who had laughed at her story would die suddenly in his bed. All of which came to pass: the parents died, and were carried to the cemetery on a mule; the mayor died suddenly, aged 56. Marie-Jea~ne herself died a few months later, aged 15; her funeral was accompamed by various miraculous events (a storm broke, but left her coffin dry, etc.). and a local cult sprang up around the spring. The clergy were distinctly lukewarm about it, and without their encouragement the .cult declined. It was revived by the parish priest in the 1850s, and espectally in the 1870s; in 1878 there were 2,000 pilgrims on the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, and still today several hundred visit the spring and its accompanying tiny chapel. This is the story of_Notr~-Dame .de RedonEspic; it is interesting for several reasons. Ftrst, 1t ts typtcal of the changing attitude of the clergy in the course of the cen~ury .. Second •. w_e can understand how the local peasantry came to belteve 111 the gtr! s visions: the registers of the etat-civil show clearly that the parish. in_ the few months after Mary's appearance, suffered some kmd of short-ltved but violent epidemic, in which many died (including those s~e had threatened); this gave retrospective credibility to the message. Fmally, the case of Redon-Espic prefigures later and more tmportant Manan apparitions. particularly in the person of the visionary (a roung and illiterate peasant girl), and in the threatenmg nature of Marys message, 26 very like that of La Salette thirty-two years later. In 1846. high up in the foothills of the Alps near Grenoble, near the village ofla Salette, Melanie (aged 15) and Maximin (aged 11) received a similar visit from the Virgin, and a similarly minatory message. She complained of people working on Sundays, non-attendance at church, blasphemy, and the lack of prayers; that was why the potatoes had be~n blighted the previous year, and why (if men did not repent) the gram would turn to dust, the nuts would be spoilt, and all those age~ under 7 would die of famine - though, if men converted, stones ana rocks would be covered with grain, and potatoes would spring up everywhere. Just as the apparition at Redon-Espic had fitted in with a local

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epidemic, that of La Salette fitted in with the national meteorological crisis of 1846-7: events seemed to bear out the menace. La Salette rapidly became an important centre of pilgrimage (though never a major one for miraculous cures). It was always a bit of a problem for the Church, largely because of the dubious character of the two visionaries, particularly Maximin, who once told a horrified cure d'Ars to his face that it was all a fraud. But La Salette remained a major centre of pilgrimage throughout the century, particularly for those who were less interested in a physical cure than in lamenting over the wickedness of the modern world. La Salette was, however, soon replaced as the major Marian pilgrimage by the series of apparitions before Bernadette Soubirous at Lourdes in 1858. Bernadette was a much more acceptable visionary. the message less precise and above all less threatening - and Lourdes had a potentially miraculous spring. Furthermore, the message fitted in with the enthusiasm surrounding the proclamation of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception in 1854: had not Mary said (in patois): 'Que soy era Immaculada Counceptiou ·? Lourdes, finally, was from the beginning a place for miraculous cures. The clergy found the pilgrimage to Lourdes a deeply uplifting experience; as one wrote to a colleague in 1883: 'How happy you must be, you· re going to Lourdes. At Lourdes, as you know, one is no longer on this earth; one experiences there a happiness hitherto unknown. ' 27 Ordinary Catholics (quite apart from those that were ill) had the same experience. After the railway link in 1866, and the organization from 1869 onwards of collective pilgrimages by diocesan authorities, Lourdes took off in a spectacular way. By the early twentieth century, more than half a million pilgrims went there every year - more than twice as many (as Thomas Kselman remarks) as went on strike. Lourdes was the perfect meeting-point for clerical and popular religion in the nineteenth century, and therein lies, perhaps, the secret of it success. The high point for Marian apparitions in France was the decade of the 1870s: 9 major cases, followed by 5 in the 1880s and 2 in the 1890s. 28 In some cases this was connected with the vine disease known as phylloxera: in 1873. in the diocese ofMontpellier, the Virgin explained to a young wine-grower that the cure was not to work on Sundays, and to develop the Marian cult in the form of devotional processions. When the new bishop visited the spot in1875 he was (although not unfavourable to this sort of thing) stunned by the intensity of popular devotion into exclaiming: 'But this is a scene from the Middle Ages! ' 29 The upsurge of Marian devotion in the 1870s. however, and of the pilgrimage movement in general was due not only to the phylloxera but

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above all to the political conjuncture of those years and to a deliberate effort by the clergy to exploit popular devotional practices for political ends. The traumatic defeat by the Prussians in 1870-1 and the holocaust of the Paris Commune were systematically presented as God's punishments visited on a sinful people; the sins concerned were the general irreligiousness of the age. and specifically the failure to protect the temporal power of the Pope from the unification of Italy (Ro~e, the last vestige of the papal domains, had been grabbed by the Italtan State in 1870 when the French garrison left). A very conscious attempt was also made bv the organizers of national pilgrimages to associate the Catholic cause ~ith that of a wounded France: the only true patriots were Catholics, and only national penance would save France (and, in particular, Alsace-Lorraine). As a Catholic journalist reported fro~ Lourdes in 1872: 'What existed always, and what was ever-present m our minds. was our mother, France. We had come to pray for what was 30 most dear to us; how could we not pray for our mother-country?' There was also a less explicit but equally clear attempt to associate the causes of catholicism and nationalism with that of the Bourbon monarchy, against that of the republic. This triple alliance of catholicism, nationalism, and monarchism was very much in the minds of the General Pilgrimage Council set up at La Salette in 1872, and above all in the national pilgrimages organized in the 1870s to Paray-le-Monial. It was there, in the seventeenth century, that Marguerite-Marie Alacoque had had a series of visions of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; the image of the sacred heart was popularized in Catholic circles by i~s adoption by the chouans during the Revolution, and by the fact that tt was the banner of the papal zouaves, previously a volunteer corps for the defence of papal territory, who had played a prominent role in one of the few French victories against the Prussians, at Patay. Paray had always been a centre of pilgrimage, but in 1873. at the initiative of a Jesuit priest, it became an enormous festival of the political right. Careful organization by clergy and notables brought to Paray, for the festival of the Sacred Heart (20 June), 1,200 priests and more than 20,000 pilgrims; prominent were the banners of Alsace and Lorraine. 'Have pity, 0 God', sang the pilgrims; 'Save Rome and France by your Sacred Heart.' Nine days later was the day of the National Assembly, when about fifty right-wing deputies made the trip to Paray_; _soon after, the Assembly decreed that the construction of the new bastltca of the Sacred Heart on the hill of Montmartre (which was explicitly being built by public subscription as an expiation for the sins ~f~renc_hm_en) was 'of public utility', Between 1873 and 1877 over a mtllton ptlgnms visited Paray every year, taking part in a clearly politicized activity. The

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same politicization was evident in the rest of the pilgrimage movement, including Lourdes. but at Paray it was at its most overt and aggressive. 31 The monarchist element had to be kept very much in the background after the decisive establishment of the republic in 1876-7, and the number of pilgrims at Paray declined. But Lourdes, less politicized, continued to flourish and expand, as did other Marian shrines. Here was the ideal form in which the clergy could recuperate a popular movement, in a form that was under their control, relativelv free from profane and superstitious elements, and which seemed t~ offer the hope that France was not irredeemably dechristianized. It should be noted, nevertheless, that the clergy did not always throw its weight wholeheartedly or unhesitatingly behind every manifestation of popular Marian devotion. Visions of the Virgin did present difficulties. They tended to happen outside the parish church, and in all cases spontaneous popular cults sprang up without the clergy playing any role. The visionaries were usually young, ignorant of elite culture, and unreliable. Bernadette was 14, Maximin and Melanie 11 and 15, the girl at Redon-Espic 14, the visionaries at Pontmain in 1871 between 9 and 12. Almost all were from the poorest elements of the peasantry, and not subject to clerical control. The Bishop of Grenoble decided in December 1846 to keep Maximin and Melanie in a local monastery, rather than have them return to their families; they needed an intensive course of religious instruction. The local clergy was usually quite enthusiastic (with the exception of the cure at Lourdes); the mobilizing possibilities offered by spontaneous mass piety were too tempting to reject. But the episcopate was usually very cautious: it took the Bishop of Tarbes four years publicly to approve of Bernadette's visions, and the Bishop of Grenoble five years in the case of La Salette - and in the latter case senior prelates like the Archbishops of Lyons and Reims continued to be publicly sceptical. There were also considerable numbers of apparitions, followed by mass devotion, which the Church never accepted at all. The best documented case comes from the diocese of Valence, in 1848-9. The Virgin appeared to seven young shepherds, shepherdesses, and farm servants, one widow and one old spinster, and two very young children. All were of a very limited formal religious culture: a priest investigating one 14-year-olcl shepherd visionary found that 'he replies more or less accurately on the Trinity, but of the three Persons cannot say which one came clown to earth', Mary's message (delivered initially in French, and then - when the children didn · t understand- in the local patois) was very similar to those of La Salette and Redon-Espic: the potato and cereal crops were spoilt because people didn't pray or go to mass, and worked on Sundays. There was

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immediate enthusiasm, with processions of over 5,000 people and miraculous cures (always of very poor people). The investigating clergy did not deny that the apparition had occurred; the problem was whether it was the Virgin or the devil. They opted for the diabolic explanation. The instructions given by the supposed Virgin were suspect: make the people sing, lead them out of the parish church in open-air processions to where the visions occurred, replace the liturgical processions by uncontrolled marches into the mountains. Crosses were set up by popular initiative; when the clergy was ordered not to bless them, the Virgin did so herself. The clergy reported: The people regard them as having been blessed; this is an infringement of the role of the priesthood, a derogation from the order established by God .. , . People abandon the mass, and go off in the mountains, both sexes, even at night ... to pray and sing, it is true, but the slope is a slippery one, these events happened in a wilderness. Clerical condemnation resulted - as in all similar cases - in the fairly rapid decline of the initial spontaneous expressions of fervour. The very poor and culturally deprived elements of the peasantry whose desire for the miraculous lay behind such forms of popular religion were not sufficiently powerful to establish a durable devotion in the face of clerical hostilityY Clearly, the clergy felt happiest with large-scale regional or national shrines like Lourdes or Paray-le-Monial. where clerical control was absolute. The very existence of such major pilgrimages,. furthermore, tended to attract support away from the old local shrines, with their cult of the saints and associated superstitious practices. Medical progress, and the spread of primary education, also tended to lessen the appeal of the old local devotions, the high point of which was thus probably the 1860s, when they had clerical support and before they suffered from competition from Lourdes and other major centres, or from medical and educational developments. Michael Marrus has argued that the new national pilgrimages (further favoured by the establishment of a railway network) took over from the local ones in the last three decades of the nineteenth century 33 As a general statement this is probably correct, though it was not entirely t,he intention of the clergy that things should turn out that way. The 1859 council of the bishops of the province of Bordeaux, for example, urged that local shrines as well as national and international ones should be encouraged - though priests should be on the look-out for any mixing of the sacred

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and the profane. 34 Nevertheless, it is by and large true that the clericalized forms of popular religion that were so successful in the later nineteenth century fitted in better with the simultaneously growing sense of national unity. Communications and education were not only turning 'peasants into Frenchmen·, but also turning devotees of local saints into pilgrims to Lourdes.

Relics Popular religion was not simply a matter of pilgrimages. local or national - although that was perhaps the form in which it was chiefly manifested in the nineteenth century. Popular devotion to the relics of saints. or to more Christ-related remains such as bits of the true cross or thorns from the crown of thorns, was strong: kissing a relic (as in the case of Saint Simeon's arm at Ligueux) was often a central element of rituals for a miraculous cure; parading it in the streets was frequently a way of controlling the weather. In the towns of the dechristianized Limousin. the ostensions of relics every seven years were a major religious event; many peasants counted the years by astensions. In the diocese of Valence, only two parishes out of five (the poor ones) were without their own relic; in the Sologne, nearly every parish finished up with a piece of the true cross. In 1860 and 1873 the house of the eighteenth-century Saint Benoit Labre was literally put to sack by relicseekers, and thereafter had to be protected by an iron grille. Uncritical devotion to assorted bits of old wood and bone was thus verv real As the century advanced, the clergy became if anything ~ore enthusiastic than the faithful. The cure d'Ars collected more than 500 relics - before becoming himself a source of highly-valued relics, as pilgrims cut off bits of his vestments, or even his hair by creeping up behind him during catechism classes. The Bishop of Poitiers made himself ridiculous in the 1860s by promoting the cult of 'the only part of Christ's body left behind when He ascended into heaven·. 35 Reliccollecting was facilitated by the existence of the catacombs in Rome. and the willingness of the papacy (for most of the century) to declare that a large number of skeletons were those of Christian martyrs- particularly of virgins who had resisted the attentions of Roman soldiers, such as Saint Angelica, who told the son of the governor of Rome: Betake yourself from my sight, food of death, for I have already given my heart to another husband! I love Jesus Christ: in loving him I remain chaste, in coming close to him I am pure. in receiving him I remain a virgin!

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It was awkward that no one knew a single thing about the saints of the catacombs, not even their names; but the Church could name them retrospectively, and it was allowable to fantasize about what might have happened. The most notorious case was that of Saint Philomena, whose skeleton was extracted in 1802, and the story of whose martyrdom was revealed to an Italian nun. She had refused to become the object of the lust ofDiocletian, and was stripped, scourged, and killed; there seems little doubt that the nun's vision contained strong elements of repressed sado-masochism. The Philomena cult was introduced into France in the 1830s, particularly via the cure d'Ars, who liked to ascribe to her intercessory powers the miracles that the faithful increasingly attributed to himself. Only occasional pieces of Philomena's skeleton found their way to France, but in the first half of the nineteenth century something like 400 full remains of catacomb saints were given 36 bv the Vatican to various Frenchmen and transported back to France. Tl1e practice was formally discontinued in 1881, but the passion for relics among the French clergy continued undiminished. In the diocese of Perigueux, around 1890, the great relic fanatic was the Abbe Barjeaud - significantly, the son of an illiterate peasant. His correspondence contains bills for nearly 600 reliquaries; he swapped, begged, and bought relics with single-minded devotion. As Rome brought the trade under more critical supervision, he provisioned himself from hard-up religious orders in Italy (the going rate seems to have been 40-50 francs for a half-femur, half-tibia, or half-skull). 37 He was clearly a collecting freak, but his passion for relics and for the cult of the saints was not untypical of the clergy of the time. It was ground on which they could find themselves in sympathy with popular religion, and indeed take it to extremes. Embourgeoisement and feminization of popular religion The clerical recuperation of popular religion in the second half of the nineteenth century was to have a number of interesting consequences, not all of them (it now seems) desirable. In the first place, it resulted in a certain embourgeoisement of practices which had previously been genuinely 'popular'. The process can be seen in the case of Lourdes: the early miraculous cures mostly concerned illiterate local peasants and artisans; after the shrine had developed into a national centre, those cured were more likely to have come from a distance, to have heard of the cult through the printed word, and to be relatively well-off. National shrines required not only literacy to get t"'O"know about them, but also the pnce of a railway ticket: even after the reductions offered

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by railway companies, the price of a third-class return ticket from Paris to Paray-le-Monial was still nearly half the average monthly wage of a Parisian worker. Local shrines revitalized by the clergy similarly tended to see fewer and fewer individual peasants coming to seek a miraculous cure, and more and more groups from Catholic secondary schools coming to pray for success in exams. Thus, although the clergy always tried to emphasize the social mix among pilgrims, the very poor were excluded from national, and even local, shrines. Peasants did continue to frequent both, and so even did certain elements of the industrial proletariat. But such manifestations were no longer strictly 'popular' in the sense that the old cult of the saints had been. A second interesting consequence of the clerical recuperation of popular religion was a process of feminization. We shall see in the next chapter that a lot of forces were working in that direction in nineteenth-century French catholicism; a similar development is observable in the clericalized forms of popular religion. Traditional shrines had been frequented by men as much and even more than by women: a religion that was practical and festive appealed to them (if mass were involved, they would hang about outside the Church). 38 The shrine of Notre-Dame de Lumieres, near Avignon, when it started up in 1666, produced 54 miraculous cures of men and 37 of women; it declined in the,eighteenth centurv, and, when it was revitalized bv' the Oblates of \ ' Mary Immaculate in 1836, the first thirty years produced 17 miraculous cures for men to 39 for women (children excluded in both cases). 39 Thomas Kselman's analysis of miraculous cures at Lourdes (after clerical approval) and La Salette shows 67 women to only 8 men (although his conclusions are slightly different). 40 The 1894 pilgrimage to Lourdes organized by the diocese of Cambrai involved only 400 men to 5,200 women; some parishes sent no men at all. This feminization of popular devotions as they became clericalized was certainly not intended, but it clearly happened. Many of the causes are general to French catholicism. It is possible that the increasingly Marian orientation of popular devotion appealed specifically to women though it could also be argued that the Virgin was an important mother figure for Catholic men, and no work exists to show that Marian devotion appealed more to one sex than to the other. More clearly, men did not like religious forms that were under clerical control; women would accept male authority, in a way that men would not. Nor did men like the rigorous separation of the sacred from the profane, or the devaluing of the festive element in popular religion. Here, however, we rejoin the more general reasons for the feminization of catholicism.

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A Social Hz:rtory a/French Catholicism 1789-1914 Popular religious art

A final consequence of the clerical recuperation of popular religion still distressingly visible in French parish churches today - was a transformation of religious art. The change is most visible in statuary, although it can also be clearly seen in painting and in stained glass. Until about the middle of the nineteenth century, the devotional objects that meant something to the mass of the people were relics, and old statues. The latter were usually small and primitive, dating from the seventeenth or eighteenth century or earlier. They were often perceived as having magical powers, and curative rituals of kissing and touching such statues in local shrines were common (particularly the rubbing of the statue against the ill part of the body), such that these antique saints and virgins were often scraped and battered almost out of recognition. Progressive bishops condemned them: Monseigneur Bouvier ordered the destruction of twenty Saint Sebastians (because of his nudity in his martyrdom), and thirteen Virgins (which did not correspond to the exalted idea one should have of Our Lady). A less dramatic remedy was to clothe the old statue, adding- for example short trousers to an over-exposed Saint Onuphrc of the sixteenth century. 41 In general, the clergy found such statues hideous, ignoble, grotesque, in bad taste, indecent, and so on- this is the language that recurs in the reports of pastoral visits. The people found them meaningful -perhaps because of a certain crude realism, such as that of the goitrous Virgin at Chaon in the Sologne (the goitre was removed during repairs in 1880). Much of this material is now in museums of folk art, but it can also still be seen in the surviving local shrines of rural France. From about the middle of the century, this primitive iconography was rapidly replaced, at least in parish churches, by new forms which have come to be known as 'Saint-Sulpice art', because their commercialization was increasingly concentrated in the streets around the Saint-Sulpice church in Paris (still the place to go for cheap religious iconography). It is not easy to describe in words the essentials of 'SaintSulpice art'; but once seen it is not easily forgotten; the best method is to visit churches in the more isolated parts of rural France (Saint Hilaire de Pionsat in the Puy-cle-Domc is a well-preserved example). Most characteristic are mass-produced plaster-cast and terracotta statues, often painted in crude colours, with saccharine and mindless expressions (perhaps intended to be religious ecstasy). Pain and suffering are excluded, at least from the saints and the Virgins; they are all healthy, and sexless. (This desire to exclude suffering from religious art, now much criticized, may well be related to the move away from a

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God. of fear, which will be considered in chapter 8.) In all. SaintSulptcc ~tatuary now se~ms dull, insipid, and unrealistic (my wife complat~s blt~e:ly that the mfantJesus is usually about 4 years old). It was ?eavdy c~ltlCizecl at the time, notably by Huysmans, who castigated these odwus statues that thoughtless cttrC.r tolerate in their churches'. The cle~gy !iked it, h?wever, for various reasons. In the first place, mechamzauon and senal production meant that it was cheap: 15 francs for a terracotta statue, for example, which might cost 600 francs in marble. Secondly, mass production also broke the tie between iconography and localism with its hint of 'superstition'; the universalism fa~oured by the clergy in pop~lar devotions was thereby encouraged. Sa111t-Sulp1ce statuary was 111 tact largely anonymous, the plaster-cast and terracotta saints being almost interchangeable: Saint Bartholomew for example, might be constructed with the body and left arm of Sain~ Peter and .th~ head ?f Saint Roch; the only way of identifying him was by the kntfe 111 hts nght hand (he was martyred by being flayed alive). Ft~al~y, I suspect,, the clergy thought that their new statues were simply artistically supenor; there was a general enthusiasm for the serial products of the early industrial revolution, which was natural in men from modest and largely rural backgrounds, even if we do not share it. The new statuary certainly appealed to the peasantry, to judge from the flowers, candles, and ex-votos with which it was surrounded; the loud ~olour~ appear to have gone clown particularly well. The clergy was not ~mposmg o~ the mass o~ the people a foreign art form, but merely shar111g an amb!ent enthust~sm for mass production. 'Saint-Sulpice art' is not aesthetiCally very cltfferent from the busts of Marianne that were simultaneously invading the mairies of the Third Republic, or the icon?graphy of the 1914-18 war memorials. It is at any rate worth visiting 111 rural churches, before a clergy with different aesthetic values consigns it to the attic or the rubbish-hcap.'12 S~int~S~!pi~e art, even if generally popular, was the product of a clencalmltlatlve. The nm:tecnth century did, however, see a flowering of genumely popular r~ltgwus art, in the form of painted ex-votos, thank-offenngs. to a samt or the Virgin, which were often made by grateful Catholics who attributed their preservation or recoverv from misfortune to the invocation of such intercessors. These pr[mitive pamungs were not usually made by the donors themselves (though some w?re). but by local professiOnals who specialized in the rapid productiOn of ex-votos to order. They arc however manifestly close to the popul~r mind in their inspiration, with their crude clraughtsmanshtp and stmplemcssage. Most historians would not now dignify them wtth the term 'art'. but to my mind they have a certain primitive

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power, and express remarkably well what ordinary people were trying to say. They can no longer be seen in situ, but they have been studied (for Provence) by Bernard Cousin, and his collection of reproductions is a remarkable document.'13 A woman in 1851 prays to Saint John the Baptist for her husband's recovery from a broken arm, while the husband leans negligently against the wall in flagrant disbelief; a Toulon dock-worker, painting his own ex-voto in 1836, shows in crude but powerful detail the events of his life (the Russian campaign, accidents at work) when he has been protected by the Virgin. Many of these documents bring us close to everyday life and simple piety in a way that tcrracotta statues certainly do not. They are the expression of a largely illiterate faith; as the prc-1914 generation is made literate in the schools of the Republic, it confines its gratitude to little marble plaques saying 'merci' (with a few details), such as can still be seen around saints' statues in parish churches. But the painted ex-votos, now in museums, arc a much more moving document, which pethaps brings us closer than anything else to the religious experience of ordinary Catholics in nineteenth-century France. The theme of this chapter has been the change in the forms and expressions of popular piety in the course of the nineteenth century, a change largely brought about by clerical pressure. The old peasant belief in spells and sorcerers, the cult of the saints with its relics and pilgrimages aimed at the manipulation of the physical world: all this was frowned upon by the clergy (and ridiculed by teachers and doctors), and was probably in decline in the second half of the century. The new clergy, however, coming itself from modest and culturally deprived backgrounds, was not entirely hostile, and began to promote a 'cleaned-up' form of popular religion, where they were in charge, where 'superstition' was discouraged, and the sacred carefully differentiated from the profane. The purpose was clearly to try and recuperate forms of popular religion and use them to mobilize the mass of the population in a clerically dominated church. The attempt was, in the short and medium term at least, surprisingly successful. It is true that in really grim areas like the Limousin the pilgrimage movement, after a brief flowering in the 1870s, collapsed by the end of the decade; old forms of popular religion proved more durable, but they often continued in the face of clerical opposition and sometimes in the absence of any clerical element at all, as crowds made their own pilgrimages to antique holy places without the presence of a priest. In this case, the discredit cast on old popular devotions may well have contributed to the dcchristianization of the region. 44 Elsewhere, however, there is no

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doubt that clericalized popular religion was a success. The durable popularity of Lourdes is only the most striking example. For the diocese of Arras, Yves-Marie Hilaire concludes that 'the pilgrimage movement and the persevering effort made by the clergy to welcome and adapt it exercised a major influence on the survival and renewal of popular catholicism' .45 It is possible that too great a willingness to cry miracle, and a too credulous acceptance of old relics - as in the case of the Bishop of Poitiers's promotion of the Holy Foreskin - gave ammunition to the educated opponents of the Church. But where the mass of the population was concerned, and especially of the rural population, the clerical turn towards popular religion was welcomed, even if it meant giving up certain elements of popular piety (festivity, independence from clerical control, etc.) that men in particular had found attractive. A rather less intellectualized religion, presented by a rather less intellectual clergy, appealed to French women - and even men - of the second half of the nineteenth century to a degree that is not to be underestimated.

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

6 Religious practice: region, gender, and age

A social historian of religion is continually faced with an ultimately intractable problem of evidence. One can, with some difficulty, observe and even measure religious practice, the external forms of religious behaviour. There remains, however, the nagging doubt as to whether such external forms bear much relation to inner experience. One of the founders of religious sociology in France, GabrielLe Bras, ultimately came to feel that the quantification of religious behaviour told us little or nothing about faith, and in his later years insisted on 'this little recognized verity: the accomplishment of regular religious duties is not sufficient evidence of a real Christian faith'. As Gerard Cholvy remarked more tersely, 'faith is not a matter for arithmetic'. 1 These warnings need to be constantly borne in mind when looking at religious practice in its diverse forms. They need not, however. be a counsel of utter historical despair. A careful look at what people did can at least produce some sensible hypotheses about how they felt. This is particularly true of a religion like Tridentine catholicism, which put such a heavy emphasis on the importance of external behaviour, and particularly on the sacraments. Thus the other founder of French religious sociology, Canon Boulard, remained an unrepentant quantifier of religious behaviour until his dying day. 'Evidently', he admitted, religious practice is not the only element of religious life. But it is an outward sign of which the importance should not be underestimated, for since this sign is canonically defined as a serious obligation, one is not wholly and completely Christian unless one practises. This sign, furthermore, has the very precious advantage of being an objective one. 2

••

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The aspect of religious practice in nineteenth-century France about which we know most is the taking of Easter communion. Ever since the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 it had been obligatory to confess andif absolved - to take communion at least at Easter. The bishops of the nineteenth century, when the fear that the Church was losing ground caused them to look for an objective sign, turned most frequently to les Paques. the taking of Easter communion. It was not only a serious obligation, but also (unlike mass attendance) relatively easy to quantify. For conscientious bishops, Easter communion was a 'thermometer of faith'. The result is a superb corpus of quantified material which - if not always easy to manipulate - is our best source of information about French religious practice in the nineteenth century. 3 We have to be careful, however, about the exact significance of Easter communion. More than anything else, it signified an acceptance of the authority of the priest (to whom one had to confess), and of a model of Christianity that put an emphasis on individual salvation. Some people, as we have seen in the last chapter, had a concept of Christianity that was much more festive and communal - such that one inhabitant of a Limousin parish of about 2,000 inhabitants, but with only 150 women and 20 men taking Easter communion, could tell a missionary preacher in 1888 that he was lucky to have come to that parish, because 'we're good Christians, we are' .'1 But the Limousin was classically an area that rejected clerical authority; those areas that accepted it obediently confessed and took communion. Of the acceptance - grudging or otherwise - of clerical authority, and of a sacramental and individual religion, the taking of Easter communion was a fair indicator. Attending mass was a rather different matter. It did not involve confession; indeed, the clergy often felt that it involved no serious commitment at all. According to a cure of the diocese ofLe Mans under the July Monarchy, people look around to see whether somebody is there or somebody else isn't, how somebody is dressed, whether somebody else is looking. They laugh, and talk about some incident during the service. It's a kind of meeting place for profane purposes; some people are not in the least bothered if they strike up a conversation, arrange a meeting for business or even for pleasure, and even carry their lack of decency to the point of cracking jokes; others are concerned with anything rather than the mass. 5 It was of course a mass said in Latin by a priest with his back to the congregation; perhaps it is not surprising if their attention wandered.

160

A Social HiJtory of French Catholidrm 1789-1914

At any rate, it is clear that mass had important social functions, as well as religious ones, in nineteenth-century France. It was particularly important as an acceptable place for young men and women to meet. It was also often regarded as crucial by local traders, who depended on the weekly gathering of rural inhabitants for mass. More generally, mass was, in the countryside at least, the focal point of communal life. Thus each commune was always desperately keen to exist as a parish and to have a priest. This became apparent in the intense battles of influence that took place immediately after the Concordat, as each commune struggled to ensure its parish status; as the Sub-Prefect of Bellac (in a very irreligious area) remarked in some bewilderment in 1832, 'the populations are extraordinarily keen to preserve their individuality as a commune and above all as a parish;. 6 That is why the clergy was so unvaryingly hostile to the cabaret, the male drinking-den which proliferated to an extraordinary degree in nineteenth-century France. It is true that the cabaret was a place of drunkenness and alcohoiism, leading to poverty, violence against women, and broken homes, which at one level the clergy had good reason to condemn. But opposition to alcoholism was not the fundamental reason for clerical condemnation of the cabaret; the real reason was that it was rival social centre to the church: men (not women) could find in it the same sociability that the mass provided, without the constraints. As GabrielLe Bras put it, the cabaret was a kind of antichurch, and the cabaretier the anti-cure of the village. Clerical anguish was intensified by the rapid multiplication of the institution in the course of the century - to the degree, for example, that in the diocese of Orleans there was by 1869 a cabaret for every 108 inhabitants. They did their best business on Sundays, and increasingly they stayed open during mass; mass had been the obligatory vestibule of the cabaret, but more and more men gave the church a miss and settled straight down to drink. Cabarets became centres for the elaboration and dissemination of anticlerical and irreligious ideas. Priests thus attacked them as hotbeds of radicalism as well as breeding-grounds of alcoholism; the real source of their antipathy, however, remained a fear that the social role of the mass was being taken over (for men) by the cabaret. The social functions of the mass, however, did prove remarkably resilient, particularly where women were concerned. That is part of the reason why, in nearly all parts of France and throughout the nineteenth century, more people attended mass than took Easter communion. Although we have few reliable figures for the early nineteenth century, it is clear that the difference was often considerable: in the diocese of Versailles in 1834, for example, 16.6 per cent (of those aged 7 and over)

ReligiouJ practice: region, gender, and age

161

attended mass, as against 6. 5 per cent (of those aged 13 and over) who took Easter communion. The difference often declined during the century, perhaps as the social functions of mass attendance declined and as the clergy partially succeeded in reimposing a sacramental practice that had been broken off during the Revolution. But at the turn of the century it was usually still significant: in the deeply religious diocese of Nantes, for example, 91.4 per cent of men and 97.7 per cent of women attended mass on Sundays, as against 82.4 per cent and 95.7 per cent who took Easter communion; in the much less religious diocese of Chalons, 20.1 per cent of the population (of 14 and over) attended mass, but only 14.5 per cent fulfilled their Easter duties. Today the situation is reversed: more people take Easter communion than go regularly to mass. But this is a twentieth-century development; an important section of the population of nineteenth-century France went to mass, but did not confess or receive the Eucharist, at Easter or at any other time. A lot of this has to do with the problems surrounding confession, which will be dealt with in chapter 8. It is also explained, however, by the fact that mass attendance meant something rather different from taking Easter communion. The latter involved acceptance of clerical authority and of a sacramental and individual religion; the former was much less demanding, and had important social functions. That does not necessarily mean, however, that attendance had no religious significance. Sunday mass in fact catered for a widespread desire for a communal and festive religion, what Christianne Marcilhacy called Ia religion gregatre. It is not terribly useful to try and determine the proportion between the 'religious' and 'social' functions of such a religion; it is safer to think of it as one kind of religion, different from that proposed by the Tridentine clergy. It often involved what the clergy were given to calling 'crass ignorance' of what they themselves understood by religion. As Bishop Dupanloup put it in a pastoral letter: It is prodigious to see to what degree the most knowledgeable are ignorant of the Christian faith, even of its basic rudiments. They know neither its language, nor its simplest terms, nor its elementary symbols. Christianity is for them like a book written in a foreign language. 7 But Christianity, for very many people, did not mean the dogmas of the Church, but rather a celebration of community. Very significant of this state of mind is the fact that they showed no interest whatever in

162

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

the national and international situation of catholicism. The Roman question, which so vexed the minds of a clergy which increasingly idolized Pius IX, meant nothing to the ordinary mass attender; as one congregation told the minister of cults, 'we're tired of the cure going on about his Pope'. One Perigord cure captured this localist mentality very clearly in 1892, when replying to an exhortation to push his congregation to read the militant Catholic press; he told the bishop that 'the great questions, in politics as in religion, don't touch them at all. Agricultural population with a somewhat backward culture. Sundays, their church, their cure, their bishop, that's all their religion consists of. ' 8 For the mass of French men and women, particularly but not only in the countryside, religion was a purely communal, parish matter. This local and communal religion was also a festive one. Many people who never took communion, and did not even bother regularly to attend mass, were enthusiastic participants in major feast days. Napoleon, completing the eighteenth-century offensive against popular feast days, had limited the feasts that were allowed to be celebrated on a weekday to Christmas, Ascension, Assumption, and All Saints, and these continued to be very popular. In an irreligious diocese like Sens, in 1912, 9.7 per cent (of those aged 14 and over) took Easter communion, and 11.6 per cent (of those aged 7 and over) attended mass on Sunday and 23.2 per cent on major feast days. Other popular feast days were Epiphany, Palm Sunday, Whitsuntide and Corpus Christi. In rural parishes, the jete patronale, the feast day of the patron saint of the parish, continued to be celebrated with unremitting enthusiasm despite the hostility of most of the clergy, who usually saw in it only an occasion for riot and excess, rather than for genuine devotion. Men in particular, although they might have abandoned regular practice, wntinued to find meaning and satisfaction in religious processions, such as those of Corpus Christi (in towns). and in the countryside the three days of Rogations, when a series of processions was devoted to 'beating the bounds' of the parish (thus establishing its communal identity), and to blessing the fields and livestock. A cure of the diocese of Montpellier expressed in 1907 his perplexity in the face of this phenomenon: 'Not a single man takes E11ster communion, but, curious to relate, almost all, young and old, take part in the processions. ' 9 Until recently, historians have often shared the views of priests of the time, regarding this festive religion as not really a religion at all. It was certainly not in accord with the model of Christianity presented by the clergy, which was hostile to worldly joy and rigorously separated the sacred from the profane. We might now, however, take a broader view

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

163

of religion, and indeed of Christianity, and argue that the festive aspect was an important and genuine part of a Christian life. The lowest level of affiliation to the Catholic religion was that of the large number of Frenchmen who were merely conformistes saisonnier.r, i.e. they were baptized and married in church, and had a religious burial. The vast majority of Frenchmen, throughout the nineteenth century, retained at least this minimal contact with the Church. Early in the century there were a certain number who had been married during the Revolution, when it had on occasion been either unwise or impossible to add a religious ceremony to one's civil marriage: in the diocese of Versailles, in 1834, 3.8 per cent of married couples had known only a civil ceremony. The clergy steadfastly campaigned to marry such people in church, with considerable success. The recalcitrant ones died anyway, and by the middle of the century religious marriage was effectively the universal accompaniment of the civil ceremony which by law preceded it. The early nineteenth century had also seen cases of civil burials, simply because no priest was available; as the clergy was reconstituted in the aftermath of the Concordat, however, this practice rapidly disappeared. There was, finally, a tiny minority early in the century, mostly in the towns, that had not been baptized: an estimated 1.2 per cent in Marseilles, a rather higher proportion but certainly less than 5 per cent in Paris. This minority also, however, would fairly rapidly disappear. By the middle of the nineteenth century, religious baptism, marriage, and burial were effectively universal. Paris was the only exception; there was always a small number of workers in the capital who had cut all links with the Church. But this situation was unique to Paris. Under the anticlerical republic, from the late 1870s onwards, in some parts of France, civil marriages and burials, and even the refusal of baptism by parents, began to make a tentative reappearance. The best figures we have are for Paris, and arc reproduced in table 6.1. 10 No other area matched this level of abandonment of le conformisme saisonnier, but some hotbeds of anticlericalism, like Limoges and Beziers, came close. The figures are rather scrappy; table 6.2 summar, izes what is available. 11 Figures tend to be available for the more irreligious areas - and even in some of them (e.g. the diocese of Bourges, the city of Marseilles) they are not very high, even on the eve of the First World War. In many areas, the rejection of baptism or the occurrence of civil marriage or burial remained a rare event. Anticlericals, particularly 'free-thinkers', tried to promote civil burials as public manifestations of the rejection of catholicism (they had less success with civil baptisms and weddings, perhaps because of the obstinacy of women).

164

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Table 6.1 Civil ceremonies in Paris (all figures are percentages) Not baptized In any religion

1865 1870 1875 1882 1885 1900 1908 1913

Civil mamage on~y

No religious bunal (in any denomination)

74 11.9

20.2 12.6

27 9 27.1 37.9

26.0 29.0 39.0

21.1 22.2 18.7 25.7 29.6

Table 6.2 Civil ceremonies outside Paris (all figures arc percentages) Not Civil Civrl bunal baptized marriage only DioceseofSens(excludingtowns), 1912 Diocese of Bourges (excluding towns), 1909 Part of diocese of Meaux, 1914 Diocese ofSaint-Brieuc, 1912 Town of Marseilles, 1881 Town of Marseilles, 1901 Town ofBcziers, 1872-82 Town ofBeziers, 1912 Town ofLimoges, 1899 Town ofLimoges, 1907 Rural diocese of Limoges (sample), 1885-94 Rural diocese ofLimoges (sample), 1895-1904 Rural diocese of Limoges (sample), 1905-11 Five parishes in diocese of Limoges, 1897-1904 Five parishes in diocese of Limoges, 1906-13

9.3

22.5

1.4

1.8 19.7 2.2

0.5

17.0

1.0 (excluding towns)

5 4 25 16 2. 5 25 0.9 4.8 11.0

5 13

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

165

Paris saw a spectacular series of civil burials of great anticlerical spokesmen, such as those of Michelet (1846), Proudhon (1865), Gambetta ( 1883 ), and especially Hugo in 1885. Elaborate lay ceremonies were organized even for ordinary anticlericals. Men specified in their wills that they did not want a religious burial - though death-bed changes of heart, such as that ofLittre (or Jean Barois in Roger Martin du Gard 's novel), were not uncommon. Outside Paris, however. such public manifestations were limited to Lyons and a few profoundly anticlerical areas like the diocese of Limoges (where the free-thinkers' federation was particularly strong). They were sometimes very successful in enabling atheists to deal with the passage from life to death, but they remained, on the national scale. the preserve of a small minority. Why did the vast majority of Frenchmen cling so determinedly to a religious ceremony in the crucial moments of birth, marriage. and death - even those who had wholly abandoned any other links with the Catholic Church, including many who were its bitter enemies on other occasions? They often demanded these ceremonies with vehemence: dyed-in-the-wool anticlericals would deeply resent a priest who refused a Christian burial to one of their friends or relatives (on the grounds of suicide, or public death-bed rejection of the priest). In a parish of the Limousin, one of the most dechristianized areas of France, two well-off peasant girls in the 1920s could not find husbands because they were not baptized; 'We've got enough animals like that in the cow-shed,' they were told, 'we don't need any in the house.' 12 Clearly these rites were perceived as important; the peasants in particular. but towndwellers as well, evidently felt that some kind of sacralization of life· s cruciai moments was indispensable. Most historians, whether Catholic or not, have felt that this attitude scarcely amounts to an acceptance of the Catholic faith. No doubt they are right. It is all the same striking that those who otherwise renounced catholicism and all its works nevertheless turned, for the minimal sacralization of their lives of which they felt the need, to the Catholic Church. One reason for the durability of this kind of residual catholicism was that nearly everybody made their 'first communion' in early ado,lescence, preceded by a period of instruction in the catechism. The ceremony normally took place at the age of about 12 to 14 (boys slightly older than girls), although in the early part of the century, when competent priests were few and when many children did not go to school (and thus had great difficulty with formal memorization), the age could be considerably more advanced. In 1910 Pius X officially lowered the age of first communion to 7, but throughout our period it remained a rite of early adolescence. It was a rite that was nearly universal. Those

166

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

that had been young during the Revolution had not done it, and it took the clergy of the early nineteenth century a considerable time to bring the uncatechized adults of that generation to their first communion. By the time of the July Monarchy, however, there were very few exceptions, and it was only towards the end of the century, in a few irreligious areas, that some young people (by their parents' choice) avoided it: 16-18 per cent in the Paris suburbs in 1889, 5-15 per cent in the diocese of Sens in 1897-8, similar proportions in dioceses like Chalons and Limoges. The reason for the near-universality of first communion, however, was not a religious one. It was, for all French men and women, the obligatory rite of passage into adulthood. It was partly that you could not normally get a job without it, but also, more generally, that you simply were not considered an adult until you had made your first communion. Parents thus saw the rite as absolutely indispensable. So did the clergy, but for different reasons. To be admitted to his first communion, a child had to attend catechism classes. This was the clergy's big chance to ensure that the younger generation received a minimum of religious instruction. There were endless disputes between parents and priests, the former demanding that their child make his first communion as early as possible, the latter insisting on·a reasonable knowledge of the catechism as a prerequisite for admission. Most dioceses tried to insist that a child attend catechism classes for five to eight months a year over two years, but it was only in the most religious areas that the clergy could impose it; elsewhere they could usually only get children to attend in the year of their first communion. Nevertheless, almost all French children did get some basic instruction in the catechism. Those that went to school learned it in class as well (until the secularization of public primary education in 1882); they were usually quicker on the uptake, as well as getting more instruction, which is why most priests were in favour of the dissemination of schooling. Church schools taught the catechism more intensively than did public ones, but until 1882 one of the instituteur' s, basic duties was to ensure that children were schooled in the catechism. Each diocese had its own printed catechism (except between 1806 and 1814. when Napoleon briefly imposed a national one which gave a prominent place to duties to the Emperor), but the format was basically the same: a series of short questions about Catholic dogma, to which the child had to learn the answers by rote. As the 1846 edition of the catechism of the diocese of Valence said, only those who could read and write had a chance of understanding it; the rest - the vast majority - 'must learn it by rote'. Even more explicitly, an

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

167

Ursuline manual of 1840 for teaching the catechism to girls prescribed that it should be taught by sticking simply to the text, without adding any explanations or complex questions, repressing the curiosity of the mind, so as to accustom them to treat matters divine with respect, and to make them more humble and more submissive to the simple beliefs of our faith. 13 Bishop Dupanloup of Orleans, who had made his name as a society catechist in Paris, and one or two others, did try to make the catechism not merely a memory test but also a basic moral education. 'We must reform their character,· he said, 'correct their faults, strengthen their will, enlighten and rectify their conscience, ennoble their sentiments; we must, finally, raise their whole soul towards God. '~ 4 But for most clerics, even at the end of the century, the catechism was about making children learn off by heart certain formulas; it was not about getting them to understand their faith. 15 This system is perceived by modern Catholics as seriously defective, and so no doubt it is for those who expect to understand and deepen their faith. It was not, however, entirely inappropriate for young people, whose formal education was often limited or non-existent, and who therefore had little skill in giving verbal formulation to abstract thought. The catechism provided them with a series of unquestioned, word-perfect answers to life's fundamental problems, including the most fundamental of all: 'Why are we here on earth?' (the opening question in one Alsatian catechism).16 Clearly many Frenchmen did not take. a lot of notice, and lived their lives as though these answers - which they could repeat until their dying day - had no meaning at all. The rote learning of the catechism in their formative years, however, may be part of the reason why even those hostile to catholicism continued to turn to the Church at least to sanctify their marriage, the birth of their children, and the end of their own lives. Le conformisme saisonnier (or le conformisme moutonnier, as Le Bras once tartly called it) was clearly the minimal level of religious practice. Above it was that of those who went to mass, more or less regularly, but who did not take communion, even at Easter. Above that again was the level of those who attended regularly, and took at least Easter communion; this was regarded by the clergy- and often by historians- as the level of a practising Christian. One would like to know whether, within this group of practising Christians, there was a nucleus • of those who took their faith more seriously and attempted to live their

168

A Social HZ:rtory of French Catholicism 1789-1914

lives in accordance with it. One way of identifying them might appear to be to look at membership of religious confraternities. There were two very different kinds of confraternity in nineteenth-century France: the survivors of the old organizations of penitents, essentially male bodies under lay control, and a massive proliferation of almost exclusively female groups dominated by the clergy. generically known as confi'eries. Neither, however, are very good indicators of religious fervour. The penitents, as we have seen, although revived in some areas after the Revolution, had a concept of catholicism that was too profoundly at odds with that of the Tridentine clergy to survive: their religion was communal, festive, freely mixing the sacred and the profane, and hostile to clerical control. They were thus on the way out, and by the middle of the century had mostly either disappeared or been brought under the clerical thumb; only in the Midi did they retain their importance rather longer. The confraternities that replaced them (Rosary, Scapular, Blessed Sacrament, Sacred Heart, etc.) were set up by the clergy in most parishes. They do not, however, tell us very much about a possible nucleus of fervent Christians. Despite the fact that the obligations of membership were scarcely onerous, they often existed on paper only, and had to be periodically revived by clerical initiative. Where membership lists survive and bear witness to their activity, they suggest that young people were enrolled en masse by the cure after their first communion, or pushed and prodded into signing up at a later date. Where they did function, they seem to have been not so much organizations of religious fervour as centres of female sociability. Cures regularly complained of their lack offervour: 'It's not piety that binds them to the confraternity,· said one disabused priest, 'but the desire to have the church all decked out with flowers for their wedding, and to please the cure rather than to please God. " 7 Some had specific functions: the Children of Mary, for example, was often a means whereby the cure sought to keep young girls from dancing. 18 At any rate, the existence and membership of confi'eries tells us practically nothing about the existence (or otherwise) in a parish of a nucleus of particularly fervent Christians. A more reliable guide to the size of a fervent nucleus would be the number of people who took communion more often than at Easter (and major feast days). The difficulty here is that attitudes to the frequent taking of communion evolved drastically in the course of the century, as we shall see in chapter 8. There is the further difficulty that statistic;; on frequent communion were rarely kept. Nevertheless, it is probably the best quantifiable indicator of a fervent nucleus that we have; tables 6. 3 and 6.4 summarize such figures as are available. 19 These global figures

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

169

Table 6.3 Percentage of population (having made first communion) taking frequent communion Diocese

Date

Sens (arrondissement Auxerre) Sens (arrondissement Avallon) Lu~on (arrondissement La Roche sur Yonne) Lu~on (arrondissement Les Sables d'Oionne) Moulins Moulins Rennes Langres ( 13 parishes)

1897-8 1897-8

0.7 1.6

1894-6

9.3

2.5

1894-6 1877-8 1904 1883-4 1834-47

5.8 8.0 2.1 10.1 8.3

2.2

Monthly Weekly Monthly communicants as % of mass attendants 7.0

7.3

6.3 1.9

Table 6.4 Communions per day per 1,000 laymen having made first communiOn Paris Paris Paris banlieue Paris banlieue Diocese Versailles Diocese Bourges

1854 1903 1854 1903 1859-61 1912

5.0 4.5 1.0-1.1 3.0-3.5 4.5 5.3

conceal tremendous gender and age differences: the 8.0 per cent of the diocese ofMoulins who took communion monthly break down into 0.2 per cent of men and 9.0 per cent of women over 21, 8.8 per cent of young men and 26. 5 per cent of young women aged between 13 and 21. The fervent nucleus tended to be composed of those who had recently made their first communion, and above all of women. Bearing that in mind, one might hazard the generalization that, towards the end of the nineteenth century, between about 1 and 10 per cent of the population (depending upon region) were sufficiently serious about their commitment to the Catholic faith and practices to take communion at least once a month. This was perhaps the fervent nucleus of French catholicism. I have avoided giving a similar global estimate of the proportion of French men and women who took Easter communion and/ or attended mass, for the same reason which renders the above statistic a very

170

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

dubious one: no generalizations about French religious behaviour have much validity, because it differed so much according to region, gender, age, and social class, and over time. The rest of this chapter will try and examine the first three differences; the following two will deal with social class and evolution through the century, Without an understanding of such differences, no social history of French catholicism is possible.

La carte Boulard: Catholic religious practice in France after the Second World War

Region

The most potent - and most mysterious - factor differentiating French men and women in their religious behaviour was region. The externals of such behaviour, and no doubt the religious experience which to some extent underpinned it, varied enormously according to where you lived. The first map to make this clearly apparent was published in 1947 by Canon Boulard; varied updated versions have been published since, and a simplified one appears on p. 171. 20 The carte Boulard made apparent in cartographic form what Frenchmen had always more or less known: that some parts of France were fervently Catholic, some indifferent, and some downright hostile. Fervent areas were Brittany, the Massif Central (especially its southern half), the western Pyrenees, the extreme north, Alsace-Lorraine, and parts of the Alps. The really grim areas (for a Catholic) were notably the Limousin and the Paris basin (particularly to the south-east of the capital - what Bishop Dupanloup called 'these unhappy dioceses which are close to Paris'). In between was a large, intermediate, residual category, cutting a wide swathe across France from the north-east to the south-west, and covering the Mediterranean littoral. Sometimes the dividing line between areas of fervour and indifference was very sharp, particularly in the west; as Le Bras commented, there was (and is) a line some 300 kilometres long which 'separates the kingdom of faith of the inland west from the kingdom of indifference of central France' .21 This line was perhaps sharpest of all in the south of the department of the Vendeethe notorious ligne de rupture vendeenne. Fran(,'ois Furet has recently called this map 'one of the most crucial and most mysterious documents on France and her history' .22 What makes it so fascinating is that it isn't simply a map of the religious geography of France in the mid-twentieth century: It is dearly valid for the nineteenth century as well: the industrial revolution may have transformed French society in many other ways, but it has left the regional distribution of Catholic fervour almost untouched. There is not - and never will be - a satisfactory map of religious practice in

B

Strong Catholic areas (A)

CJ

Lukewarm areas (B)

R

'Missionary' areas (C)

(A) Majority take Easter communion and usually go to mass. (B) Majority do not take Easter communion or attend mass regularly, but arc at least conformirte.r .rai.ronnier.r. (C) Majority do nor practise, and over 20 per cent of children arc not baptized or catechized.

Religious vitality of French dioceses in 1877: estimate of religious practice by bishops and prefects

Good Fair Poor

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

17 3

nineteenth-century France, but there are many maps of various forms of Catholic activity which strikingly resemble the carte Boulard. We have already seen that the map of vocations to the priesthood is very similar (p. 74)- and this was already true as early as 1809. So is the map of vocations for work in the overseas missions, or of affiliations to the Archconfraternity of Our Lady of Victory, or of assessments of the religious and moral state of each canton made by justices of the peace in 1848. 23 It also much resembles the map (reproduced in a simplified form on p. 172) of the 1877 assessments made by bishops and prefects of the religious mentality of their area. 24 There are differences between the 1877 map and that of 1947, but what is far more striking is the durability of the religious geography of France from one century to the next. The same is true at a diocesan level, where we often can compare maps of religious practice from the nineteenth century with those of recent years: each diocese had its own religious geography - of which the clergy was acutely conscious - which has usually persisted with very little change until the present day. 25 Sadly, not all dioceses have left records of religious practice, in the form of quantified information about the taking of Easter communion, attendance at mass, and so on. Table 6.5 summarizes the Easter communion figures that are so far available. 26 This statistical compilation needs to be taken with a couple of pinches of salt. The problems concerning the significance of taking Easter communion have already been discussed. There are also technical problems of a serious kind concerning the standardization of such information. Nevertheless, it is clear from table 6. 5 that religious practice in the nineteenth century corresponds very closely to the carte Boulard, and to the 1877 map based upon episcopal and prefectorial assessments. It illustrates very strikingly, furthermore, the scale of the regional differences with which we are dealing. In the diocese of Chartres, for example, at the turn of the century. 1. 5 per cent of men and 15 per cent of women fulfilled their Easter duties; in that of Nantes, only a hundred miles away, 82 per cent of men and 96 per cent of women did so. In the arrondissement of Narbonne, in the 1880s, only 3.1 per cent of men took Easter communion; in the diocese of Mende, 60 miles to the north, 93.4 per cent of men did so in the early twentieth century. Nineteenth-century France thus juxtaposed areas of a totally different religious culture which is why no generalization about French religious behaviour at the time can be valid. It is not even possible to generalize about the fervent areas ofFrance, because the kind of fervour involved could be very different. In particular, the catholicism of parts of the Midi differed greatly in style from

174

A Social H£rtory a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

Table 6.5 Easter communion in nineteenth-century France

Table 6.5 -contimted

Dioct.re

Dioct·u

Albt Angers

Arras Autun Avignon

Bayeux (2 (/!TOIIdiWJI!l/!11/S)

Blois Bordeaux Bourges

DrjlilrfmnJt

Tarn Maine~ct-Loirc

Cher

Lot Au de arrondirsemetlf

Chi\ Ions

Chan res

Clermont-Ferrand Dijon Laval:!: I.e Mans:!:

1901 1'!14 1871-81 1886-91 1898-1904 1890-6 1841-8 19l.l 1'!02-3

Pas-de-Calais Saone-et-Loire Vaucluse il!TO!Jdir.rel!U:!JIJ Vire, Pont I'Evcque Loir-ct-Cher 1910 Gironde 1840

Indre Cahors Carcassonnc

D"'"

Narbonne only Marne

Eure-ct-Loir

Puy-de-D6me C6te d'Or Maycnnc Sarthc

Limoges (Creme only) I.uron

Creme

Meaux (part of)

arrondirsements

Vendee

1888 1908 1885-93 1898 1909-13 1885-93 1898 1909-l.l 1912-14 c. 1875 c. 1885 1874-9 1882-7 187011 1886 1892 l'JOO 1905 1911 1868 1874 18'!8 1909 1807-l.l 1891-5 1903-5 1839 1830-47 1830--17 1902 1908 1902-5 1876-8 18'!4-6 191•1

Age

Pt:rcentages Men

II''omen

81

85

To/(1/

67.5 1St 18 18

65.0 63.7 63.0 33.0

88.9 87.3 Wi.7 67.1

14 14

74.6 48.9 64.8

Moselle

Montpellier

Herault

Moulins

•16.5

13

16.4 35.3 32.3 24.8

Nancy

10.1

7. 7 4.1 13.0 8.0

4.3

57.6 •16. 5 27.5 63.7 •18.0 28.7

77 (est.)

12 12 14 14 14 14 14 14 13 13 14 13 14 14 14 1·1

21 17 4.3 3.1

32.5

3.4 2.2 2. 7 2.9 3.8 4.4

.l3.3 26.8 26.2 23.9 20.8

3. 5 1.5 47.7 41.6

15.0 14.6 83.0 76.5

1·i 14 14 14 16 12 15 13

17.1 3.9

30.3

49.6 50.8 2.0

81.5 80 ..l 14.1

93.4

Nantes

18.2 12.2 19.8 18.2 14.5 14.5 13.3 12.3 22 20.7 12.1 8.1 97.2 65.0 59.5 43.5 76 53.9 33.'! 30.9

Nievre

Orleans

Loiret

Pamicrs Paris

Paris

Pfrlgueux

79.9 97.2 (ronltnued)

10 14 13 13 l.l 15

1863-9 189'!-1902 184<1-5 1886 1909-10

20 .. 14 14 1Bt 14 1<1 13

1852-6 1865-9 1872-6 1883 Aricge 1912 Seine 1854 1864-8 1889 20 llrTOfldir.re!!IIJIII.r 1854 1864-8 1889 1903-8 Dordognc 1841 1874 1901-6

Perpignan Poilicrs

Quimper

Percentage.r

Pyrenees-Orientales Vienne Dcux-Scvres Finistere Finistcrc excluding

1887 1913-14 1913-14 1909 1909

14 15 15

13 13 13 13

Mefl

J//omefl

Total

68.2

78.1

83.8 72.6 86.6

19-20 33

60

40. I 23.2 2.l.4

81.8 66.4 61.1

28

67

82.4 18.0 19.0 14.9 13-20 20.8 29.2 27.0 22.1 21

95.7 56.9 59.4 43. I 13-20 53.1 68.0 65. I 56.6 58

21 + 4.5 7.3 5.8 4.7

13 13 13 13

94 63.7 44.8 42.6 61.4

47 85.9 82.9 89.2

21 + 21.9 31.5 29.2 25.1

19.4 27.0 25.0 21.4 15.8 14.3

13.8

25.3

71.4

16.8 15.2 15.4 17.7 48.6

m:l4 f: l.l

38. I

76.3

56.9

m:l.l f: 12 l.l. 5 14 14 14 14

38.5

69.4

53.9

57 14.3 25. I

47.9 54.0

13 13 l.l 14

82.5

92.9

towns

Reims 65.7 65.•1

1842-5 1906 1910 1876 1911 1805-16 1877-8 1898 190•1 1842

annndir.reme11t.r Nancy, Luncville, Toul Meurthc-ct-Mosclle 1911-13 Loire-Atlantique 18.l9-45

Nevers

66 57

3.'1

1.1"

Allier

43

Coulommiers,

1825-32 1909

Metz (boundary change 1874)

77.1

18

13 l.l 20 13 13 20

J\gt: iJtJJIS

Meaux, Provins Mende a!Tondis.remt:nt (I (lrronrlicremenl) Marvcjols

Daft:

basiJ

175

Renncs

Ardennes +arrondir.rnnent Rcims Ille-ct-Vilaine

Rodez

Aveyron

Rauen

arro~ulis.reme111

(2

Yvctot aTTo11dir.reme11t Neufrhfltel

arromHs.rt!1!lt?tJI.r)

18.l8 1881-6

13 13,

1883-4 1899 1872-90 1876

20t 20t 13 13

1878

13

12.9

56.9

90.4 92.1 73

97.4 97.7 90

35.9 33.2 94.0 95.1 64.2 27.9

(conltnucd)

176

A Social Hi.rtory ofFrench Catho!ici.rm 1789-1914

Re!igiou.r practice: region, gender, and age

Table 6.5-continued Dioce.re

DcjHzrtmt!!ll

Dale

Age

Pcrct:tJtagt.r

/Ja.rir Mt:tl Saint~Bricuc

Sens

Cotes-clu-Nord Yonnc

Soissons

an'Ondis.wmt:nts

1912 1912 1807-10

18-t" 1'l 14

1905 1883 1883

12 14 14

1883 1805 1858-62 1865 1878-80 1908-10 1902 1834 1859-61 1880 1893-1901

14 14 18-f 13 13 13 15 13 13 14 13

ll'"ornc11

Total 95.2

2.6

16.8 40.5

Soissons, I.aon,

Strasbourg

Saint-Quentin Aisnc Haut-Rhin Haut-Rhin

3.6 X

1<J.<Jx

15.7 88.'! 93.9

excluding towns

Tours

Bas-Rhin Indrc-ct-Loirc

Troyes

Au be

Verdun Versailles

Meuse Seme-ct-Oise

32.6

75.0

22

65

3.1" 1.9" 2.2"

91.6 68.7 54.1 16.9 13.8 7.3 45 6.5 14.6 10.1 11.1

N.B. Some calculations include some or all towns, others don't. Where figures arc available with and without towns, the difference is not usually great. The cases of Quimper and Strasbourg (Bas-Rhin), where it is considerable, are shown in the table. • Age basis= 18.

t Numbers calculated on basis of abstentions (i.e. very reliable).

*

Untill855, the department of the Mayenne was part oft he diocese ofLe Mans: here, however, it is presemed separately,'" the diocese tt became in 1855. x Age basis = 15. II Excluding the iln'!Jtulisscmwt of Vitry-le-Franrois. , lH for some parishes. • • 14 for some parishes.

that of Brittany. The exuberant piety of the Midi has often been termed 'baroque'. It was certainly characterized by a delight in spectacle and occasion, with noisy festivals and processions (like those of the penitents). Deep. reflective piety was not part of Midi culture; southern Catholics preferred a more joyous, public religion, and showed a strong tendency to mix the sacred and the profane, which was the despair of clerics rooted in Tridentine traditions. It may be that the piety of the Midi was superficial; it certainly failed to withstand the social transformations of the viticultural revolution of the second half of the century - at least in the diocese of Montpellier. 27 Breton catholicism was very different - and more durable. It was characterized by a taste for the mystical and the irrational, and above all by an obsession with death; the world of the dead was an integral part of that of the living, and the

177

legendary Ankou, a kind of incarnate Grim Reaper, was a very real figure in the Breton mind. Breton piety was profound, and capable of great sacrifices. In that it differed from nearby Normandy; the Normans were good Catholics according to their lights, but not passionate ones. 'The Norman', writes Desert, 'is not a mystic. ... He intends to save his soul, and just as he would go to a lawyer to safeguard his material interests, he goes to the cure to look after his spiritual ones. ' 28 The Catholics of Lyons were perhaps more sincere, with a sober and individual piety, closest to the Tridentine model (perhaps because of the presence of a strong Catholic bourgeoisie). And so on. A good Catholic in one region was not necessarily the same thing as a good Catholic in another. How are we to explain the great religious diversity of France? In particular, how are we to explain the fact that some regions were fervently Catholic (in one way or another), while others were profoundly indifferent or even hostile? Historians have often tended to seek an explanation in social and economic variables: in lines of communication, in the structure of habitat and of landownership, in the nature of the agricultural economy, or in the family structures peculiar to each region. These attempts have met with varying degrees of success (about which I propose to write in detail elsewhere). Whatever the explanation, however, it is clear that it will have to be found in the history of French catholicism before the Revolution: we have already seen in chapter 1 that the religious geography of France was plainly evident in the eighteenth century, and indeed much earlier. It is probably necessary to go back to the Catholic Reformation, or indeed (in many cases) to the all-too-often undocumented social historv of the Middle Ages. A lot more work needs to be done in this area. P;obably the answers will be different in each region: the Limousin was probably never properly christianized at any stage; the Paris basin had been extensively christianized (witness the Gothic cathedrals), but had suffered from corrupt and absentee prelates and from particularly bitter struggles over Jansenism; the Massif Central was preserved by its isolation from the corrosive effect of Enlightenment and nineteenthcentury ideas; Brittany had an ancient culture (based on the cult of the dead) which proved particularly receptive to the Tridentine model of catholicism - as the culture of the Limousin clearly did not. These are only a few very incomplete suggestions; we do not yet really know why France was and is a land of such immense religious contrasts. For the present, the carte Boulard remains, as Furet said, not only one of the most important but also one of the most mvsterious documents on France and her history. '

178

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

A Social History a/French Catholicism 1789-1914 Town and countryside

The foregoing discussion of regional differences in French catholicism has made no distinction between religious practice in the countryside and that in the towns. There is a reason for this. It is true (as we shall see) that the religious behaviour of town-dwellers was different from that of peasants and rural artisans: the urban working class was on the whole less Catholic than the peasantry (though the attitudes of the bourgeoisie varied widely over time and place). But what really determined the level of Catholic observance in a given town was not its social structure, but its hinterland, from which it drew its population. By and large, towns took on the religious colouring of their region. This has been demonstrated with statistical rigour for the mid-twentieth century, 29 but it was equally true of the nineteeth. An industrial town like Arras had a much higher rate of taking of Easter communion (28 per cent in 1890-96) than a sleepy provincial centre like Sens ( 13 percent in 1912), not because of the very real social differences between the two (indeed, in spite of them), but because it was situated in a much more religious area of France. It should not be assumed - as it often is - that urban religious practice was necessarily lower than that of the hinterland (even if correlated with it). There were great swathes of the French countryside where the Catholic Church had failed much more dismally than it did in any town. The names of the Limousin and the Paris basin have already regularly recurred: throughout the century, such areas contained numerous parishes where no man took Easter communion (60 per cent of parishes in the diocese of Chalons in the early twentieth century had no man, or only one, at the altar), and some where no woman did either. Perhaps the nadir was achieved by the canton of Saint-Sulpice des Champs, in the diocese of Limoges: 0. 5 per cent of men and 4. 7 per cent of women in 1897. There were of course other parts of rural France that achieved Easter communion scores much higher than all but a very few towns. This was particularly the case in Brittany. where the town I countryside dash was one between two languages, two cultures, almost two peoples: rural Bretons hung on passionately to their catholicism against the anticlericalism of the French-speaking towns. It is clear, in fact, that the countryside was capable of a much greater range of religious practice than was the town. This is evident from table 6.6, which summarizes what quantified information is available: rural areas range from 8 per cent to 93 per cent, urban ones from 13 per cent to 7 3 per cent. 30 It is also clear that, as a general rule, towns in religiously weak areas had higher rates of practice than did the countryside, and lower ones in fervent areas; other unquantified examples reinforce this rule.

179

Table 6.6 Town and country Ea.r/t!r cotJJ!!lllfliotl {l!tl))

Dflte

Dioct?Jt?

Town.r when: figure.r

flt~tlilabft?

Town.r

Rum!

30.1

52.0

47.7 37.7 23.7 29.1

67.3 44.8 53.9 30.9

4.9 24.1 72.6

15.1 89.2

•18.1 55.3

48.6 57.4

~-------·-·--~~----- ~--------

1890-6

Arras

1841-H 1839 1830-47' 1908

Autun

Dijon Le Mans Le Mans

all arrond£r.reme111 centres, +Lens

and Calais alltowm, large and small all I owns, large and small ciry of Lc Mans (other centres, where known

included in rural figure) 1902-3 1906

Limoges (4 cantons of Creusc only) Merz

1841 1874

PCrigucux PCrigucux

1901-6 1909 1912

PCrigucux Quimper Scns

1905

Soissons (3 arromlis.rt!1!11?11ls only)

cantonal centres

' Men

lFomen

ciry of Merz (or her cenrres included in rural figure) ramona! n:mrcs, +Sarlat ramona! centres, +Sarka, Bcrgerac, and Nontron cantonal centres, +Sarlat all arrondr:r.rt'I!Jeflt centres

·l6 ..l 53.0 Men 4.2 U/'omt?ft 21.5 Soissons, Ch:hcau-Thierry. La on 19.0

Sens,Joigny, and Tonncrre

!.1

56.2

92.9 2.4 15.6 11.3

' Deparrmcm of rhe Sarrhe only.

Paris was a fairly typical case of the crucial role of the hinterland in d~termining t~e relig~ous level_ of a. oty or town. The capital had a long 111Story of antic~er~caltsm and meltgion. This was, however, probably due less to the ctty sown structure and experience than to the area from which it drew .its pof?ulation. In both the eighteenth and the early nineteenth cent~nes, migrants to Paris came predominantly from the Paris ?asm, and 111 particular from that area to the south-east that shows up m black on the Boul.a~d map, and which we know to have been a very weak area for catholtosn: fr~m at least the early eighteenth century. 3t P_eopl~ thus came to Pans wtth only a lukewarm faith (if any); all the oty did was to make possible the open expression of a dechristianization which had its roots in the hinterland. This thesis may seem a little odd, inasmuch as we know that the ~atholic Reformation -:as, at one important level, the attempt to Impose o~ the countryside a more refined religion developed in the towns. This process c~uld be qui~e late: Claude Langlois sees the eighteenth century as the time when, In the Breton diocese ofVannes there took place 'the religious penetration of the countryside' .32 Is it 'therefore reasonable to explain the religious levels of a town in terms of those of the surrounding countryside? Perhaps the towns affected the hinter_ land as much as vice versa. 33 It seems nevertheless true that there were

180

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

parts of rural France (like that to the south-east of Paris) which were tenaciously resistant in their own right to the Catholic Reformation, and others (like the rural vannetat~r) which- although their specific culture might make it difficult for an urban religion to penetrate demonstrated in the long run a much more fervent response. In the case of Brittany, that response was by the nineteenth century so fervent that it became a source of bitter division between the Catholic countryside and the towns, where Enlightenment and anticlerical ideas had long since begun to oust those of the Catholic Reformation (see the Quimper figures in table 6.6). One final point should be made about religion in towns. Even though Catholic observance was probably usually lower than in the countryside, those townspeople who did practise often did so with more individual commitment, and less of the fairly mindless conformism or social need that took many peasants to the mass. They were also more likely to participate actively in devotional activities such as pious confraternities. As Pierre Foucault puts it,

Table 6. 7 Male and female rates of mass attendance (%) Diocese -------·----

Chartres Sens Angers Nantes Bourges Moulins Nevers Chalons Nancy

the town is the place where faith, stimulated by its very contradiction, is lived in a more thoughtful manner, is more firmly based and more fervent, partially free from the weight of social convention which sometimes played an important part in the religious behaviour of the inhabitants of the countryside. 34 Gender

Region was one great variable determining religious behaviour in France; almost as important was gender. Thus in Millet' sAngelus on the cover of this book, it is the woman who stops to pray, while the man merely waits for her to finish. The importance ofgender can be easily seen by looking at table 6. 5: in every diocese where we have information, more women than men took Easter communion. This might be (as we shall see) partly because men were particularly hostile to a sacrament that involved subjecting oneself to the cure's authority in confession; men appear to have been more amenable to the ritual and festive aspects of catholicism, as expressed in (for example) parish processions. But men were similarly under-represented in mass attendance (at least by the end of the century), as table 6. 7 demonstrates very clearly. 35 Even more strikingly, they rejected the clerically controlled confraternities of the nineteenth century. We have already seen how in the course of the l:entury female religious orders outpaced and overhauled their male brethren, aod how 'popular' religion became increasingly a female preserve. Catholicism in all its forms evidently appealed quite disproportionately to women.

181

\

Date

Men ·~~------·--

1909 1912 1871-81 1898-1904 1899-1902 1912 1904 1909-10 1911-13 1911-13

/Po men ~--~-·-·--------

2.3 2.2 74.8 65.0 91.4 4.3 17.9 6.9 5.0 23

16.9 11.6 91.1 83.7 97.7 24.8 48.0 30.5 32.0 55

The differences were most marked in the religiously weak areas (see again tables 6. 5 and 6. 7). In Paris, in 1864, in the eight parishes of the banlieue for which we have figures, only 25 men out of a population of about 13,000 took Easter communion; the cure of Bobigny reported about 50 communions, exclusively women and children; 'M. le cure hopes to win a man this year. ' 36 The dioceses around Paris were much the same: in that of Chartres, in 1868, 13 per cent of parishes reported no men (or only one, usually an outsider) taking Easter communion; by 1909, the figure was a staggering 61 per cent. The diocese ofChalons told a similar story: 23 per cent of parishes in 1870-72, 60 per cent in 1905-7. The Limousin was little different: 40 per cent of the parishes of the Creuse, in 1902-5, had 0-2 men at Easter communion. In such areas, the religious culture was almost wholly gender-differentiated. It is obvious that marriages in France - and not only in the Limousin and the Paris basin - were thus subject to considerable stresses. Catholic women might hope to marry a practising husband, but for many of them it was too much to hope for; as a petty bourgeois mother in Paris recommended in her will in 1823, if her daughter 'could find in her [future] husband some principles of religion it would be an excellent thing, but it's almost the philosopher's stone' . 37 The resulting stresses were perhaps as important as sexual incompatibility (which they may have caused) in causing marital breakdown in the nineteenth century. Roger Martin du Gard's]ean Barois, where the hero's marriage collapses over his inability to accept his wife's obsessive catholicism, is no caricature; the author may well have been thinking of the problems experienced by Jean Jaures, an impassioned anticlerical as well as the greatest socialist leader of his age, who, when attacked in the Chamber of Deputies over his daughter's first communion, defended himself

182

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

A Soda/ History ofFrench CatholicZ:rm 1789-1914

bitterly on the grounds that if his attacker could do what he liked with his wife, he Uaures) could not. It was in fact common for wives of bourgeois anticiericals (often educated in a jJen.riom;at run by a religious order) to be deeply religious. Indeed, the Church came in the course of the nineteenth century to regard wives and mothers as the one means by which men might be drawn back into the fold, and quite deliberately encouraged women to pursue such a task even at the cost of marital harmony. The tactic was not without some spectacular successes, such as that of the deeply Catholic Mile Belot, a bourgeois girl from Rouen who prayed for 'a husband to convert'; she got a religiously indifferent East India merchant, upon whose household she gradually imposed - at the cost of fearful rows - the full range of abstinences, and whom a series of novenas to Saint Joseph finally brought back to religious practice. 38 Numerous women wrote to the cure d'Ars asking for prayers for the conversion of their menfolk. 39 Conversely, it was also not uncommon for unbelieving husbands to send their wives (and daughters) to confession, in the not unfounded belief that a Catholic wife was more likely to be submissive and faithful, and a Catholic daughter more likely to be a virgin. It may well be that the feminization of catholicism in the nineteenth century affected the nature and content of the catholicism involved\ The rise of 'ultramontane piety' (to be considered in chapter 8), with its emphasis on affectivity, sentimentalism, and a certain rather saccharine taste in iconography, has been seen as a response to an increasingly female demand- such piety being better suited to the female culture of the age than the more intellectual and austere piety of the eighteenth century.'10 It is also possible that the massive upsurge in Marian devotion that was such a feature of the century (see chapter 5) was a response to a female demand for a figure to whom women could relate - though men also found the pure maternal figure of the Virgin appealing, particularly priests, themselves very often under strong maternal influence, and they no doubt pushed Marian piety on their own account as well as in response to demand. God himself might even be presented as a maternal figure. Saint Franc;ois de Sales, in his Traitii de /'amour de Dieu, had used the image of a child at his mother's breast to evoke a Catholic's relation to God, and it would prove an attractive one to Frenchmen in the nineteenth century. Lamennais's collaborator, the abbe Gerbet, used it in 1829: 'Just as a child receives his life, and attaches himself, by an instinct of self-preservatiJn, to his mother's breast, before opening his eyes to the light, so man nourishes himself from God before being able to see him.' The cure d'Ar.r (much influenced by his mother) borrowed from one of the rare eighteenth-century

183

writers on the love of God to present God's reaction to the sinner as being that _of a mother to a fractious infant, caressing him and giving him the breast. Monseigneur de Segur, one of the leading nineteenthcentury champions of a more loving vision of God, regularly quoted Saint Franc;ois de Sales's image of the mother and infant. Leon Bloy, finally, with his customary taste for powerful imagery, reported his wife as saymg: We live by the breast of God, as a child lives by the breast of its mother. We are suspended at that breast, avidly, our eyes closed, without even knowing that a little above our heads, so very close, the Face is watching over us. 41

ii

It is normally held that this 'sexual dimorphism' in religious sentiment and practice (to use the horrible neologism favoured by French historians) reached its apogee in the first decade of the twentieth century. The clergy was certainly traumatized by that point - witness the c;tre of Saint Trophine in Marseilles who in 1910, when his vicaire made to cross the square in front of the church, drew the young man aside, by narrow streets, saying 'Let's no.t cross the square, it's full of men. ' 42 This was of course the time of the Separation of Church and State, voted by men elected by men, and manifestly against the wishes of a large majority of French women. This majority was in fact beginning to mobilize in face of the anticlerical offensive: the League of French Women and the Patriotic League of Frenchwomen (both royalist in their political sympathies) were founded in 1901 and 1902, and by 1914 had 200,000 and 600,000 members respectively. 43 There are signs that acute gender differences in catholicism were already beginning JO decline before the war, and certainly the twentieth century would see a noticeable drawing together of the sexes in religious matters- though more by female decline than by a (nevertheless real) male revival. It is thus tempting to see the Separation era as the high point of sexual dimorphism. It was not, however, a universal rule that the phenomenon intensified in the face of an anticlerical offensive: in the diocese ofPerigueux, in 1874, 38 per cent of men and 76 per cent of women took Easter communion; in 1901-6 the proportion of men had very slightly increased, while that of women had fallen to 69 per cent (see table 6.5). In any case, sex differences in catholicism had already been very evident at the beginning of the nineteenth century. One of Napoleon's prefects reckoned in 1805 that at Rouen one woman out of four, but only one mao out of fifty availed themselves of the sacraments; a modest cure of the diocese of Soissoos, two years later,

184

A Social HZ:rtory a_( French Catholicism 1789-1914

lamented 'a religion of externals and almost entirely of women' .44 It is in fact necessary to look back well beyond the nineteenth century to find the roots of gender differences in French catholicism. They were already very evident in the Revolution. Women took a prominent part in opposition to the oath-taking clergy, in popular opposition to the dechristianizers, and in the maintenance of a clandestine Church after Thermidor. 45 This was no surprise, because we have seen that it was chiefly among men that the warning lights of dechristianization had been flashing before the Revolution (see pp. 3-8). We appear to be looking, in fact, at a phenomenon which began to become apparent almost contemporaneously with the development of Tridentine catholicism in France, and which intensified gradually, speeding up in the nineteenth century and reaching its apogee under the Government of Emile Combes. How are we to explain the increasing numerical dominapce of women in French catholicism in the nineteenth century? Some obvi~us explanations, like the dominance of the Church in girls' education, turn out on examination to be a confusion of cause and effect. The heavy religious content of girls' primary education (up till 1882, and often thereafter in public as well as in private schools), and the increasing dominance of girls' secondary education by the religious orders (only gradually undermined after 1880), evidently played a crucial role in the differential inculcation of catholicism into the young. But it is fairly clear that the dominantly religious content of girls' schooling was a response to demand, much more than a cause in its own right: girls' education was heavily Catholic because it was accepted by a large majority of Frenchmen that it ought to be, i.e. we are looking at an effect rather than a cause. Vague generalizations about female psychology (of the kind that seduced GabrielLe Bras) are even more unsatisfactory, inasmuch as we know that such 'psychological' traits are a product of a gender-differentiated culture, rather than of women's biology. Or at least, it would be unsafe to write these days that biology was at the heart of gender differences. In the nineteenth century, however, when knowledge of the biology of reproduction was rudimentary and contraceptive technique primitive, women's physical structure may to a certain extent have predisposed them to religious belief. It has to be remembered that the ovulation cycle was not properly understool:! until the late 1920s, with Knaus and Ogino; nineteenth-century women could thus have no understanding of why they had periods, or precisely what happened when they got pregnant; nor could they know much about childbirth and its dangers. None of these matters were- or could be- under their

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

j

185

control. Women were thus centrally engaged in an activity that was to them entirely mysterious. Unlike men engaged in industrial production (though peasants may have been another matter), they saw no possibility of controlling their world by the application of human reason. This situation may have predisposed them to reject the nineteenth-century ersatz religion of Science and Progress, and to favour a view of the world that was ultimately mysterious. Bonnie Smith, studying the wives of the textile bourgeoisie of the north, hasput it very well: The acceptance of science and the disposal of religion has built on a security - some would call it hubris - in the face of nature that menstruating, parturient and menopausal women never had. The mathematical explan
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A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

men regarded as singularly personal. In 1839 a cure of the diocese of Dijon saw premature withdrawal as one of the dominant vices of his parish; 'without that [he added], the men would almost all come to confession'. In 1867 a cure near Amiens reported that 'the women confess fairly generally, but the men, above all' because of this vice, live apart from the sacraments' .48 Towards the end of the century a despairing clergy started giving absolution to contracepting men as well, but by then the damage was done. There is no doubt that the differential attitude taken towards men's and women's roles in contraception by withdrawal was an important factor in at least accelerating the 'sexual dimorphism' of French catholicism in the nint'tefnth century. At a deeper level, however, we are clearly lookfng at one aspect of a wider cultural difference that was deeply enrooted in French society. French culture (as no doubt elsewhere) was gender-differentiated to a profound degree, at all levels of society. Certain activitieswere culturally defined as being female; in particular, affective and spiritual roles were allocated to women, and practical ones to men. By extension, men were not supposed to manifest any kind of profound feeling, whereas it was perfectly all right for women to do so. Religion was thus defined as being part of women's matters; as a Canon of Bayeux once remarked, the woman was 'the delegate of the family for religious affairs' .49 This is of course scarcely an explanation, inasmuch as one would need to understand why the environing culture was gender-differentiated in the way that it was - but that is a task beyond this book. The Church itself was one of the staunchest supporters of role differentiation according to gender. Priests never tired of associating men with qualities such as strength, authority, power, and wisdom, and women with sweetness, tenderness, grace, and love. 50 They intended above all that women should be docile; as an 1865 Ursuline manual for a girls' boarding school emphasized, 'Nothing makes a young boarder more interesting than perfect docility: even if she lacks intelligence, talent, and natural grace, so long as she is docile one is compelled to praise and love her.' 51 Or as a Capuchin missionary put it about the same time, 'The pious, hard-working, and thrifty woman is the source of happiness and salvation for her family: her whole life is summed up in four words: prayer, work, silence, and suffering.' 52 Woman was to be man's companion and helpmeet, superior in her moral realm, but definitely under his control, and confined to the marital home. Thus the Bishop of Nancy, in the 1890s, did not mince his words: The man is the leader because of his strength and because his reason is more enlightened and more in control of itself. Woman has been

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given to him as a helpmeet and a companion, inferior in physical and moral strength, superior in goodness and devotion .. , . Woman's destiny is not to equal man in knowledge .... Her kingdom is the domestic hearth. Her mission is to be wife, mistress of the household, and mother. 53 At one level, therefore. the clergy clearly intended that women should be under the control of men in general, and their husbands in particular. At another and less co~scious level. however, there was an ongoing struggle between the male clergy and the men of France for the control of French women. Men intended that their womenfolk should be under their complete and uncontested control. Women sometimes attempted to evade this domination by looking to the priest as a countervailing locus of power, one that they could pia y off against their husband or father (over sexual practices. choice of husband, etc.). Even where women did not attempt, even unconsciously. to operate in this way, men still deeply resented the competing influence of the priest. Michelct is the most notorious example. In 1842 he had been excluded from the death-bed of his mistress by the Abbe Coeur (future Bishop of Troyes); his resentment expressed itself in his diary: Take the most upright of priests and the most reputable of women, he will soon be the real spiritual husband. With whom will she rise again? With him who already on this earth led her to God. What ignoble husband would accept such a division: for him the body, for the priest the heart? 54 Michelet became viscerally hostile to the practice of confession and to the power that he thought it gave priests over women: The confessor of a young woman can be simply defined, as the rival of the husband and his secret enemy .... This man knows things about this woman that the husband has never found out in the long nights and days of intimacy .... She too knows well that there is a master of her secret thoughts. Never will she pass before this man without lowering her eyes. . . . How humiliating it is to obtain nothing of what used to be yours except with authorization and by indulgence, to be watched and followed in the most intimate of intimate moments by an invisible observer who controls you and determines your clue ... to meet in the street a man who knows your secret weaknesses better than you do yourself, who greets you humbly, turns aside, and laughs. 5 5

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Michelet' s fantasies were perhaps unusually precise, but the resentment of a clerical rivalry exercising influence over women who were regarded as exclusive possessions was very widespread. In 1899 a socialist militant gave vituperative expression to the same hostility: While we go quietly and peacefull)l about our business, our women, fascinated by these men of false;hood, go rushing off to the confessional boxes and, behind our backs, betray all our life's secrets, which are, alas, only too easily extorted. Just when we thought we had set our women on the path of truth, we are shamefully deceived, for our work is undone in a few moments by the fables of these sinister beings: they steal away the conscience of our women. 56 Men were hostile to confession not merely because it seemed to give priests power over women, but also for its own sake. Male culture was strongly opposed to the expression of sentiment and to the revealing of intimacy - above all in sexual matters. The Catholic Reformation had involved an enormous effort to impose individual confession on the mass of the faithful, but in so doing the Church (in Jean Delumeau's words) 'entered on an extraordinary combat against the silent and tenacious resistance of ordinary people'. 57 As the Bretons of Cap-Sizun told Father Maunoir in 1643: You want to know too much, man pere; why don't you be like our own priests, who simply ask us if we know our religion, and who, if we say yes, give us five Paters and five Aves as a penance, and absolve us on the spot? Do we need anything more? 58 We have already seen the unrewarding experience of the cure of Sennely-en-Sologne in the late seventeenth century (p. 25 ). Sex was at the heart of the matter: the principal reason for obstinate silence in the confessional was (says Delumeau) 'the shame felt in confessing sins of a sexual nature' .59 Men would not change their minds on this subject, and in the nineteenth century - all the more as the hitherto almost irrelevant issue of contraception raised its head - they refused to subject themselves to such an inquisition into their private lives. Unable to take communion, and angry with the prying of the clergy, they increasingly abandoned the Church. Male culture made confession difficult, not only because it imposed on men a deep sense of reserve where their private lives were concerned, but because it prescribed a certain independence of spirit, a refusal to submit oneself to the authority of another man. This cultural trait was

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at the heart both of republicanism and of the rejection of clerical authority. This was all the more true because the model of catholicism that the clergy was purveying at the time was a peculiarly hierarchical one, according to which the mere fidele was expected only to watch and pray - and to do as he was told. A catholicism so insistent on clerical authority was widely unacceptable to men who prized at least the illusion of being self-determining. Women, by contrast, were much more disposed to accept a hierarchical order and their own subjection within it. This was particularly true in confession, where 'the abandonment of one's own judgement to a particular kind of male: the confessor, seems part and parcel of a long apprenticeship in inferiority linked to the condition of women in the nineteenth century' .60 It was, however, also more generally true that the environing culture predisposed women to accept a hierarchical religion, which in men merely created resentment. The Church was to women not only a reassuring hierarchy: it was also an essential centre of female sociability. There were many informal institutions in nineteenth-century French society that catered for a man's desire to be with his fellows: for the bourgeoisie the 'cercle', for the mass of the people the cabaret, for peasants the market-place, for the poor of the Midi the chambree. There were very few such institutions for women- the lavoir( open-air communal laundry) is the only one that springs to mind. This was no doubt in part because men discouraged assemblies of women, which might threaten male power and prerogative; it was basically, however, because the Church provided a viable alternative. We have seen that female religious orders mushroomed partly because of their function as centres of female sociability. For the ordinary run of women, confraternities fulfilled a similar role. In areas where men had abandoned religious practice, that role was also fulfilled by attendance at mass. In general, women found in the Church and in its organizations a structured way of being with their own sex, which men could and did resent but which (because of the moralizing function of catholicism) they were remotely prepared to tolerate. It may also be true that women found in church activities a refuge from husbands who were often indifferent and domineering and sometimes brutal. A commissioner of police in the Midi in 1818 analysed with considerable acumen what was going on, when he noted (among the bourgeoisie) 'the roughness and lack of consideration shown to women'; married women, he said, lived 'generally in a very great reserve. Their husbands, occupied in coteries of men or with chasing prostitutes, oblige them to seek happiness in the home or with their children, or in an assiduous attendance at church. ' 61

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There were thus a number of interrelated reasons why women in nineteenth-century Fran,s:e were more inclined to Catholic practice and fervour than were men: the mysteries of their reproductive activity; the differential attitude ofLthe clergy to male and female roles in coitus intermptttJ; above all an environing culture which defined affective roles as female, which determined that women were docile (and thus made them more apt to accept the Tridentine model of catholicism), and which deprived women of other activities in which to seek the company of their own sex. The result was that men increasingly resented the control of a male clergy over their womenfolk, and thus turned against a Church perceived more as a rival than as a spiritual home. Most of these causes were already operative before the nineteenth century, and it is thus not surprising to have found signs of the feminization of catholicism before the Revolution, and indeed as far back as the seventeenth century, The nineteenth century merely intensified those causes, as well as producing some new ones (particularly the contraception issue) to accelerate the differences between men and women in their response to the Catholic appeal. By the time of the belie epoqtte old and new causes had united to make French catholicism very largely a religion of women. In fervent areas, men did stay with the Church, but elsewhere they abandoned it to such a degree that one is justified in talking of a totally gender-differentiated religious culture. Age

The third great axis of differentiation in French catholicism was that of age. Children, we have seen, nearly all had some sustained contact with the Church, inasmuch as the vast majority attended at least some catechism classes and made their first communion. Thereafter, it is clear that many of them, the obligatory rite of passage to adulthood having been fulfilled, unceremoniously dropped all religious observance until their marriage. This was at any rate true of adolescent boys, in the bad areas for catholicism; not untypically, a cure in the Beauce lamented in 1850 that 'eight days after [first communion] it's partial abandonment, a month after, total: "That's it, then, it's a good thing to have got over with.'' ' 62 The clergy continued to complain that youth was turbulent and insouciant of its salvation, and much inferior to the older generation - like the cure of the diocese of Bordeaux who in 1908 voiced the ritual complaint of his fellows: 'The old families which disappear each year are not replaced by the following generation. ' 63 Priests in fact had a very strong sense of generational decline. Their observations

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need looking at closely, however, because they were not wholly justified. In the first place, it was not entirely true, even in bad areas, that first communion was followed by an immediate abandonment of religious practice by young men. In one parish of the very lukewarm diocese of Troyes, between 1856 and 1870, of 277 boys who made their first communion, 216 returned to take communion at Easter the following year. Less precise but more comprehensive figures from other dioceses show very clearly that adolescents of both sexes in fact practised the Catholic religion much more conscientiously than did full adults. In the diocese of Orleans, in 1852-6, 4. 5 per cent of men and 21.9 per cent of women aged 21 and over took Easter communion, as against 20.8 per cent of males and 53.1 per cent of females aged 13 to 20; in the diocese of Moulins, in 1877-8, the comparable figures were 40.1 per cent and 81.8 per cent for adults, as against 61.1 per cent and 89.2 per cent for 13- 20-year-olds. It is true that the higher practice rates for adolescents were probably located in the early rather than the late teens; 15 or 16 appears to have been the drop-out point, at least for young men in religiously weak areas. It was between that age and marriage that young men found themselves in conflict with the cure, who battled steadfastly against the riotous power of informal youth groups and tried to impose on young men a repressive sexual morality, Dancing was often the key issue: by cajolery (membership of the Children of Mary) and menace (hell-fire), the cure was often able to keep young women from the demon of the dance, but young men ignored both carrot and stick, and deeply resented the neutralization of their dancing partners. Nevertheless, such figures as we have make it clear that young women certainly, and young men in some areas, were more likely to fulfil their religious duties than were adults in the prime of life. What is quite extraordinary is that we have no figures at all concerning the religious practice of the old. The clergy never seems to have thought they were worth collecting. Yet it would be very surprising if a religion heavily oriented towards other-worldly salvation did not have a disproportionate appeal to those closer to death. We do know, from anecdotal evidence (such as that of Lime's death, or even the carefully stage-managed exit of Talleyrand, or the fear-ridden death of Jean Barois in literature) that death-bed repentances were not uncommon. Certainly it was the great fear of free-thinkers that they would falter at the last hurdle. There is also a certain amount of evidence in the form of clerical lamentations that mass was attended only by children and old women (old men are not usually mentioned). But we know nothing precise about the religious practice of the old. There is no doubt in my

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mind, however, that Tridentine catholicism appealed disproportionately to thosewho knew they would soon have to face their Maker and render an account of their lives. It may have been an appeal based on fear - though I suspect also on the need to find in another and eternal world some meaning to an existence which clearly no longer had much meaning in this one. But, for whatever reason, it was old people who went to church, along with children and adolescents; those in the prime of life had better things to do, and a less pressing need to ask themselves the first question of many catechisms: Why are we here on earth?

7 The Church and social class

The fourth great axis of differentiation in French catholicism was social class. It mattered a lot whether you were noble or bourgeois, petty bourgeois, peasant, or proletarian. Class differences may have been to a certain extent overriden by those of region and gender, but they remained crucial in the determination of religious attitudes.

The nobility There is no doubt that the nobility was central to French catholicism in the nineteenth century; the alliance of chateau andpresbytere came to be regarded as a basic fact of social and political life. The attitude of the nobility towards catholicism and the clergy had, however, more nuances than is often realized. Nobles in the eighteenth century may not have been religious sceptics as often as is sometimes supposed (see p. 12), but a good many were prominent in Enlightenment circles, and scepticism had been trendy in many aristocratic salons. It is true that many nobles returned from emigration, chastened by the experience of the Revolution, having either undergone a sincere conversion or at least become powerfully convinced of the importance of catholicism in defending the old social order. But a fair number of them retained their Voltairean scepticism well into the nineteenth century, and some of them could prove very bad parishioners indeed. In 1828 the (very aristocratic) Archbishop of Rouen found the Marquis de Pomereu, maire of Le Heron, to be 'the scourge of the parish', abolishing the commune's supplement to the priest's stipend, making his men work on Sundays (the sin against the Holy Ghost), and appropriating the presbytery to stable his magnificent horses. 1 Perhaps more typical of the

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nobility under the Restoration was the Viscount de Landeronde, known as 'S;~cre-Maudit', from the diocese of Angers. His cure reported that he never misses mass, Sundays and feast-days, and it's not his fault if he regularly falls asleep during the sermon. He always makes his confession twice at Easter, and the second time really makes a virtuous effort: 'God;s truth, Zenon,' he recommends to his servant, 'we mustn · t blaspheme, tomorrow we· re doing our bloody Easter communion!' It's true he prefers Be ranger and any bawdy song to reading the Martyrs (the delight of the vicomtesse); he dearly loves a good table, has no intention of forgetting the detestable past of His [constitutional] bishop, 'Maudit-Montault', and harbours a solid resentment towards his political enemies. particularly all the 'blues' of the canton, who provide him with names for his hounds - a superb pack, by the way - which without thinking the least evil in the world he has lodged in the old chapel of Rogations ... for his time, he's a 'good Christian' . 2

The Church and mcial claJJ

was strikingly true in the diocese of Quimper. Class differences between cures and nobles in the Breton diocese were magnified by efl111ic/ cultural ones: the clergy sprang from the Breton peasantry, whereas the nobility was primarily francophone and locked into French national culture. Hostility simmered from the Restoration onwards. finally breaking out in a by-election of 1897 when the Christian Democrat abbe Gayraud stood against - and defeated - the Count de Blois. As one local mre (no doubt a Christian Democrat sympathizer himself) put it to his flock, the struggle was on 'between the chateaux and the presbyteries', and the new alliance should be between the priests and the peasants. 3 Most dioceses did not reach this point of open rupture: the nobility usually remained a secure ally of the clergy and probably sincere Catholics as well. But nobles and clerics had little in common beyond their Catholic faith, and the alliance had little warmth in it.

,.

The colourful figure of 'Sacre-Maudit' may not be wholly untypical of the nobles of his generation: religion was an integral part of their social and political world, and one had to do the proper thing - but real belief and piety were for women. As the survivors of the eighteenth century died, and as their children graduated from Jesuit colleges, French nobles became increasingly sincere and active Catholics. They practised their religion with ostentatious (and probably sincere) piety, and were to the forefront of charitable and other parish activities. At the heart of the strengthened alliance of chateatt and presb_ytere. however, was an unpleasant ambiguity: the religion so favoured by the nobility was served by priests from a very different social class. Cures and nobles usually did not get on together personally; the social abyss between them was too wide. The former often felt themselves slighted in aristocratic circles. and resented the not infrequent practice of treating them as glorified domestics. Noble bishops of the first half of the century were able to defend their clergy against aristocratic pretentions: there arc at least two recorded cases of a bishop walking out on a dinner party because of the mistreatment of the humble cure. But the plebeian episcopate of the second half of the century could itself be easily intimidated by aristocratic hauteur, and the old natural alliance of bishops and seigneurs disappeared. Nobility and clergy regarded each other as indispensable, and indeed respected each other, but there was little closeness between them on a personal level. In some cases, furthermore, relations became very strained: this

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The bourgeoisie: early hostility to catholicism

Relations between the Catholic Church and the French bourgeoisie were a much more complex matter. They very much depended on which bourgeoisie was involved, and at what time in the century. Until 1~48, most bourgeois of all kinds were either indifferent or hostile to the Church. As the Prefect of the Morbihan remarked in March 1815, 'the bourgeois are philosophes and will never be anything but proud of it' .'1 This was Brittany, where 'progressive' ideas were traditionally confined to the towns, and where town-dwellers felt themselves in imminent danger of drowning in a sea of superstitious peasants- a fear which could make their anticlericalism all the more aggressive, as the violent riots they mounted against mission preaching in Brest under the Restoration would show. The bourgeoisie of towns elsewhere in France was not, however, all that much different. At Rouen, in 1805. the Prefect remarked that not a single magistrate, government official, or man of influence took the sacraments. At Perigueux. where the young Louis Veuillot worked as a journalist from 1833 to 1836, he found nobody in his circle (public officials, magistrates, secondary school teachers. etc.) who was a practising Catholic; not long after, the Bishop reported to Rome that scarcely ten of the leading (male) citizens of the town took Easter communion. In Cahors, in 1845, only one bourgeois dared openly take Easter communion. 5 Paris itself was the home of an extensive bourgeoisie which, although not usually actively hostile, was very largely indifferent to the Catholic faith. Bourgeois testaments (especially those of men) showed little sign of a concern with the world

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to come. As Adeline Daumard observes, the bourgeois of Paris 'concerned themselves above all with what they understood, with what could be changed by human effort. Bourgeois civilization is based on the notion of rational progress, willed and organized by the most capable·; God, she concludes, was not dead. for the Parisian bourgeoisie, but He had gone away 6 Not all 'bourgeois' in the first half of the nineteenth century lived in major towns like those mentioned in the preceding paragraph. Most of them in fact lived in small towns, bottrg.r, and in the countryside. Some of these bourgeois exercised a profession, but nearly all of them drew their basic resources from the land, usually through tenants and sharecroppers. They were certainly not 'bourgeois' in the Marxist sense, but that is what they were called at the time, and they may properly be referred to as the 'rural bourgeoisie'. 7 They were a very large class, and inevitably a diverse one, but almost to a man they were hostile, or at least indifferent, to the Catholic Church. As early as 1805 cttre.r of the diocese of Tours, replying to an episcopal questionnaire, deplored the attitude of 'the principal inhabitants of the parish', 'les messieurs', 'the rich and people in office·, and other euphemisms for what I am calling the rural bourgeoisie. 8 Members of this class were of course particularly hostile in irreligious dioceses like Orleans, where the role of the rural bourgeoisie has been evoked at length by Christianne Marcilhacy, or Limoges, where the Sub-Prefect of the small town of Bellac noted in 1811 that only three or four bourgeois attended mass, compared with three-quarters of the artisans. 9 Less dechristianized dioceses could, however, manifest similar phenomena. In that of Bordeaux, the cure of the small town of Coutras under the July Monarchy found that 'the greatest obstacle is the bourgeoisie. Most of these gentlemen make no religious act properly so called, not even entering the church.' HI In many other dioceses the clerical lament over the indifference or hostility of the rural bourgeoisie was a leitmotiv of their replies to episcopal questionnaires; it made little difference whether one was in an irreligious diocese, or a fervent one like those of Rodez or Nantes. In the first half of the nineteenth century, industrial enterprise had as yet scarcely made an impact on French society (which is why the rural bourgeoisie was such a pivotal class). There was thus not much of an · industrial bourgeoisie. What there was seems to have been mostly as irreligious as its professional, administrative, or rural counterparts. The issue of Sunday labour was always a flash point. In 1828 the aristocratic Archbishop of Rouen condemned in no uncertain terms those factory owners who kept their establishments going on Sundays, alleging that

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they did so for anticlerical rather than economic reasons. Or as a Marseilles cure told his bishop ten years later, we still have cause to deplore the most scandalous profanation of the holy sabbath. Sugar refiners, soap manufacturers, cotton manufacturers, tanners, barrel-makers, etc., all compete in demonstrating their impiety. One would think it was a group of conspirators from

hcJJ.ll

In general, France's embryonic industrial bourgeoisie seems to have shared the irreligious sentiments of other elements of the bourgeois class. There were of course elements of the French bourgeoisie which were exceptions to the general rule. Many of those families which had been on the way to becoming nobles if the Revolution had not intervened would be sincere Catholics in the early nineteenth century - all the more because of their favour for the restored Bourbons. Many of the old towns of the Midi contained a Catholic and legitimist bourgeoisie of some importance. It is also true that towards the end of the July Monarchy there were signs of a return to the Church, particularly among the offspring of the old anticlerical bourgeois. In Paris, as early as 1835-6, Lacordaire's sermons in Notre-Dame attracted huge audiences from the best society, especially of young people, and students were the initial enthusiasts ofFrederic Ozanam's Saint Vincent-de- Paul Society, founded in 1833. Bishop Bouvier ofLe Mans observed in 1846 that 'we no longer hear any of those sarcasms in bad taste which used to be so common in the highest levels of society'. 12 Nevertheless, the overwhelming tendency of French bourgeois of all kinds, throughout the first half of the nineteenth century, was to be hostile to any action by the clergy outside the strictly religious field, and usually to be sceptical about the Catholic faith itself. We have seen in chapter 1 that bourgeois indifference or hostility to catholicism was nothing new in the nineteenth century. Bourgeois of the ancien regime, whether influenced by the Enlightenment or sensing an essential incompatibility between catholicism and capitalism, were among the first to show signs of detachment from the Church. The Revolution proved a massive accelerator of this detachment, in a number of ways. A generation exposed in its youth to the intense anticlerical discourse of the 1790s was unlikely to evolve much in its later years (Stendhal was a case in point). The Revolution also introduced a more concrete bone of contention between the bourgeoisie and the Church: the bien.r nationattx. Most of these, as we have seen, had

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found their way into bourgeois hands at knock-down prices. Rome and most bishops said clearly· that their new owners should not be harassed, but there is no doubt that many priests exerted subtle pressures - and even less subtle ones like the refusal of absolution or the threat of hell-fire - to get their owners to make restitution. This was a festering sore in the Church's relations with an important clement of the French bourgeoisie, strongly reinforcing in many cases, if not causing, the latter's hostility. Other concrete issues reared their heads as well in the aftermath of the Revolution. Napoleon had permitted the re-establishment of only four of the Ch~rch' s numerous feast days; the large number ofjetes .rupprimees were now supposed to be ordinary working-days. But many agricultural and urban labourers continued to treat them as holidays. and a fair number of priests encouraged them to do so - to the righteous indignation of productivityminded bourgeois who deplored such idleness and the resulting loss; it was, said the Prefect of the Hautc-Garonnc in 1837, 'prejudicial to the progress of agriculture', and he evaluated the loss at 500 francs per feast day per canton. 13 The issue of lending money at interest also became a source of friction. In the first third of the nineteenth century the French clergy revived the Church· s traditional condemnation of taking interest (which had been under attack and in decline). Thereafter (as we shall sec in chapter 8) the clerical position was relaxed, but it took a long time for many priests to accept the new doctrine from Rome, and the issue was clearly a sore one between the clergy and those who had moncv to lend. All these concrete issues between Church and bourgeoisie"were of course fought out against a background of the continuing influence of the Enlightenment, and particularly of Voltaire. The tax inspector who died in 1817 leaving a library of 190 volumes, composed essentially of 72 bv Voltaire and 37 by Rousseau, was not untypical. 14 The influence of E~lightcnmcnt thought - and indeed of some much cruder anticlericalism - was perpetuated in the lycee.r and colleges, the state and municipal secondary schools of the nineteenth century (which is why the Jesuit schools were so popular with the Catholic elite). Testimonies abound as to the irreligious atmosphere of these establishments, even under the Restoration. When Montalcmbert entered the college Sainte-Barbe in 1826, he found himself (he later recalled) surrounded by thirty young people not one of whom believed in the divinity of Christ, nor consequently in the Catholic religion. , , . I shall never forget the frightful words, the monstrous blasphemies that circulated in the classroom at the approach of confession and

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Easter communion. And I shall remain silent on the obscenity of language and behaviour of the majority of these young peoplc. 15 The secondary education system established by Napoleon was not supposed to have this effect; indeed, the founding decree of 1808 stipulated that all schools of the Universite 'shall take as the basis of their teaching the precepts of the Catholic religion' (and of course loyalty to the Emperor). The trouble seems to have lain less with the teachers, who were indifferent rather than hostile to religion, than with the general atmosphere of these institutions; militant irreligion was cultivated by the students themselves. Under the Julv Monarchv when anticlcricalism ceased to be a way of sniping at the,establishm'e~t. the atmosphere in lycees and colleges seems to have become less militant. But the secondary education system had clearly played an important role in perpetuating the general hostility of the French bourgeoisie towards the Catholic clergy, and the indifference and scepticism in matters of faith that was such a marked trait of the bourgeois mentality.

The clericalization of the bourgeoisie after 1848

There is no doubt that 1848, and in particular the June Days, marked an important caesura in relations between the Catholic Church and the French bourgeoisie. It is difficult now to appreciate the degree to which the bourgeoisie was traumatized by the insurrection that took place in Paris in late June 1848 (some 2,000 dead, more than 11,000 arrested). The shock was certainly enough to change the habits of mind ofroany French bourgeois, and to cause them to look to the Church as a bastion of social order - even if they remained as indifferent in matters of faith as they had always been. Adolphe Thicrs, the personification of the French bourgeoisie in the nineteenth century- and not, under the July Monarchy, a particularly good friend of the Church - expressed himself in January 1849 (in a parliamentary debate on the role of the Church in education) in no uncertain terms: I want to make the influence of the clergy all-powerful. I ask that the role of the cure be strengthened, made much more important than it is, because I count on him to propagate that sound philosophy which teaches man that he is here on earth to suffer, and not that other philosophy which on the contrary says to man: cnjov vourself [jou£r]. 16 ' '

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In the provinces, the Memoria! de Rauen (a traditionally anticlerical paper with a bourgeois readership) declared, in April1849. that 'without religion, family ties are broken. property lies defenceless. the moral order lacks any basis' . 17 The clergy was often pretty sceptical about this kind of change of heart; the vicaire of Saint Eustacbe wrote in November 1848: As for what is today called the bourgeo/r c!a.r.r, so hostile before February. I do not think it bas returned to a better state of mind ... it will support us as a counterweight to the doctrines it finds disturbing, and as a kind of spiritual police force whose role is to inculcate respect for laws which are in its interest. But that is the limit of its respect for and trust in us. 18 Veuillot commented, more tartly, that 'M. Tbiers's aim these days is to reinforce the party of contented and satiated revolutionaries of which be is the leader with a body of gendarmes in cassocks, because of the evident inadequacy of the other lot.' 19 But, even if bourgeois motives for favouring the Catholic religion after June were suspect, the willingness of many to do so was not in doubt. The archetypal expression of this new alliance between Church and bourgeoisie was the Falloux education law of 15 March 1850. The essential provisions of this law (where secondary education was concerned) were to remove restrictions which bad made it practically impossible for the Church to open its own secondary schools, and to reorganize the Napoleonic Univer.rite so as to introduce a strong clerical influence into its affairs. The results became rapidly apparent: between 1850 and 1854 the clergy got municipalities to cede to them some fifty co!!ege.r; meanwhile, private Church secondary schools were rapidly established, such that by 1854 there were 249 of them (though the majority did not give a full secondary education), and nearly 20 per cent of secondary students found themselves in such establishments (25 per cent by 1865). At the same time, the atmosphere of the lay !ycee.r and co!!ege.r was significantly changed. The overall result was that the French elite, for the first time in the nineteenth century, were exposed to a Catholic education. Many of the frightened bourgeois of the 1848 generation, though themselves 'more clerical than believing', sent their sons to Catholic schools, with the result that the next generation was much more sincere in its catholicism. Thus 1848 set in motion a long-term evolution in the religious behaviour and attitudes of the French bourgeoisie. Presented schematically, the bourgeoisie was sceptical but clerical for reasons of social fear under the Second Empire, followed by

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a generation of more sincere Catholics under the early Third Republic, and a further generation of aggressively militant young Catholic bourgeois in the years before the First World War. 20 This impressionistic schema of bourgeois evolution is borne out by a fair amount of evidence. Sometimes the tendency to regard the Church as a mechanism of social control achieved almost caricatural proportions: the maire ofRouen, in 185 7, laying the foundation-stone of a church for which the municipal council had contributed 600,000 francs, called on those present to remark that at this very moment, gentlemen, we can see two edifices created for the same purpose, that of the moralization of man, rise almost side by side; not far from here the prison where infractions of the social order will be expiated is nearing completion, and here we see this church rise from the ground, a pious refuge open for preservation from misdeeds. Rouen was in fact a case in point of the ideological journey towards belief undertaken by elements of the French bourgeoisie in the second half of the century. Towards the end of the century bourgeois money began to go into founding Catholic schools; the sons of the Rouen bourgeoisie even began to enter the Church - and it is possible that increasing regard for clerical directives meant that there were more of them to do so. The !ycee Corneille, once a hotbed of anticlericalism, saw increasing religious practice and fervour. Rouen was in fact seeing, under the Third Republic, the culmination of 'the evolution of a class which, from having been a rising and anti-establishment group, had gradually become a veritable patriciate' .21 Even in the badlands of the diocese of Limoges, the Semaine Re!igiett.re, in its report on religious practice in the region, could conclude: the bourgeoisie: the upper classes ... provide a more consoling spectacle than the people. With very rare exceptions, members of the ruling class show respect for religion .... Since 1789, the magistrature, the bar. the army have not shown as much religious faith as latterly they have .22 The belle epoqtte, as is well known, saw an upsurge of Catholic fervour among bourgeois youth, not only in Action franr;ai.re, but (more significantly) in the A.r.rociation catho!iqtte de !a jeune.r.re franr;aZ:re (founded in 1886), which at least in its early days recruited mainly from Catholic secondary schools, 23 and in Marc Sangnier's Stl!on movement,

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which in the early twentieth century was very successful in tapping the idealism of Catholic bourgeois youth. The young men of the college Stanislas and of Polytechnique who surrounded Sangnier would scarcely have recognized themselves in their sceptical ancestors of the July Monarchy- or indeed in the socially conservative bourgeois of the Second Empire, cynically exploiting the Church as a means of social control. What critics of the Church noticed particularly under the Third Republic was a tie-up between industrialists and the Church, the former using the latter to ensure a submissive work-force. There were indeed some quite striking examples of this 'alliance of altar and strong-box' (a11tel et coffre-fort) - particularly though not exclusively in the case of mining companies. The advent of anticlerical governments after 1876-7 meant that the State effectively ceased to pay the substantial part of the cost of new parishes and churches which it had done since the Concordat, and clerics wishing to provide religious facilities in new industrial agglomerations were almost compelled to look to the companies for money. The Lens mining company in fact built its first chapel- the first of five- in 1874; a number of companies followed suit over the next thirty years. The advent of the anticlerical republic also meant that, after the Ferry laws of 1882 secularizing primary education in the public sector, the clergy was desperately casting round for money to finance private Church schools. A number of companies were willing to oblige, and often recruited preferentially from those who had attended Church schools - though it seem~ that in practice such recruits were no less likely to cause trouble in the mines. Some companies established vicariats and paid the salaries of priests without whom the Church would not have been able to find the personnel for rapidly expanding industrial populations. Such priests and even many whose stipends were paid by the State - dared not cross the company; the c11re serving the mines at Mericourt pointed out in 1886 that 'in spite of frequent solicitations from employees and workers for me to intervene on their behalf with the company. I have always refrained from any interference of this kind' . 24 Some companies established the presence of bonnes soettrs in the factory itself, who apart from rendering genuine educational and charitable services were effectively company spies. Examples of the alliance of altar and strong-box could be multiplied still further. The most famous cases were the mining companies of the Marquis de Solages at Carmaux, of Leonce Chagot at Montceau-les-Mines, and those of Lens, Bethune, Noeux, and others in the north. There were certainly enough of them to lend credence to the belief universally held by socialists at the time

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(and by some historians) that the Church under the Third Republic was hand in glove with industrial capitalism; this belief was important in remforcmg the profound anticlericalism of the socialist movement. The mining bosses were sometimes sincere in their catholicism: the Marquis de Solages, and Leonce Chagot - of whom it was sometimes wondered if he were manager of the mine or Bishop of Montauban cer.tainly were. Those of t~e north were perhaps more cynically manipulative; the fervent Catholics of the northern patronat came rather from the textile sector. which in 1884 established the Association catholiqtte des patr?ns du n.ord. The fundamental aim of the ACPN, as its opening declaration specified, was to provide the worker with 'conditions favourable to his eternal salvation' 25 - which often meant things like the rigorous separation of the sexes, crucifixes on the shop-floor, prayers before work every morning, and constant surveillance by the bonnes soeurs. They did, however, also establish a network of oeuvres in their factories aiming to improve the social and economic conditions of their workers - though without adding anything to their wages; one patron who ?ad devoted much of his time and money to Catholic good works, on hi~ death-bed bequeathed to his son his lifelong principle of never agreemg to any wage increase until it was forced out of him. 26 The Catholic patronat of the north in fact remained very touchy about their authority - Leon Harmel called them a bunch of little Louis XIVs in their factories. They were bitterly opposed to independent trade unions, even after these were specifically allowed by Rerum novarum in 1891; Feron-Vrau, their chief spokesman, emphasized in 1893 'the necessity to safeguard the principles of social hierarchy which they [independent trade unions] would violate in wanting to treat with employers on a basis 27 of equality'. They preferred syndicat.r mixtes, where employers and wo~kers woul? pursue together (but with the bosses firmly in charge) their mutualmterests of a social and religious kind. The ACPN was in fact paternalist to an almost caricatural degree. Its members were, in any case, a small if fervent minority. The organization drew exclusively on ~he textile industry of the Lille-Roubaix-Turcoing area, and even there Its members were only a minority of the textile employers: there were only 36 patrons at the initial meeting. The existence of the ACPN demonstrated that there were some fervently Catholic employers in that ~rea, but it cannot be taken as proof that the industrial bourgeoisie, even 111 the north, was devoted to the Catholic faith. We have so far considered the move made by elements of the French bourgeoisie towards the Church in the second half of the century. This ~aJ:J:r~chement ~as not, however, solely the result of a bourgeois 1!11tiatlve: Catholics met the bourgeoisie half-way. Catholicism was

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presented by its spokesmen as the bastion of social order. Montalembert declared in the Chamber of Deputies in September 1848 that he knew 'only one recipe to make those who own nothing believe in propctty: it is to make them believe in God ... who dictated the ten commandments and punishes thieves for all eternity' .28 Many Catholics shared the panic reaction of the bourgeoisie to the threat of social revolution. The episcopate in particular showed itself singularly unsympathetic to the situation of the urban working class. Under the July Monarchy a handful of bishops had been able to say something sympathetic and sensible about the lot of urban workers. Monseigneur Belmas of Cambrai in the industrial north. in his Easter letters of 183 7-41, condemned long hours and low wages. and an industry which gave workers only 'a feeble proportion of what they produce, scarcely the equivalent of one drop, one single drop of their abundant sweat'; his successor. Monseigneur Giraud, was even more vehement in condemning this exploitation of man by man, speculating on one's fellow as on vile beasts or on money and a simple instrument of production. calculating coldly the maximum that can be added to his burden before he falls crushed under the weight. 29 But this sort of text - not exactly common under the July Monarchy becomes desperately rare after the June Days. Archbishop Sibour of Paris (whose predecessor had died trying to intervene on the barricades) did visit working-class quarters on foot, and took a more understanding attitude than most. 30 He remained however an exception: much more typical was Monseigneur d' Astros ofToulouse, who referred to the June Days as 'atrocities committed by beings who do not merit the name of men·. 31 For at least forty years the social discourse of the French episcopate was set in reactionary cement. Episcopal reaction after the June Days was of course much facilitated by the fact that Catholic doctrine on social questions had long since sided with the existing social order. There were certain clear constants of that doctrine, regularly presented by the clergy of all levels throughout the century; it was only in the last decade that signs of a change became apparent. The basic doctrine was that social inequality ~as here to stay. and was indeed a good thing. To establish this, clerics oscillated between two arguments, one based on natural law and the other on God's providential design. Typical of the first argument was Monseigneur Peron's (Clermont) claim in 1854 that to aim to put an end to poverty is Utopian. The working classes form the mass of the population in all societies; they cannot fail to produce

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a very large number of those casualties of the social order who are call.cd the po?r. The destruction of private wealth would produce sooal well-bcmg for only a single day. 32 But this kind _of argument was mainly for public consumption by lukewarm CatholiCs; the real justification for social inequality, in clerical eyes, was that it was divinely ordained. Monseigneur Croizicr (Rodez) put the matter quite crudely in 1850, declaring that 'men arc equal before God. the law. and death; they arc unequal in almost everything else and God has so ordained it'. God's design was not, however, insc_ru.tablc: s.ocial incqu_ality .was established to enable the poor to exhtbt~ the vtrtuc of rcstgnatton, and the rich the virtue of charity. Monseigneur d'Astros (Toulouse), in 1849. explained that the law of inequality is part of the decrees of the divine wisdom, which desired to offer to the rich, in the suffering of the poor. the opportunity for more generous sacrifices; and to the poor. in the generosity of the rich, a powerful motive for gratitude and love, and thus to strengthen the union of human society by the double tie of generosity and need. The clergy was thus bitterly opposed to social ambition, to the desire to rise in the world. Who, asked the Bishop ofLimogcs in 1867, 'docs not aspire to quit his lot, to improve his social condition? And from that desire spring the great disasters of modern times.' The poor must be content with their lot. In any case, poverty was in one way or another a pun.ishment for sin. Bishops were not above claiming that poverty was o?e s own fault: most of the poor were probably lazy, spendthrift, and dtssolute. More generally (and more frequently in public discourse) poverty was presented as the consequence of the Fall of Man. Since expulsion from Eden, man was compelled to live by the sweat of his bro':': .work, said the Bishop ofBayeux in 1851, 'like death, is the wages of sm . The poor should console themselves with the thought of a blessed hereafter; a Rcdcmptorist, when blessing a crucifix installed in a Roubaix textile factory in 1885. told the workers that the sight of the cr?ss would encourage them to consider their sufferings as 'coins whercWJ th to purchase the crowns of Paradise·. 33 Why did the ninctenth-ccntury clergy hold so firmly to a social do:trine that strikes the twentieth-century reader as so hopelessly reactiOnary? It was partly a question of their own social background: very few of them came from the urban working class, or from families which had any connection with it. The limitations of their background had

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been wmpounded by years of training in seminaries which did their utmost to isolate future priests from the outside world. The only training in social issues that priests got came from the long tradition of the Church (particularly Bossuet) - a tradition which had formulated many of the above ideas in an agrarian and largely static society and which was thus ill-suited to a society undergoing rapid economic change (hence, for example, the clergy's difficulties in coming to terms with social mobility). All priests. furthermore, had been trained in the Tridentine tradition of contempt for the things of this world; theirs was a religion of other-worldly salvation which could not but consider that, sub specie aeternitatis. the woes of the world were not terribly important. It was an intellectual and spiritual strait-jacket which made it all the more difficult for the clergy to come to grips with the moral consequences of urbanization and industrialization. There were of course a certain number of priests who swam against the tide of conservative social doctrine. Lamennais himself had shown signs of concern in 1823, denouncing 'the modern organization of society [which] sees in the poor man only a working machine from which the maximum possible must be extracted in a given time' . 34 The first significant expression of a new social consciousness, however, came in 1848, from the abbe Maret and his friends. Maret declared, just after the February revolution, that 'we regard the progressive amelioration of the moral and material fate of the working class as the essential purpose of society' .35 Together with Frederic Ozanam (and initially Lacordaire) he founded a newspaper, L 'Ere nouvelle, which ran from 15 April 1848 to 1 April 1849. It could not of course approve of the insurrection of the June Days, but it did call for clemency and recognized that 'the majority were workers made desperate by the hardship that had overwhelmed them for four months'. After Lacordaire's departure on 1 September, it could attack the bourgeoisie in quite sharp terms. Overall, L'Ere nouvelle. without being revolutionary, adopted a stance sharply at odds with traditional clerical doctrine on social questions. At its height, inJune 1848, it had 6,000 subscribers (probably at least a third of them priests), and a wnsiderable number of street sales. As the social atmosphere swung towards reaction it lost subscribers, became financially unviable, and had to fold. With it disappeared the last major expression for a long time of any kind of social radicalism among Catholics- and especially the clergy. 36 It was not until the 1890s, in the aftermath of Rerum novarum (1891) that a radical clerical voice was heard again. This time it came from the abbiJJ dhnocrates, the moving spirits of what came to be known as Christian Democracy. The clergy involved in this movement

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were a mixed bunch, and it would be hard to identify a dear core of social doctrine. They did, however, all dearly believe that the Church had an i~por~ant role to play in relieving the unmerited suffering of the poor 10 thts world. They rejected the traditional other-worldliness of the clergy, and accepted the desire to improve one's lot as legitimate. Some were capable of seeing private property as limited bv social obligatio?, and of condemning the excesses of capitalism. They clearly constituted a sharp challenge to the traditional social doctrine of the clergy. They were, however, not terribly numerous. Around the leading figures of the abbes Lemire, Gayraud, Garnier, Dabrv, Birot, Nadaud, Six, and others were loosely associated an unqu;ntifiable number of sympathizers in the parish clergy. The ecclesiastical congresses of 1896 and 1900 - essentially Christian Democrat occasionsbrought together about 600-700 of them; not all of these were fully sympatheti~ to the movement, but conversely a larger number were pro?ab_ly dtsc~~raged by the w~t of ~etting _there ?r by the hostility of thetr btshops. · Perhaps one mtght nsk a wtld esttmate of 1,000 or so more or less active supporters of Christian Democracy in the parish clergy- out?~ a clerical body of over 40,000. (All of this says nothing about the reltgtous orders.) It was not much more than a small militant minority. I~ any cas~, the movement was effectively killed off by papal condemnation, particularly by the encyclical Graves de communi (18 January 1901). The condemnation was probably motivated by a dislike ?f the abbes democrates' stance on political democracy, and their not mf~eque?t insubordination to authority, rather than by a hostility to thetr postttons on social questions. But the damage was done. In some dioceses - particularly Arras in the north - the clergy continued to p~rsue its activities in ~he social field; in a number of seminaries young pnests became enthustasttc supporters of the Sillon and of its radical ~ocial doctrines (until that too was condemned by Rome in 1910). But tt seems clear that the abbes democrates, their followers. and their successors. while certainly constituting an important minority of the Fre~ch clergy, remained nevertheless a minority. Most priests, at least unttl the _war (and probably for a long time thereafter), stayed entrenched tn the traditional social teachings of the Church. Problems between the bourgeoisie and the Church

It is not surprising, given the dominant social doctrines of French catholicism in the nineteenth century, that Church and bourgeoisie found they had a considerable amount in common- all then1oreas..the shoc_ks.ofthe June Days, the Commune, th!'!.:.fiss_o£.politicalsocialism.

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and the strike movement caused men of property to forget their earlier scepticism and to turn to the Church as a bastion of social order. Nor is it difficult (as we have seen) to find plenty of concrete evidence of the alliance of autel and coffre-fort: the mining companies and the textile patrom of the north are clear examples. All of this has led historians to see catholicism in nineteenth-century France as being the natural ally of the bourgeoisie, the ideological apparatus of capitalism, the opium of the people. This was what most socialists felt at the time, and it has proved a very influential picture. There is, however, more than a little wrong with it. Not all the bourgeoisie went Catholic after 1848. Not all of Church doctrine or clerical attitudes were compatible with the interests of the bourgeoisie. In the first place, not all bourgeois were panicked by the mid-century crisis into renouncing their well-established scepticism or indifference in matters of religion. In less religious areas, like the Limousin and northern Perigord, or the dioceses of Montpellier and Valence, the rural bourgeoisie stuck to its traditions. Indeed - at least in the Perigord - the almost visceral anticlericalism of the rural bourgeoisie died out only with the class itself, as rural bourgeois in the second half of the century steadily sold up their land to enriched peasants, migrated to the towns, and put their money into government rentes or Russian bonds. In Brittany the bitter opposition between town and countryside ensured that the bourgeoisie of towns like Brest and Morlaix remained hostile. Even in a relatively fervent diocese such as Arras old traditions died hard: the cure of one bourg (where many proprietors were owners of biens nationaux) remarked in 1852 that the 'more distinguished element of my parish, maire, adjoint, jttge de paix, recevettr d'enregistrement, percepteur, employe, notaire, hm:r.rier, and greffier, plus a dozen rich Voltaireans, has been untouched by grace' . 38 No doubt some of these elements would evolve gradually towards catholicism in the course of the second half of the century (as did the Rouen bourgeoisie), but the social crisis of the Second Republic should certainly not be seen as having provoked everywhere a lemming-like rush of the bourgeoisie into the arms of the clergy. What happened in many places was not a general ideological apostasy of the bourgeoisie, but a split in its ranks. Some, as already described, did change their attitude to the Church, and their descendants probably became sincere Catholics. It is not easy to be precise about which elements of the bourgeoisie took this course; the ideological option does not appear to be clearly related to the internal structures of the bourgeois class. Magistrates were usually fairly conservative and more

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likely to be Catholic (some 4,000 would resign in 1880 rather than apply F~rry's decrees again~t the religious orders). The officer corps bec~me mcreasmgly Catholic under the Third Republic, as other professiOnal careers were closed to active Catholics and as Jesuit cram schools got their graduates into Saint Cyr and Polytechnique. Conversely, lawyers, doctors, journalists, and secondary and primary tea:her: seem to ~ave become the leading and articulate wing of the anttclencal republtc. The Paris medical facultv became in the 1860s a hotbed of atheism and political opposition: clemenceau -himself the son of a republican country doctor - trained there and imbibed the atmosphere of student radicalism and atheism, and doctors throughout the century seem to have been quite disproportionately anticlerical, perhap.s becaus~ they found the reliance on novenas an infringement on ~hetr P.rofesswnal competence: both doctors and priests were professiOnals 111 the man~gemen~ ?~human suffering. 39 In general, a large proportton of republican polittctans were lawyers, journalists, doctors, secondary-school teachers;'10 their best militants at a local level were notori_ously the in.rtituteurs. All of this would seem to suggest that the majonty of the professional bourgeoisie retained and indeed intensified its anticlericalism. Generalizations are, however, very difficult: there were plenty of Catholic doc~ors, lawyers, journalists, secondaryschool t~achers, even zn.rtttu:-eurs (tt took a long time for the generation formed 111 th~ strong ~atholic atmosphere of the training colleges of the Second Emptre to dtsappear). 41 It is possible that it was the poorer elements of the professional bourgeoisie that went anticlerical: smalltow~ doctors and notaries, pharmacists like Homais, minor legal offictals (hmmers, greffier.r), hotel-keepers, retailers, etc. - what mtght be called the petty bourgeoisie. Such people do often seem to have been the core of Masonic lodges, and the most vociferous denounc~rs of the clergy. But even this generalization is subject to many exceptwns. The industrial bourgeoisie was similarly divided. We have seen the classic cases of the mining companies using catholicism to ensure a submissive work-force, and o~ the Catholic patronat of the textile industry of t~e north. But 111 the dwce:e ofEvreux (with a large textile industry) cures under the Second Emptre commented on the destructive influence ofVoltairean factory owners. Even in the north the cure of Gouysous-Bellonne could still complain in 1869 that 'the industrialists -;those ':o~d is. la'; in our area have given up all religious practice'; many mdus~n~ltsts mststed on opening their factories on Sundays, and even t~e mmmg compantes do not appear to have turned to the Church in a btg way until the Third Republic. 42 In 1880, in irreligious Narbonne

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(in the Midi), employers were accused by the clergy of refusing to take on anyone who regularly attended massY In Paris, replies to an episcopal questionnaire of 1889 suggest an industri~l bourgeoisie that -:as far from favourable to catholicism; the cure ofMatsons-Alfort found 1t ·above all regrettable that the principal factory owners are not Catholic', and his colleague of Aubervilliers deplored the presence of 'a larg~ number ?f industrial establishments whose owners are completely unmterested tn morality and religion'. A number of other cure.r replied in a similar vein, 44 regretting in particular the nefarious consequences of Sunday labouf. Their replies make clear that the Parisian industrial bourgeoisie under the Third Republic was certainly not a pillar of the Church. All clements of the French bourgeoisie were thus divided in their attitude to the Catholic faith and in their relationships with the clergy. Options taken notably in the mid-century crisis but also in later years split the bourgeoisie into clerical and anticlerical elements. To a limited extent this split corresponded to different situations in the relations of production, but any economic determinism in the choice is hard to pin down. All generalizations about the religious behaviour of the bourgeoisie in the second half of the century need in fact to be treated with a great deal of care. The second reason for being suspicious of the traditional picture of a bourgeoisie increasingly in cahoots with the Church is that the doct~ine and attitudes of the clergy themselves were not always as compatible with bourgeois interests as they sometimes seem. There were ma?y aspects of capitalist social and economic relationships which Catholics found repulsive, and on occasion they did not hesitate to say so. Catholic social doctrine may have been deeply conservative, but (perhaps for that very reason) it did not fit in with the pursuit of profit for its own sake. When Pope Pius IX, in the Syllabus of Errors of 1864, denounced (article 58) the doctrine that 'any system of morality, any honesty should consist of accumulating and increasing one's wealth in any fashion', he struck a chord with many French Catholics. The Syllabus, with its final condemnation of the proposition (article 80) that 'the Roman Pontiff can and should reconcile himself to and compromise with progress, liberalism, and recent civilization' (those things precisely which the bourgeois valued highly), would bring down a storm of abuse on Pope Pius's head, as liberals had a field day in presentin~ Rome as the self-confessed enemy of freedom and progress. But there IS no doubt that the Syllabus was popular with ardent French Catholics at the time, particularly with the 'ultramontane' majority that read Louis Veuillot's L'Univers. The condemnation of the exclusive pursuit of profit and of the mindless materialism of industrial society was a major

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reason for that popularity - but it was scarcely likely to endear the Church to those who were pursuing profit and amassing material wealth. The other reason (harder for us to appreciate) was the condemnation of liberalism. Most French Catholics - apart from the small liberal minority grouped around Montalembert - associated liberalism with the Revolution, and that was enough to damn it irredeemably in their eyes. It was also very difficult for Catholics with an acute sense of man's fallen state, and an acceptance of the hierarchical structures of the Tridentine church, to sympathize with a doctrine which saw man as capable of indefinite progress by virtue of his own powers, and which in theory at least stood for the rights of the individual against authority. At all events, most of them followed Veuillot in condemning liberalism and all its works. 'The word "libertv" ',wrote Veuillot in 1855, 'comes to us from the slave nations; it has 1;0 meaning in a Christian society. ' 45 TJre Catholic idea of liberty was that man had been liberated from the cliains of sin by the death ofJesus on the cross, and was now free to save himself. These were attitudes which were scarcely likely to make ultramontane Catholics sympathetic to the bourgeoisie. Liberalism was of course far from being simply the self-justifying ideology of the bourgeoisie. But it was sufficiently associated with that class - particularly with its professional elements - for those who rejected liberalism to be predisposed to be hostile to the bourgeoisie. 46 It is thus not hard to find examples of Catholic attacks on the French bourgeoisie. The obvious place to look is to the 'social Catholics', and in particular to the Christian Democrats. It is not, however, necessary to look that far. The whole ultramontane wing of French catholicism. so dominant in the nineteenth centurv, was hostile not onlv to liberalism but often quite explicitly to the bo~lfgeoisie as a class. V~uillot, a selfeducated man from a poor background, who had suffered personally from bourgeois snobbery (particularly when he wanted to marry wealthy girls). was bitter in his condemnation of a sceptical bourgeoisie which he saw as leading the people astray. 47 Cure.r in the increasingly industrial diocese of Arras roundly condemned the 'passion for amassing money', and the treatment of the workers as 'production machines'; their bishops consistently denounced the abuses of capitalism.'18 In 1860 the eighteenth-century itinerant beggar Benoit Labre was beatified, in what Yves-Marie Hilaire calls 'an act of defiance towards bourgeois civilization'. The celebration of his beatification at Arras (his diocese of origin) constitutes at the same time one of the great moments of the ultramontane movement and a scandal for the bourgeoisie of the

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Second Empire .... In effect, Rome was establishing the cult of a man who never worked, in the century when people worked more than ever before; a wanderer, at a time when the attachment to small individual property was becoming generalized; a marginal who rejected established institutions, at a moment when the new society was increasingly suspicious of this kind of person and was organizing to get rid of them; a man covered with vermin, just when hygiene and cleanliness were finally beginning to reach the masses. 49 The most virulent anti-capitalist rhetoric probably came from the Assumptionist newspaper La Croix in the 1880s, which declared that uncontrolled capitalism was 'the great poisoner', that large-scale industry should be replaced by small workshops, that natural hierarchies should be restored, and that the enemy of France was the man of money, the bourgeois. 50 In the 1890s the Assumptionist rhetoric tended to limit itself to attacks on foreign finance capital, and to a rabid anti-Semitism, but the socially radical nature of much of their discourse should not be overlooked. There are thus good reasons for modifying any simple picture of an alliance between Church and bourgeoisie in nineteenth-century France. Undoubtedly, in the second half of the century, important elements of the French bourgeoisie turned towards catholicism, at first out of social fear and then with increasing sincerity: the mining companies and the textile employers of the north are classic examples. Undoubtedly also, many Catholics presented their religion as a bastion of social order, and Catholic social doctrine envisaged a stable hierarchical society which could not but please those who occupied its ~ upper levels. But not all bourgeois abandoned the scepticism of the July Monarchy: not only a large element of the professional bourgeoisie but also a significant number of industrialists remained hostile to the clergy and even to the Catholic faith. Furthermore, the dominant ultramontane wing of the Church steadfastly condemned the exclusive pursuit of profit and the liberalism to which many bourgeois were passionately attached - and not infrequently condemned the bourgeoisie itself. There thus was an alliance of autel and coffre-fort, but it was only a partial one, and the ideological bases on which it reslfd were far from being solid. l The Church and the working class

The relationships between the Church and the urban working class were similarly complex - though they became clearer as the century

213

wore on. For the first part of the century (and in many places for much longer), one is talking about a pre-industrial, artisan a! working class; the French industrial revolution was a slow and gradual phenomenon, and it left many areas of traditional production undisturbed until well into the twentieth century. The artisanal working class of French cities of the first half of the nineteenth century seems to have been very variable in its religious attitudes. The silk-workers of Lyons (working in a large industry dominated by merchant capitalists, but themselves skilled artisans) were strongly anticlerical under the July Monarchy; their hostility was particularly provoked by the practice of some religious houses of setting up workshops for orphans, ex-prostitutes, etc., which local workers regarded as unfair competition, and which they would physically attack in 1848. 51 In Paris, in contrast, many artisans seem to have retained in the 1840s a strong sense of] esus as a working man and the gospels as a plea for social justice. The gospeL said the worker-edited newspaper L 'Atelier in 1846, 'is the point of departure for the modern world; it is the code, the real and only one, of liberty, equality, fraternity, and unity' .52 It is true that vague Christianity often went with some quite vigorous anticlericalism, and that those who expressed it often didn't bother to go to church. Nevertheless, the strength of this vague Christian sentiment among Parisian artisans was one reason for the briefhoneymoon between church and working class that followed the revolution ofFebruary 1848; in some cases it even outlasted the Catholic reaction after the June Days. It probably did not outlast the Church's solid support of the Second Empire in the 1850s, but the importance of such sentiments among Parisian- and even Lyons- artisans in the 1840s should not be underestimated. As French industry gradually but steadily developed in the second half of the century, the relationship between the Church and the industrial proletariat became increasingly an issue. Gerard Cholvy and YvesMarie Hilaire have recently presented the case for modifying the traditional picture of industrial workers as being lost to the Church. 53 They point out that many industrial parishes had rates of religious practice higher than many rural ones, and argue that the anticlerical tradition in the French working class originated with artisans in pre-industrial times and remained strongest with them. There is much to be said for their case, which is argued with great skill and extensive documentation. But it clearly remains true that industrial workers, by and large, were less Catholic than the rest of the population, and that many industrial agglomerations were indeed the 'missionary areas' that concerned priests began to beat their breasts about towards the end of the century. It is also true that most industrial populations became less and less Catholic as the century went by.

)

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The best documented cases are those of the mining areas. Some mining communities could have quite high levels of practice: Cholvy and Hilaire point to Decazeville, where in 1868, 4 7 per cent of the male population (of age to do so) took Easter communion. But this was the ultra-Catholic diocese of Rodez, where figures for the population as a whole were very much higher: between 1872 and 1890, on average, 73 per cent of men in the diocese took Easter communion. as against 43 per cent at Decazeville and 30 per cent in the mining centre of Villefranche.54 At Carmaux, not far away, whereJaures had been involved in bitter industrial and political battles with the mine-owner (the Marquis de Solages). an enquiry of 1901-2 revealed very few men taking Easter communion (though a majority of women); both sexes had much lower rates of practice than the countryside. Carmaux. furthermore, had seen a sharp increase in civil ceremonies between 1853-62 and 1903-12: civil marriages were up from 5. 2 per cent to 21.5 per cent, civil burials from 5. 7 per cent to 21.5 per cent, and the percentage of the population not baptized from almost nil to a staggering 37. 3 per cent. 55 In the Valenciennes basin (department of the Nord), 20-5 per cent of the population of mining areas took communion during parish missions in the period 1850-75, as against 50-65 per cent in rural areas; by 1890-1914, the figure for mining areas had sunk to 10-20 per cent (20-30 per cent for rural areas). 56 In the diocese of Arras, an episcopal enquiry of 1890-95 revealed a mining population whose religious practice was (with occasional exceptions) much lower than that of the surrounding countryside. Where mining and rural populations lived in the same parish, the latter were always better represented at church: at Billy-Montigny, in 1879, 28 per cent of miners (both sexes) took Easter communion, as against 65 per cent of the non-mining population. Under the Second Empire and in the early 1870s miners in this diocese seem to have retained much of the catholicism of their rural origins, but the advent of the anticlerical republic ( 1876-7) appears to have stimulated their abandonment of religion, which became dramatic about 1890. The early twentieth century saw theft'bvelopment of civil ceremonies: the proportion of unbaptized children in mining parishes grew from almost nil (in most cases) in 1901 to 10-20 per cent ten years later; civil marriages reached 20 or even 40 per cent. There was no sign among miners of the improvement that became apparent in the population of the diocese as a whole just before the First World War. and which seems to have taken place in some other industrial communities. Miners did for a long time remain attached to certain aspects of 'popular religion': they usually accepted ·the last rites, they attended funerals, they observed (boisterously) the festival of their patron saint

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Sainte Barbe, they crossed themselves before going down into the mine, and so on; some of them attended parish missions, even if they went fishing on Sundays and wouldn't confess. But most of this was probably due to the dangerous nature of their work, and to the festive aspect of missions; it certainly did not betoken an acceptance of the model of catholicism that was presented to them. 57 Miners were something of a special case, in that the mining industry - by its very nature- tended to create large agglomerations ex nihi!o in a short space of time. But their religious attitudes were probably not wholly untypical of industrial workers in France. Glassworkers, in all parts of the country, were definitely worse (from a Catholic's point of view): Redemptorist missionaries in 1899 found the glassworkers of Anor (diocese of Arras) a 'sad population, sad, sad for the Nord, interested only in easy living, dancing, and onanism. Those in the glassworks work every day and form a race of scoundrels. ' 58 Glassworkers at Carmaux were similarly more irreligious than the miners. Conversely, textile-workers in the north seem to have been rather better Catholicsperhaps because of the high proportion of women in the work-force. Roubaix and Turcoing in particular were centres of a Catholic textile proletariat - which was part of the reason why the Association catholique des patrons du Nord was able for a long time to impose its paternalism. Industrial towns in general do not seem to have been fertile ground for catholicism. At Lille, under the Second Empire, something like 10 per cent of the working class took Easter communion. At Bordeaux, between 1888-9 and 1908, the newly created working-class parishes saw a decline in religious practice, in some cases a severe one. At Marseilles, after 1851, delays in baptisms in working-class families began to increase, accelerating after 1861 - at which point the rising graph for workers crossed the falling one for businessmen and industrialists. In the steel towns of Lorraine, which grew rapidly after 1875 and attracted a lot of migrant Italian labour, the proletariat showed (with the exception of the parish dominated by Wendel's paternalism) levels of religious practice which the clergy found extremely depressing. The Parisian industrial suburb of Belleville, finally, was easily the most dechristianized part of the capital, with the highest rate of civil burials: 13 per cent in 1866, 58. 3 per cent in 1888 - and these civil burials came very disproportionately from the proletarian majority of the population. The Paris Commune seems to have been a crucial turning-point in the detachment of the Belleville proletariat from catholicism perhaps because of the suspension of religious practice it involved, and the anticlericalism of the clubs, but more probably because of the

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uncomprehending and unforgiving stance subsequently taken by the Church towards the communards. 59 There were, as usual, certain exceptions. Saint Chamond, near Saint Etienne (i.e. in bad company), seems to have been 'an industrial town of Catholic obedience', where the influence of the Church remained strong. 60 Areas where employers were dominantly Protestant tended, not unsurprisingly, to maintain a working-class Catholic fervour: Nlmes, Mulhouse (and Alsace in general), and Mazamet (in the Tarn) are well-documented examples- though at least in the latter case there were other factors at work. 61 No doubt a lot of other exceptions could be found. But as a general rule the abbe Soulange-Bodin did not overly exaggerate when he wrote in 1895 that 'our [industrial] suburbs. peopled in principle by baptized Christians, have become real missionary country' .62 That is why Catholic attempts to mobilize the working class in confessional organizations were very largely a failure. The first attempt to do so on a national scale was the Oeuvre de.r cercle.r, established in 1871 by de Mun and de Ia Tour du Pin (more precisely, they took over and extended a Parisian oeuvre directed by Charles Maignen). The idea was to establish a network of clubs throughout France, .where the Catholic social elite and Catholic workers could meet together on Sundays for a combination of devotional exercises and respectable amusements. De Mun was extremely keen on the idea that the cla.r.re.r dirigeante.r should devote themselves to the people. As he said in 1875, Common sense and observation have taught me that some classes are superior to others, and that this inequality is indeed a necessary condition of the social order; but religion teaches me that the superiority of one class imposes on its members particular duties towards the others, that those who are highly placed are responsible for those below them: responsible for their so~J~ls, responsible for their minds, responsible for their bodies; and thal their superiority has only been given them for that purpose. 63 The Oeuvre de.r cercle.r thus had a very hierarchical structure, with no effective elections; it was paternalist to the core. It was also explicitly counter-revolutionary; de Mun never tired of denouncing the Revolution, and unquestioning adhesion to the Syllabus of Errors was a condition of membership of the central committee. What de Mun meant by the superior classes, furthermore, was clearly the nobility and its fellow-travellers: of the 27 members of the central committee in January 187 3, 14 hadparticule.r, and nobles were prominent throughout

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the organization. Given all this, the Oeuvre de.r cercle.r was in fact surprisingly successful at mobilizing members of the lower classes: in May 1875, it claimed 130 local committees (of the superior classes), 150 cercle.r, and about 18,000 members. of whom 15,000 were workers. This was probably its apogee; an anticlerical Government made further expansion more difficult- though in 1893 it was still claiming 15,000 worker members (in 320 cercle.r). 'Ouvrier', however, was in this context something of a euphemism: industrial workers were notable bv their absence. 'Worker' members were at best white-collar workers wh~ already moved in pious circles, often adolescents, who would have been horrified by the idea of factory labour. In any case, 15,000 was only a drop in the ocean of the French working class. De Mun 's formula was clearly not the way to mobilize the proletariat behind the banner of catholicism. 64 Christian Democracy, in the 1890s, was a much less structured movement than the Oeuvre de.r cercle.r, but on the face of it it had a better chance of appealing to the working class, inasmuch as it was certainly not an aristocratic movement, it largely accepted the republic, and it had some meaningful and concrete proposals for social reform. It was indeed more successful, though in the absence of formal membership it is hard to give a precise estimate of its support. The 1896 congress of Cercle.r chretien.r d'etude.r .rociale.r at Reims represented, according to its organizers, 20,704 adherents. There is some dispute as to what proportion of these might genuinely be termed 'workers'; many were certainly independent artisans or indeed employers of labour in a small way, but the Reims congresses of 1893-6 were very consciously 'workerist', and there was certainly a significant number of factory workers involved. The rather separate movement that centred on the congresses at Lyons in 1896-8 was certainly less proletarian; these were congresses of personalities rather than delegates and did not represent a clear working-class base. The abbe Garnier's Union nationale had in the late 1890s an estimated total membership of 12,500- but there was in this case a striking preponderance of small traders involved (hence the movement's anti-Semitism). The only aspect of Christian Democracy that could claim really to have mobilized genuine workers was thus that centred on the Reims congresses. Much of what was said and done by the Reims movement was very impressive, but with only 20,000 adherents at its height - of mixed social origin - it could scarcely claim to have mobilized anything but a tiny fraction of the proletariat. 65 The pre-war period in France did see the timid beginnings of a Catholic trade union movement. Until Rerttm novarum (1891) Catholic attempts had been almost wholly confined to .ryndicat.r mixte.r,

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i.e. with employers as well as workers, such as those favoured by the Association catholique des patrons du Nord; the patron was inevitably the dominant figure. At Leo XIII's insistence, however, Rerum 1701/arttm contained explicit provision for independent trade unions. For many social Catholics this was a nasty shock to the system, but gradually such independent syndicats of Catholic workers got established. It is not easy to give total membership figures, because there was no national organization, but Pierre Pierrard estimates that by 1913 the membership of Christian syndicats was between 25,000 and 30,000. Many of these, however, were scarcely 'workers': the most successful organization, with 8,000 members in 1914, was the Syndicat des employe.r du commerce et de l'indwtrie, composed of white-collar workers many of whom regarded the organization precisely as a way of not falling into the proletariat. Quite a lot of the rest of the 25,00030,000 were probably of this kind. Catholics were rather more successful at mobilizing female employees: in 1912, when only 60,000women in France were members of syndicats, 12,000 of them were in Catholic organizations (mostly syndicats mixtes). Apart from women and whitecollar workers, however, the Catholic union movement was a tiny splinter group; here as elsewhere Catholic attempts to mobilize the industrial working class met with very little response. 66 The experience of the Oeuvre des cercles, of Christian Democracy, and of Catholic syndicalism make it quite clear that industrial workers found catholicism very largely irrelevant, at least to their material needs. Figures on religious practice in industrial areas make it similarly clear that the Church was unable to cater for their spiritual needs either. There were certainly important exceptions to this, particularly in the Aubin-Decazevillg mining basin, where many industrial workers had recently arrived from an intensely Catholic hinterland. But the growing divorce between the Church and the industrial working class was nevertheless a clear fact of French life. We need to look carefully at the reasons for it. Reasons for the irreligion of the working class The French working class was certainly subject to a barrage of anticlerical propaganda from the enemies of the Church. Some of this was of an Enlightenment or - later- positivist nature. One might suppose that the intellectual critique of catholicism had little effect on a working class whose culture was of a different kind. But it was estimated (admittedly by a Catholic source) that between 1814 and 1825 1,598,000 copies of the works of Voltaire were sold; evidently the

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injunction ecrasez l'infame was reaching fairly low down the social ~cale. As for positivism, there is clear evidence of its influence in (for

example) the speeches of the printers' leader Keufer in the earlv twentieth century. Less directly, the intellectual critique must have filtered down to the working class, even if the vast majority of them had never read a word of Voltaire and had not even heard of Comte. French workers, furthermore, also had their own tradition of spontaneous anticlericalism, dating from the Revolution and the dechristianizing fervour of some elements of the sansculotterie observed in chapter 2. As one socialist militant remarked in 1903, 'all rationality gives way with the French worker at the sight of a cassock. But it isn't the socialist influence which has made him that way, it's Jacobin atavism. ' 67 The anticlerical propaganda of socialist militants, and of republican spokesmen in g~~eral, thus fell, in some cases at least, on soil prepared by a long trad1t1on. However, the working class's rejection of the clergy, and to a very large extent of the Catholic faith, was not simply a matter of their own traditions or of a propaganda barrage from outside. It was also, to an important degree, the consequence of positions adopted by the Church itself. In the first place, the Church's political options in the nineteenth century did a great deal to alienate workers. It has been explained in chapter 2 how, after the Revolution, it was extremely difficult for Catholics to ally themselves with any regime of a vaguely republican kind. The result was the alliance of throne and altar under the Bourbon Restoration ( 1814/15- 30), the alliance of 'sabre and altar' during the author~tarian first half of the Second Empire ( 1851-9), and the strong CatholJc support for the 'moral order' governments of 1871-6/7. The ordinary cure may have been more apolitical than is often supposed, but the public face of the Church was explicitly and virulently antirepublican (except for a very brief period in early 1848). By the time of the advent of the 'republican republic' in 1877 Catholics and republicans were firmly set on a collision path; there was no way the Church-S tate conflicts of the Third Republic could have been avoided. French workers, however (for complex reasons beyond the scope of this book), saw their interests as best served by a republican form of government, and that was probably one of the main reasons why they could not accept catholicism. Certainly it was a major reason why the Oeuvre des cercles did not appeal; the organization was far too explicitly monarchist to be acceptable in working-class circles. It is scarcely worth giving other examples, because they are legion: whenever Catholics tried to appeal to the working class, they stumbled against their own inability to accept the republican form of government.

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Lavigerie's Toast of Algiers in 1890 and Leo XIII's explicit call in 1892 for French Catholics to 'rally' to the republic had some effect, making possible the Christian Democrat movement and.later, the Sillon. But a large proportion of Catholics (the diocese of Arras may be an exception) found the Ralliement very hard to accept (all the more after the Dreyfus affair, Leo's death in 1903, and his replacement by the reactionary Pius X), and the French Church continued to hobble along with the ball and chain of its anti-republicanism. Until the First World War, this remained a crucial reason for the working class's general alienation from catholicism. If the alliance of the Church with politically reactionary forces did not help it where workers were concerned, nor did its alliance with certain elements of the industrial bourgeoisie. We have seen that this alliance was in some measure a figment of the imagination: many industrial employers were themselves anticlerical, or at best indifferent to catholicism. But what is equally clear is that most workers firmly believed that Church and bourgeoisie were hand in glove, and that there were enough striking examples of such an alliance to make the belief very plausible. At Carmaux, the ardent catholicism (and monarchist politics) of the Marquis de Solages was tied up with a clear attempt to use the Church for purposes of social control, and the anticlericalism of Carmaux workers seems to have been largely attributable to that fact. 68 The same was true of Montceau-les-Mines (where Leonce Chagot, after his conversion experience of 1872. tried to impose catholicism on his work-force). and of the mining basin of the Pas-de-Calais - and certainly of ma_ny other places. Peguy, with the cumulative force of his prose (which scrrcely comes out in translation), put it very well in 1910: . All the difficulties of the Church come ... from the fact that, in spite of a few so-called workers' oettvres ... the shop-floor is closed to it, and it to the shop-floor. ... All the weakness, perhaps one should say the growing weakness of the Church in the modern world comes not, as is often believed, from the fact that Science is held to have built up supposedly invincible systems against Religion ... but from the fact that what is left of Christian society . . . is today profoundly lacking in charity .... It is no use hiding from the fact that, though the Church is no longer the official religion of the State, it has not ceased to be the official religion of the State bourgeoisie. 69 One thing that workers found particularly repulsive was the clerical insistence on the doctrine and practice of charity - which usually meant

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alms-giving. There is no doubt that many priests. and Catholic laymen, were quite sincere in their appeal to charity and generous in the practice thereof. Standard Catholic doctrine was that the wealthy should give to the poor all that was superfluous to the maintenance of their station in life - and, in times of crisis, more than that. Such doctrine was regularly preached from the pulpit: any superfluous wealth, said the Bishop ofMontpellier in 1879, belongs to the needy; 'it is a property that you usurp from them and that you keep from them unjustly'. 70 It is also very probable - though this is harder to prove - that Catholic notables did indeed make considerable sacrifices for charitable purposes; certainly the office of the Archbishop of Paris calculated that in 1854 Catholic charities in the capital were assisting annually at least 47,470 families and 35,870 individuals. 71 But the difficulty was that charitable works were almost inevitably not only a way for the wealthy to gain the kingdom of God (which is what the clergy presented them as being). but also a mechanism of social control. The objects of charity had to behave themselves, or the supply of goodies would rapidly dry up. Furthermore, the practice of charity was based explicitly on the doctrine of immutable inequality: charity could not end inequality, but it would establish harmony between the social classes. It is thus not hard to see why workers felt humiliated by. and bitterly resented being on the receiving end of, charity. Catholics, however, often found this difficult to understand - a failure of comprehension very evident in an exchange in the Chamber of Deputies in 1849 between Hugo and Montalembert: the former referred in a speech to the need 'to substitute for charity which degrades, public aid which strengthens'. and Montalembert interrupted, crying 'No, no; charity does not degrade. It honours equally both those who give and those who receive. ' 72 French workers could never see that charity honoured them; sometimes they had to grin and bear it, but it was with a profound sense of humiliation and resentment. At a more general level, most of the French clergy was profoundly out of sympathy with the life experience of urban workers. The Church's traditional doctrine on work - that it was the punishment for Adam's fall - made it difficult for priests to relate to artisanal workers, for many of whom work sanctified and uplifted, rather than being a cross to bear. This was less of a problem where the industrial proletariat was concerned, but it may well have affected artisanal attitudes towards catholicism. The clergy moreover - most of whom came from rural backgrounds - showed in general a marked preference for agrarian society, and a deep suspicion of the urban environment. To Breton cures, Brest was 'the great harlot': to priests everywhere, Paris was the

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new Babylon. The abbe Lemire's lifelong campaign forjardin.r ouvriers (allotments) is another example; he clearly thought the best thing to do about industrial labour was to get people out of it as much as possible, into the open air. 73 The clerical preference for agrarian society came out sometimes in more bizarre ways: the light that burned before the Eucharist, for example, should be fuelled only by vegetable oil. 74 It certainly came out in the traditional language of the Church. Much of the imagery used by priests was the product of an agrarian society, and it probably meant very little to toilers in dark satanic mills. What use was it talking about the Lamb of God, to men who in all probability had never seen a lamb? Some of the problems that the Church had in contacting the working class had less to do with positions adopted by the clergy than with the situation in which it was placed by the institutional settlement it had made in 1801. In particular, it was very difficult to establish new parishes and more priests in rapidly expanding urban areas fast enough to keep up with the population. Article 62 of the Organic Articles stated that 'no new parish may be created in any part of French territory without the explicit authorization of the Government'. Even favourable governments were reluctant to create enough new urban parishes, because it involved accepting responsibility for upkeep of the church and the cttre' s salary. Hostile governments simply refused:A between 1877 and 1906 the population of Paris increased by nearRy 800,000, but only one new parish was established. The average population of a parish in the diocese of Paris grew from 5,430 in 1802 to 16,859 in 1877, and 25,829 in 1906 - and such averages concealed some colossal parishes: Notre-Dame de Clignancourt had in 1906 a population of 121,034. As an anonymous Parisian vicaire wrote in 1849, a parish of 12,000 inhabitants was already 'a monstrous agglomeration in which it is almost impossible to do any good, and disorder and negligence are inevitable'. 75 Certainly urban parishes rapidly got to a point where any sense of a human community was impossible. It was of course possible for the Church to establish at its own expense chapel!es de .recours within existing parishes, and to appoint as many vicaires as could be financed from its own resources (favourable governments might also establish a few vicmiats paid by the State). Thus in the diocese of Paris the average number of inhabitants per priest, from 1,680 in 1802, grew only to 3,334 in 1877 and 4,444 in 1906. But this was still a rate of growth that made it increasingly difficult for the clergy to have any meaningful contact with the Parisian working class. Most workers were not so much hostile to the Church as simply untouched by it. The Archbishop was

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acutely aware of the problem: in the working-class districts of Paris, he wrote in 1873, live baptized Christians, but who have become, at least a great number of them, strangers to religious habits because of the distance or inadequacy of the parish churches. One can safely say that they are a people without altars: they take no part in our holy mysteries, they no longer hear the Word of God, and after a few years the notion of Christian and moral verities is almost entirely effaced from their minds. 76 The Archbishop was absolutely right, though the point does need to be modified. Most importantly, the above figures exclude the personnel and the chapels of the religious orders. In 1861 there were 661 priests doing parish work in the diocese of Paris, but there were already 1,460 men and 5, 240 women in religious orders. 77 Not all of these, of course, were in contact with the people, but there were enough who were to put the above figures in a different light. It should also be noted that Paris, the tentacular city, was something of a special case: in the textile region of Lille-Roubaix-Tourcoing the establishment of new parishes kept up with or even outpaced the growth of population. But in most rapidly growing cities the problem was a real one, even if the religious waste lands of the Paris faubourgs were not usually repeated on the same scale. At Marseilles, the average parish size grew from 7,380 inhabitants in 1821 to 10,400 in 1861 and 11,500 in 1901; the average number of inhabitants per priest grew from 1, 740 to 2,4 50 to 3,500. 78 To an increasing extent throughout the century, workers in most French cities were simply not exposed to catholicism: parishes were too large, and priests too few, for them to have much contact with

it. At a more profound level, there may well have been certain aspects of industrial civilization that were intrinsically antipathetic to catholicism, at least to catholicism as it was then conceived. Industrial squalor and poverty, for example, often led to recourse to casual sexuality as an escape from miserable lives - all the more because industrial labour tended to throw men and women into physical proximity much more than did labour in the countryside. (Zola was very aware of this phenomenon and exploited it to sell his books.) As the Bishop of Saint Die put it (in Latin) in his Ad !imina report of 1857: The last thirty years have seen the constitution in our valleys of a very large number of workshops and factories which spin or weave cotton

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by mechanical means. It is hard to believe how great are the evils engendered by these centres of Mammon. Here the working together of men and women, often even nocturnally, the indecent conversations, the always easy opportunities for sin corrupt almost everybody and, what is most fatal of all, the young people and children, inflicting upon them the defilement of impiety, immorality, and every form of perversity. 79 A religion which was neurotically obsessed by its fear of the body could not fail to be shocked by the free and easy sexuality of the early industrial working class - and, conversely, workers could not fail to be alienated by a Church which condemned one of their few pleasures in such uncompromising tones. We shall see in chapter 8 that the Church's attitude to sex was one of the major forces for dechristianization in the population as a whole; this was particularly true of a working class who (some historians think) invented the sexual revolution. Another important way in which industrial life (at least in its early stages) was incompatible with catholicism (as it was then conceived) was that it involved an uprooting of populations. Catholicism was traditionally a religion based very much on the parish community, and its norms lere enforced as the norms of that community. First-generation urban workers were thrust into new communities in the process of creation, where the norms were not yet clearly fixed - and certainly not fixed by a Catholic Church that was often physically absent. This deracinement has frequently been pointed to as a cause of the inability of catholicism to govern the behaviour of the early industrial working class. Fernand Charpin found, in the case of Marseilles. that the areas where population had grown most rapidly - and thus presumably where community norms were weakest - were precisely those where dechristianization (as measured by delays in baptism) was greatest; he argued that the absence of firm community roots was perhaps the most important factor in the weakening hold of catholicism on the Marseilles working population. The ofteH-obscrved irreligion of glassworkers may similarly be attributable to the fact that they were professionally very mobile and often did not have a settled community existence. Conversely, the surprising catholicism of the industrial town of Saint Chamond may well be the result of an unusually successful process of integration of migrants, who were quickly welcomed into existing local communities of qttartier and parish. In most expanding cities, however, the weakening of community norms was probably an important basic reason for the weakness of catholicism. Moving to a city from a fervent parish community could indeed have dramatic effects. GabrielLe Bras, the father

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of the social history of religion in France, himself a Breton, was very struck by the speed with which Breton immigrants to Paris gave up the practice of catholicism; as soon as they crossed the footpath outside the Montparnasse station they moved into a different way of life, where the old community pressures to go to church ceased to operate. That footpath was to him a subject of profound reflection, for he saw in it 'one of the thresholds of modern non-practice and probably of unbelief .80 At the most fundamental level of aiL it may be wondered whether there is something about the nature of industrial labour which predisposes against any kind of supernatural belief. The essentially Marxist argument that constant contact with material reality means that metaphysical speculation is irrelevant to the worker has something to be said for it. Peasants were basically engaged in a process which they did not understand and over which they had little control: God sent the sun and rain, and there was nothing you could do about it except pray (or go and sec a sorcerer). Both artisans and industrial workers, however, were engaged in processes which they at least thought they understood, and where the end-product appeared to depend on human effort alone. This point was appreciated by more perceptive Catholics at the time, such as the justice of the peace in the diocese ofBesan\on who wrote in 1857: The agricultural areas are essentially moral and religious. The man who owes his fortune to the marvellous workings of machines, whose mind is constantly turned towards material things, more easily forgets his origin; the man of the fields cannot forget his creator; in his distress, when the weather is bad or his harvest threatened, he prays to Heaven for help .... The worker in a factory only sees the action of matter, the agricultural worker relates everything to the action of a divinity. 81 It is of course evident to us that man understands just as little about the fundamental forces at work in industry as in agriculture. But it is easy to see how the relatively simple machines of early industrialization, and the fairly straightforward p'rocesses of artisan labour, gave those who operated them the sense of not being dependent on exterior and supernatural forces. The peasant could not but believe in some kind of supernatural intervention in his life; the work processes of the urban worker did not encourage him to do so. 82 It would be grossly unfair to say that the clergy, and Catholics in general, did not care about the working class. Many of them cared very deeply, preached very movingly on the sufferings of the poor, or gave

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away significant fractions of their time and wealth in charitable activities. The female religious orders in particular were capable of heroic devotion to the cause of the poor: we have already seen (p. 126) the case of Soeur Rosalie, and there were innumerable others who have left no memorial. But all this devotion and sacrifice was largely vitiated where workers were concerned by certain profoundly enrooted characteristics of the Catholic Church of the day. Its political allegiances, fruit of the experience of the Revolution, were unacceptable to the great majority of the working class. The way it lent itself to purposes of social control in the hands of certain industrial magnates was a dangerous mistake. Its conservative social doctrines were unacceptable; in particular, the doctrine and practice of charity humiliated workers and bred intense resentment. More generally, the Church was rooted in traditions that were quite inappropriate to workers' life experience: the devaluation of human labour, the hostility to (or at best incomprehension of) urban society, the very language and imagery that priests used, prevented them from making meaningful contact with workers. Such contact was made all the more difficult by the institutional provisions of the 1801 settlement, making it difficult to create new parishes and clerical posts fast enough in expanding industrial areas. At a more profound level, there may well have been a certain incompatibility between early industrial society and catholicism in its Tridentine form: industrial labour appears to have encouraged sexual promiscuity, and it certainly uprooted men and women from stable parish communities and threw them into areas where social norms were not vet established. At the most profound level of all, God appeared simply to be absent from the urban work process itself. All this would have mattered less if the Church had ;ot been subject to a constant barrage of anticlerical and anticatholic propaganda from outside. The combined effects of enemy attack, of certain stances taken by the Church itself, of the institutional shackles of the Concordat, and perhaps of certain intrinsic aspects of early industrial life, meant that French workers - with significant exceptions - were disproportionately hostile or indifferent to the Catholic faith.

8 Dechristianization and rechristianization: from a God of fear to a God of love

We have seen in the last two chapters that religious behaviour in France in the nineteenth century varied crucially according to region, gender, age, and social class. It also varied considerably over time. There are. however, some serious misconceptions abroad about the evolution of French catholicism between the Revolution and the First World War. It has been customary to see this period as one of dechristianization, in which the hold of the Catholic faith on the hearts and minds of French men and women, and its ability to determine their behaviour, steadily declined, as France underwent a process of 'modernization' of which not only secularization but also the decline of religious belief were necessary aspects. This vision is, however, a product of that ignorant faith in modernity which caused so many Catholics to applaud Pius IX's condemnation of 'liberty, progress, and modern civilization'. In so far as France did undergo a process of modernization (and the gradualness of French economic development needs constantly to be borne in mind), it was not necessarily incompatible with catholicism. There were in fact a number of contradictory forces at work in France in the nineteenth century, resulting in an evolution of Catholic behaviour that was far from being linear. The old image of linear dechristianization needs most definitely to be consigned to the rubbish-heap of history. The evolution of religious practice

The century began with religious practice probably at a fairly low level. The Revolution had decisively destroyed the old automatism which meant that almost everybody went to church and took Easter communion. The second half of the eighteenth century had, it is true,

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already seen important signs of a weakening of the hold of the Catholic faith over French men and women, but it was the revolutionary decade which put an end to quasi-universal religious practice in France. It achieved this in many ways, but two were probably more crucial than others: the Revolution decimated the clergy, and it presided over the childhood of a generation which grew up outside the influence of th~ Church. We have seen in chapter 3 how many prie;;ts - quite apart from those that died - simply gave up in the face of the Revolution, and how the recruitment of new priests was stopped not only in the 1790s but also for a number of years thereafter as seminaries struggled to re-establish themselves. In the absence of an adequate clergy, a religion as dependent on clerical authority and clerically administered sacraments as was Tridentine catholicism was inevitably in trouble: as late as 1830, the prefect of the Nievre could write that 'in this department, as in many others, the peasants fall into brutishness for lack of priests to instruct them·. 1 Children who grew up in the 1790s were exposed to the corrosive anticlerical offensive of those years: it was, as a bourgeois ofRouen (and lifelong free-thinker) later recalled, 'difficult to bring back to religious ideas young minds of 15 or 16 years like ours, after they had been as it were saturated with the Voltairean philosophy so fashionable in those days' .2 The mass of the people may have been less directly affected by anticlerical ideology, but for more than a decade they grew up largely uncatechized, unaccustomed to Catholic rites, their lives not governed by the Church calendar in the way their parents' had been. The Bishop of Montpellier, after a pastoral visit in the department of the Tarn in 1807, found 'a very large number of children, some even quite old. who did not know the most essential truths of our holy religion, nor almost any prayer' 3 It was not merely a question of the children of the 1790s: since it took a long time for the clergy to re-establish itself, those of the early nineteenth century were similarly underexposed to the Catholic religion. Furthermore, there was a knock-on effect in subsequent generations, as parents ignorant themselves of the fundamentals of the Catholic faith were unable to pass them on to their own children: as one cure told the Bishop of Rennes in 1821, 'most parents brought up in the unhappy days of the Revolution know no prayers and consequently cannot teach them to their children· .4 It will not of course do to make the Revolution responsible for everything. Despite some recent attempts to present it as bringing about a complete reversal of the religious trend in France/ it is clear that the warning lights of dechristianization were flashing before 1789, and that the Revolution merely gave a decisive acceleration to an already

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existing trend. In some parts of France, not even that acceleration was visible: Renan, who was born in 1823, recalled that in the Brittany of his childhood it was as if the Revolution had simply never happened. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the Revolution played an absolutely crucial role in shattering the unanimity of French religious practice. Before 1789, even if the number of abstentions was growing, they remained a small minority at whom fingers were pointed. A decade later, the old assumption that everybody normally went to mass and took Easter communion was decisively broken. We don't actually know very much, in quantified terms, about levels of practice in the early years of the nineteenth century. For the period of the First Empire, Easter communion figures survive for only four dioceses: they range from two-fifths (Soissons), to two-thirds (Tours), to near universality (Moulins, Clermont-Ferrand). Cures' replies from Soissons and Clermont-Ferrand suggest that they thought matters were getting worse - though whether their judgement is to be trusted is another matter. Under the Restoration the picture is similarly unclear. One might have expected the alliance of throne and altar to have had favourable repercussions on religious practice, as social and even political pressures to fulfil religious obligations intensified. It seems, however, that the continuing effects of the Revolution, particularly the inadequacy of the Concordatory clergy, may have more than counterbalanced such pressures: Yves-Marie Hilaire thinks so for the diocese of Arras, and there are isolated signs elsewhere that France was not suddenly rechristianized under the restored Bourbons. The July Monarchy may be the proof a contrario that the religious behaviour of the mass of French men and women was only loosely related to what was going on in the rarefied spheres bf national politics. The reconstruction of the clergy, and of the physical presence of the Church in the French countryside, was beginning to have dramatic effects. The clergy themselves, their perceptions distorted by the strident and sometimes brutal anticlericalism of the 1830 revolution, seem to have been largely unaware of this. They often claimed, in fact, that the impact of 1830 was worse than that of 1789. Proudhon, interestingly enough, agreed with them, claiming that in France 'catholicism maintained its hold until well after the Revolution, and it was only about 1830 that it was seriously shaken where the masses were concerned' .6 No doubt the immediate aftermath of 1830, with its string of anticlerical manifestations, did sec a certain fall in church attendance, but the July Monarchy soon forsook the passions of its youth and more and more people went to church. Recent diocesan studies have made this clear - very clear in the dioceses of Bordeaux, Perigueux, and

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Le Mans, and probable in those ofMontpellier and Angers; only older studies (e.g. of the diocese of Chartres), which paid too much attention to the lamentations of the clergy, concluded that the July Monarchy was a period of religious decline. In religious practice (as in the growth of female congregations) it was in fact one of considerable success for French catholicism. After the confused period of the Second Republic, this success was continued under the Second Empire, particularly in the 1850s. The classic case is that of the diocese of Orleans, where the energetic Bishop Dupanloup, appointed in 1849 to one of the most irreligious dioceses in France, managed to boost Easter communion rates from 19A per cent in the early 1850s to 27.0 per cent in the late 1860s; Bordeaux, and other dioceses where figures are available, showed a similar if less striking improvement. The Franco-Prussian war, although initially accompanied by the religious enthusiasm that seems to be common in the early days of armed conflict, later gave rise to a tenacious myth that the cures were in league with the Prussians, sending them money and information, hoping thereby to bring back the monarchy and the tithe. This folk memory of the 1790s (needless to say, there was no basis whatever for it in 1870-1) was active in dioceses as diverse as those of Chartres, Angers, Le Mans, Lw,:on, Tours, Perigueux, and Belley, and quite probably elsewhere; in at least some of these cases, the cures thought it was responsible for lower rates of practice in the 1870s. Other dioceses were hit in the 1870s for different reasons: in that of Orleans, Dupanloup's role as minority leader at the Vatican Council, and the pent-up hostility of the clergy to his interfering management, led to a sharp decline in rates ofEaster communion; in that of Limoges, the impact of the Paris Commune, relayed by the migrant stonemasons for whom the Limousin was famous, led to a sudden fall in already low rates of practice. Elsewhere, however, it is my impression that the government of the strongly Catholic National Assembly (1871-6/7) ensured that the apogee of religious practice achieved under the Second Empire was more or less maintained. There isn't any doubt that the Third Republic, after the advent of real republicans to power in the late 1870s, was a time of declining religious practice in most parts of France. There were a few exceptions (the fervent diocese ofRennes, for example, showed a slight improvement from 94.0 per cent in 1883-4 to 95.1 per cent in 1899), but numerous examples in table 6. 5 (in chapter 6) show that the taking of Easter communion was usually in steady if not precipitate decline. This picture of French catholicism reeling under the blows of the republican anticlerical offensive does, however, need some modifying. Tak~g

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Easter communion under the Third Republic was a much more affirmative, even courageous, act than it had been in (say) the 1850s; Government employees who did so were unlikely to be promoted, and even ordinary people had to be prepared to carry the stigma of what was clearly perceived as an anti-Government act. Those who gave up the central practices of catholicism were thus those whose faith had never been strong; the faith of those who persisted had been tried in the fire, and they came to constitute a nucleus perhaps more fervent than before. The numbers taking frequent communion grew. As Hippolyte Taine wrote in 1891, 'faith is increasing in the restricted group and .declining in the large group'; Lecanuet inverted the contrast, remarking just before the war that 'Christianity has regained in intensity what it was losing in extent' . 7 Persecution was once again proving counterproductive; we have already seen that graphs of vocations to the priesthood peaked in many dioceses at the very end of the nineteenth century. The result may have been a dangerous ghettoization of French catholicism, as it retreated to the strongholds of its expanding system of primary education, boys' dubs, confratemities, newspapers, agricultural syndicates, and oeuvres of bewildering diversity. Catholics tended increasingly to cut themselves off from a wider republican society which they rejected as it rejected them. This counter-culture, this emigration de /'interieur, was probably in the long run a bad thing for everybody. The point here, however, is that it gave organizational expression to an increasingly fervent nucleus of French catholicism, as those who had merely conformed adapted to a new conformism, and those who remained (mostly women) clung more and more tenaciously to their faith. In purely quantified terms, the nadir of French religious practice under the Third Republic probably came in the early twentieth century, around the time of the Separation of Church and State (1905). Levels of religious practice under Emile Combes were not necessarily. however, the lowest since the Revolution. Where figures exist, it is instructive to compare those of the early twentieth century with those of the July Monarchy. In the dioceses ofPerigueux, Mende, and Versailles figures were higher at the later date; in Soissons and Albi incomplete figures suggest that there had been little change. There may, furthermore, have been something of a recovery between the Separation and the First World War. This was not always the case: in the Limousin, Separation seems to have been the coup de grace; one not untypical parish of the Creuse, between 1902 and 1911, saw Easter communions by men drop from 9 to 0 and those of women from 215 to 20. But more often there were signs of a reprise in the years immediately preceding

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1914, especially in weak areas like Paris and the surrounding dioceses (Chalons, Bourges), but also in Burgundy and the Midi (Montpellier). This was more noticeable in the case of men; religious practice figures for women continued to decline. For both sexes, however, there seems to have been a qualitative revival. Cholvy and Hilaire have devoted a chapter to the esquisse d'une renaissance in those years, pointing to the flourishing of Franciscan tertiaries, the upsurge of the Catholic press, the increase in Eucharistic devotion. the enormous popularity of Marian piety, the spectacular take-off of the cult of St Theresa of Lisieux, the increased role of laymen in the Church, the massive development of Catholic women's organizations, the well-known Catholic revival among educated youth (with the corresponding decline of 'scientism '), and the rapid extension of Catholic boys' clubs and their sporting networks. They may exaggerate; many of these phenomena can also be seen as part of the dangerous ghettoization to which I have already referred. Along with sketchy signs of a revival in practice, however, such developments may also be taken as signs of a religious revival. French catholicism, freed from the strait-jacket of its link with the State, and responding to persecution in the way that religions often do, may well have been beginning to recover from the nadir of 1905. It is thus clear that Catholic religious practice in France in.the nineteenth century by no means pursued a path of linear decline. The early decades, when the ravages of the Revolution continued to have an effect, may have seen some decline; as the Church re-established itself, however, rates of religious practice began to rise - perhaps already in the 1820s, and probably faster under the July Monarchy. The Second Empire, with its initial favours for the Church, continued this progression, and 1860 has been seen as perhaps the zenith of Catholic religious practice since the Revolution. There is not, however, much evidence of decline in most dioceses until the 1870s, and not really until the anticlerical offensive got under way after 1879. The Third Republic, then, did see a decline in the numbers (especially of men) attending mass and taking Easter communion - though probably also an increase in the fervour of the remaining faithful. The Separation of 1905 may have marked the nadir of Catholic fortunes; there are signs of a revival, both quantitative and qualitative, before the First World War. This complex evolution was governed by conflicting forces, some working against Catholic religious practice and faith, others - equally powerful but much less well known- working in their favour. The rest of this chapter will examine those forces, beginning with those that weakened catholicism in France.

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Anticatholic forces

Although I have argued vigorously that there was no necessary connection between 'dechristianization' and 'modernization', it would be foolish to deny that the slow process of economic and social modernization did pose some problems for French catholicism. We have seen that this was true in the cities, but the modernization of the countryside could also help to detach men and women from catholicism. The Narbonnais, for example, which in the second half of the century witnessed a viticultural revolution with its accompanying geographic and social mobility, also saw a considerable weakening of catholicism among the population, and there was clearly a link between the two developments. In many parts of rural France, a religion developed for a stable parish community had difficulty in coping with mobility. The case of the Limousin is particularly interesting, inasmuch as it was one of the most dechristianized areas of France, and the classic centre from which stonemasons migrated, at first temporarily and then more permanently, to Paris. As early as 1849 the Bishop ofLimoges thought that such migration was 'the affliction, the canker, we would go so far as to say the plague of our countryside'. 8 Historians have been a little more dubious: at least until1871, the religiously weakest areas of the diocese do not seem to have been those with the highest rates of migration. After 1871, the high involvement of Limousin stonemasons in the Commune does seem to have had repercussions on the religious practice of their parish of origin. Nevertheless, the connection in this test case between migration and dechristianization is not easy to pin down, and it is possible that the causes of the parlous religious state of the Limousin are largely to be found elsewhere. Conversely, however, it may be true that areas with a very rooted population, like the Rouergue, where the only movement was permanent departure, were peculiarly well adapted to the parish model: the Rouergue was certainly a heartland of French catholicism. One form of modernization which has been seen as particularly corrosive of catholicism is literacy. The clergy themselves often seemed to think so, as they fulminated against les mauvaises lectures. The flood of evil literature was seen as a result of an 'odious machination of the spirit of darkness to damn men's souls'. Episcopal denunciations tended to see little chance of countering it by the dissemination of pious literature, and often favoured outright suppression. The mission preachers of the Restoration organized sessions of book burning, and bishops' Easter letters later in the century regularly called for such purification by fire. 9 It is true that parish priests often regarded primary education

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A Social HZ:rtory of French Catholidsm 1789-1914

with a favourable eye, inasmuch as it facilitated the inculcation of the catechism. But the episcopate, and not a few of the cures, were clearly traumatized by the revolution in mass literacy that was taking place in the course of the nineteenth century (in 1832, 53 per cent of 20-yearold conscripts - and a much higher proportion of older men and of women - could not read or write; by 1906, only 6 per cent). Yet a glance at any national map of literacy will readily show that there is no correlation between low levels of literacy and high levels of Catholic fervour: the east (for example) is literate but fervent, the Limousin is illiterate but one of the most irreligious parts of France. The same absence of correlation can be shown at a diocesan level. 10 Despite the anguish of many priests, the differential literacy of the regions of France evidently had little to do with their differential response to catholicism. It is therefore highly likely that the increase in literacy over the century had at worst an ambivalent effect on Catholic belief and practice. The written word may have served to disseminate anticlerical and irreligious propaganda, but it was also the vehicle for a staggering quantity of pious literature - over a thousand titles a year under the late Restoration (c. 14 per cent of production), much the same at the turn of the century (c. 10 per cent of production). 11 Much of this literature was of a fairly dreadful kind, but the demand for it suggests that it was not without influence, especially on women. Even more importantly, literacy was usually acquired in schools, and until1882 all schools gave religious instruction, or at least made children learn the catechism off by heart. The ecole sans Dieu of the Third Republic must indeed have had a destructive impact on catholicism in France though the development of private Catholic primary schools in the last two decades of the century, and the continuation of a religious atmosphere in some state schools for many years after 1882, need to be borne in mind. But for most of the century literacy came to French children in a religious form; it was the change in the kind of indoctrination given in schools, not the expansion of literacy itself. that weakened the catholicism of the generation that grew up between Jules Ferry and the First World War. 'Modernization' may have hit the parish community harder in more subtle ways. Traditional village communities in France were very unanimist institutions; it did not occur to villagers that they might have a personal opinion about anything. Theirs was not so much a religion of personal faith, as what Christianne Marcilhacy used to call/a religion gregaire. In the course of the nineteenth century, however, this ancient village unanimity was steadily eroded by economic, social, and political change. In particular, the establishment of universal manhood suffrage

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in 1848, continued (albeit without responsible government) under the Second Empire, gradually accustomed.French men to the idea that they could make an individual choice which might not be that of their community. The Catholic religion. by a closely related process, similarly became a matter for personal adhesion, rather than simply something that the village did. Philippe Boutry has brilliantly analysed this process for the diocese of Belley. He describes how in the countryside, between about 1815 and 1880, the status of the Catholic faith changes. At the beginning of the Restoration, it constituted a mentality, deeply inscribed in the social life and traditions of the rural parish; by 1880 it had become a collection of religious opinions, i.e. of beliefs, ideas, and individual reasoned actions, and thus subject to private and public disagreement in a parish which was henceforward disunited. Or, as Renan put it in 1883, 'religion has become irrevocably a matter of personal taste'. 12 Renan is of course expressing an ideological principle as well as an observation, and Boutry may exaggerate the development from mentality to opinion. But it does seem true that one very essential part of' modernization' in rural France in the nineteenth century was the destruction of village unanimity, and the appearance of individual opinion. The result, where religion was concerned, was that there were fewer practising Catholics - though those that did practise had replaced the religion gregaire with what to Christianne Marcilhacy 's mind was the more fervent and more desirable religion individuelle. There were thus at least some ways in which the complex process of modernization posed problems for French catholicism. The incompatibility between modernity and Catholic faith often tacitly posited by anticlerical historians is, however. rather hard to find. The literacy revolution of the nineteenth century does not seem - the lamentations of bishops notwithstanding - to have been intrinsically hostile to the Catholic faith (even if the schools of the Third Republic often were). Nor was migration, except in some very specific circumstances (and of course at the end-point of migration, in the cities, as we saw in the last chapter). The decline of village unanimity may have weakened the role of the Catholic parish, but it also permitted the development of that fervent Catholic nucleus which was characteristic of the Third Republic. 'Modernization' thus certainly had an impact on French catholicism, in the countryside as well as in the towns, but to suppose that catholicism was thus necessarily weakened is to fall into crude anticlerical prejudice.

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Much more serious was the politically reactionary stance adopted by the clergy and leading Catholic spokesmen (particularly Veuillot) throughout the nineteenth century. We have seen how the Revolution made it impossible, or at least very difficult, for Catholics to look with fervour on any remotely republican regime; even at the end of the century, Leo XIII had great difficulty in imposing his Ralliement, and Christian Democrats and Sillonists remained a smallish minority. This resolute favour for authoritarian regimes, in a century that was pursuing a tortuous path towards political democracy, in the long run cost the Church dear. In the last chapter it was argued that this was particularly true of the urban working class, but it was also true of a large part of the general population. Already in 1829, Chateaubriand remarked that clerical support for the reactionary aspects of the Restoration was giving weapons to its enemies. 13 By being out of favour with the July Monarchy, the Church seems somewhat to have rehabilitated itself with the more democratic elements of the popblation. Its undifferentiated condemnation of the June Days, however, and its support for Napoleon III's coup d'etat of 1851, realigned the Church on the side of authoritarian Government. The effect of Catholic support for the Second Empire (which was vociferous until the Italian war of 1859) does, it is true, need to be looked at carefully. The Empire was undoubtedly popular in most of the French countryside, and in many areas support for the coup clearly did the Church good, at least in the short term: in the diocese ofLe Mans, for example, it led to a perceptible increase in rates of Easter communion. In the south-east, however, where there had been a massive rural insurrection against the destruction of the republic, clerical condemnation of it sowed the seeds of future rejection of the Church. Most parts of the diocese ofMontpellier saw the opening up of 'a deep chasm ... between the Church and the mass of the population' . 14 In the diocese of Valence the heavy-handed support offered by the Bishop Chatrousse to the repression of the insurrection was extremely unpopular, and, when in 1852 one cure lightly criticized from the pulpit those who had joined the 'forces of disorder', most men got up and left the church. The effect of the alliance of'cagle and altar' was usually not immediate: we have seen that the Second Empire was by and large a period of increasing religious pracl:ice. But seeds were sown, in the south-cast at least, which were to come to fruition under the republic. The serious consequences (in terms of religious practice). of the Church's struggle with the Third Republic can be strikingly measured by looking at those eastern dioceses which were lost to Germany in 1871. The lost provinces did not experience the laic laws of tbe 1880s,

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or Combes's much more serious offensive culminating in the Separation of 1905. Instead, they were the victims of Bismarck's Kultttrkampf against the Catholics, which seems to have been singularly less effective than that of Jules Ferry. Most crucially, the Catholic clergy became the champions of Lorraine particularism, thus rallying the faithful around their cures in opposition to German domination. The consequences are most spectacular in the case of the diocese ofNancy. Two arrondissements (Chateau-Salinis and Sarrebourg) went to Germany; the other three (Nancy, Luneville, and Toul) stayed in France. Table 8.1 shows the dramatic contrast in their religious fortunes. The differential effect of political developments may be distorted by the rapid industrialization of the area, but the consequences of the different form taken by the Church-State struggles in the two countries are flagrant. Catholics in the areas that remained French were associated with the unpopular causes of anti-republicanism and even antinationalism; those in areas that went to Germany benefited from popular oppositon to the Kttlturkampf and above all from their identification with the French cause against German domination. Politics were manifestly crucial. The deleterious effects <;>£ the Church· s largely unswerving support for the political right - in a period when the right was losing its appeal - are un<:Qntestable. They should not be exaggerated. Women were probably largely unaffected, and many men were equally indifferent to 'politics. Support for some authoritarian regimes, especially the Second Empire, may well have been popular. Other factors (examined below) may have been more important. But it is now clear that the French Church backed the wrong political horse, and suffered heavily for it. The republican enemies of the Church did not simply attack it on the grounds of its political alignment, but also in terms of more positive ideologies: to the old traditions of the Enlightenment were added first positivism, and then scientism. Science was supposed to be the key to

I

Table 8.1 Easter communion (per [ent) diocese of Nancy

~

Arrondi.rsement

1842

1906

Chateau-Salinis Sarrebourg Nancy Lunevillc Toul

72.2 81.6 69.7 61.1 47 3

88.1 95.6

1!1

the

1911-13

29 40 26

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the understanding of the universe, and even to enable men to grasp its essential meaning. Social science was believed to be able to provide the basis for an ethical system. This new faith was ardently preached under the Third Republic in Masonic lodges and circles of fibre pensee, in learned journals, and in educated republican society in general. It has been much studied, and I shall not dwell on it here. The question is, how great an effect did it have on the mass of the population? The direct effect must have been limited to the restricted circles of the welleducated; this was a bookish anticlericalism, quite different from the spontaneous anticlerical animus of sectors of the rural population. Jcan Faury has even concluded (for the diocese of Albi) that, apart from exceptional cases, 'disaffection from religion was not caused essentially by the diffusion of ideologies hostile to it'. 15 But, as Rene Remond pointed out a long time ago, the action of anticlerical and anticatholic ideologies certainly affected intellectuals more than the mass of the population, but these ideas were diffused, vulgarized, propagated at all levels by a whole series of institutions and means ... the school ... the press ... the bookshop, etc. . We are here at the root of contemporary atheism. 16

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He might now be more cautious about the last sentence, but the mechanism of vulgarization could indeed be very effective, most particularly in the schools of the republic. The diffusion of learned ideologies might even be more direct: one republican sympathizer in the diocese of Belley claimed in 1863, the year that Renan's Ltfe ofjesus was published, that almost illiterate peasants had clubbed together to buy the book. 'What will they get from, what could they even read in, Renan's book?' he asked. 'I don't know. But they will remember that Jesus is not God, and that the cure is deceiving them, or else deceiving himself.'17 One way or another, then, the influence of anticlerical ideologies reached beyond the restricted circles of the educated bourgeoisie, and constituted one of the important forces undermining attachment to catholicism in France. The social doctrines of the Church, and its general tendency to be on the side of the wealthy, w,ere probably also such a force. This is less obvious, however, in the case of rural France than in that of the,.,9rban minority. Land-owning peasants (a majority by the late nineteenth century) could often be mobilized for conservatism by the bogey of the partageux who would confiscate their land, and most peasants (especially in cereal-growing areas) were hostile to any social reforms

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that transferred resources to urban workers. It is however true that an alliance with local notables (particularly nobles), in an area where they were unpopular, could have ultimately disastrous results for the Church. In the Allier, a region of concentrated property and sharecropping, where a royalist episcopate lined up unashamedly with the great landowners, an increasingly radicalized rural population reacted by violently rejecting catholicism. In those areas where the alliance was successfuL moreover, the decline of notable influence under the Third Republic could have consequences for the catholicism of the rest of the population which the clergy was much given to deploring. Sometimes the old notables simply disappeared, and the property was broken up among enriched peasants. One Perigord cure, as early as the 1860s, when asked for a list of the notable families of his parish, replied that there were 'these days no families worth mentioning. The one which is superior to the rest is the Bracher family. whose father followed the plough in his youth.' 18 On other occasions the traditional notables were replaced by new ones that were less sympathetic to catholicism: one cure of the diocese of Bordeaux explained sadly in 1908 that most of the families which used to set the example of regular church attendance have, for several reasons, left the parish and have been replaced by religiously indifferent families or by blocards. Four of the most important properties which used to belong to religious families are now in the hands of a very militant anticlerical, a Protestant, a divorced woman, and a religiously indifferent man. 19 The Church's option for the wealthy - in so far as it did make such an option, and we have seen in the last chapter that it was not always clearcut- could thus have varying effects. Sometimes it worked, at least in the short term; sometimes it was a dismal failure. It was a factor working against Catholic faith and practice in the countryside, but not at all times nor in all places. Another important factor was the sweep in~. victory of ultramontanism in the French Church from the mid-century onwards. Here again, the issues are not clear-cut: we s~all see in the last part of this chapter that ultramontanism was closely associated with changes in French spirituality that may have been crucial in maintaining the appeal of catholicism for at least some elements of the population. It was also, however, associated with a complex of attitudes which are usually seen as having done the Church no good at all. Etymologically, 'ultramontanism' meant looking beyond the mountains (the Alps) for spiritual and even political leadership, i.e. to Rome. This involved, however,

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the adoption of some pretty unpopular causes. While Pius IX (184678) was on the papal throne, it meant not only the espousal of antirepublican and generally authoritarian politics (which may not have been all that unpopular), but also a blanket rejection of 'the modern world', summed up in the Syllabus of Errors of 1864 and encapsulated in its final formula rejecting 'liberty, progress, and modern civilization'. The Syllabus became a rallying symbol for French ultramontanes; it also became an albatross around their necks. Leading clergy in the diocese of Orleans attributed the fall in Easter wmmunion rates in 1865 to the impact of the Syllabus, or at least to the success of the campaign against it. Support for Rome also meant support for the temporal power, i.e. the rule of rhe central part of the Italian peninsula directly by the Roman clergy under the sovereignty of the Pope. This was an extremely unpopular cause with most Frenchmen. In 1859, when Napoleon III put his army at the disposal of Piedmontese imperialism in the peninsula (thinking thereby to 'do something for Italy'), support for the temporal power looked dangerously like opposition to the interests of French arms. After the unification ofltaly, outspoken French Catholic support for the Pope's claim to be restored to his temporal domains (especially, after 1870, to Rome) could be presented as wild adventurism threatening to drag an exhausted France into war with an otherwise friendly neighbour. The long and vigorous campaign waged by French Catholic spokesmen in favour of the temporal power thus merely damned them in the eyes of many Frenchmen, and was successfully used by their opponents as a propaganda weapon. Ultramontanism also tended to involve - particularly in the hands of a Louis Veuillot- a rampant anti-intellectualism which discredited the Church in many bourgeois eyes. Ultramontanes of the Veuillot school preferred piety to intelligence and faith to reason, and exhibited a credulous acceptance of the miraculous. As Veuillot said himself: It is possible to doubt that a miracle has taken place, but not to doubt that God has the power to work miracles, and my first reaction, the natural reaction, is a reaction of faith. A)terwards I look ' for evidence. 20 1 This attitude was shared in an even more uncritical form by 1lnany of the lower clergy. Veuillot defended his anti-intellectualism in a brilliant and caustic style which probably had its roots in his own personal resentment of the bourgeoisie and bourgeois cultural attitudes. Together with his authoritarian politics and his suspicion of scientific progress, it earned him the intense hostility of a small group of liberal

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Catholics who came to feel that Veuillot and L 'Univers were chiefly responsible for alienating thinking Frenchmen from the Catholic faith. Montalembert came to regard him as 'the most redoubtable enemy of religion that the nineteenth century has produced' .21 This sort of accusation has been generally repeated by liberal Catholic historians: Veuillot and the excesses of ultramontanism in general are held to carry an important share of the responsibility for dechristianization, frightening off by their authoritarian politics and anti-intellectualism a liberal bourgeoisie that might otherwise have returned to the fold. It is clear, however, that although a few bourgeois friends of the essentially bourgeois liberal Catholics may indeed have been alienated, these causes were much less off-putting where the mass of the people was concerned. Ultramontanism was thus a movement of many facets, some of which, but not all, may have worked to the detriment of catholicism in France. The cause of the temporal power was definitely unpopular. The rejection of 'the modern world' was pretty largely so, at least among those who had something of an education. The political authoritarianism and anti-intellectualism associated with ultramontanism, often seen as having a deleterious effect on French catholicism, probably only did so in a restricted circle of highly educated liberal bourgeois; the mass of the population thought that miracles were fine, and that the Second Empire was sent by God to keep up the price of pigs. There were, finally, important aspects of ultramontanism with which I shall deal later, which were clearly beneficial to French catholicism. An unattractive and inappropriate religion?

Most of the factors so far dealt with militating against Catholic practice and faith concern the Church's relations with society at large: the political, social, and cultural stances·that it adopted. It may well be, however, that it was the nature of the Catholic religion itself which determined, more than anything else, its success or failure. Whether catholicism appealed to French men and women may have depended above all on what it had to offer as a religion. It is crucial, therefore, to look at what kind of religion the Church of France was offering, and whether that religion was well adapted to the spiritual needs of people at the time. For there were certain aspects of nineteenth-century catholicism which . now appear to us to have been rather poorly adapted to those needs 1 particularly the continued rejection of the world, the emphasis on moral behaviour (especially in sexual matters), and the continuation in the earlier nineteenth century of the pastorale de Ia pettr.

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The rejection of the world that formed such a major part ofTridentinc catholicism continued in a largely undiluted form through most of the nineteenth century. We have seen in chapter 3 that seminaries continued to shelter young aspirants to the priesthood from the outside world, and that some priests at least tried to put into practice the oftenrepeated injunction to have nothing to do with le monde. It is even possible that the old contemptus mtmdi was intensified in the nineteenth century in the face of a world that seemed increasingly hostile; 'the world' became 'the modern world', or 'le siecle'. and many priests considered it to be an undifferentiated work of the devil. The religion that they presented was thus very much one of other-wordly salvation. Salvation was (in the words of a Restoration tract) 'my own affair ... my greatest and most important affair ... my unique affair', 22 and the missionaries led their audiences in singing (to the tune of Be ranger's celebrated song against the Jesuits):

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The only thing that counts Is our salvation. That is our aim, That is our unique affairY As Sister Elisabeth Germain very pertinently remarks, the worst of it is ... that the other world appears in many presentations as another world in time and space, consigned to the afterlife, completely alien and unknown in our world. and not at all what it is in reality: a surpassing of oneself and of one's own limitations, as of now and in this world. 24 With their eyes fixed on another world which had nothing to do with this one, the clergy presented terrestrial existence as a complete vale of tears. in which man was intended lo suffer. The greatest mark of love, said the cure d'Ars (plagiarizing an early nineteenth-century model), 'is to suffer for those one loves'. 2«Priests in general dwelt excessively on, the suffering of Christ's Passion, almost to the exclusion of the Resurrection. Their dolorist presentation of th~ Christian message fitted neatly with their rejection of the world and their doctrine that man was here to suffer for his sins. This kind of thing was of course nothing new: Richard Kieckhefer has recently demonstrated, for example, the unhealth~cination with the Passion that developed in the later Middle Ages. 26 What had changed, however, was that this was now a time when for most people

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the world was becoming, to a certain extent at least, a less threatening and undesirable place. The nineteenth century in fact saw (in the long term. and with exceptions) a longer life expectancy and an increased standard of living. The presentation of this world as a vale of tears and an object of repulsion was thus less and less appropriate. It might have been acceptable in an age when 'the world' meant at best subsistence farming and at worst the plague, but it was not a doctrine that was well adapted to the life experience of French men and women in the nineteenth century. The determination of the clergy to maintain it certainly reduced the popular appeal of the model of catholicism they were offer111g. One particularly damaging aspect of clerical contempt for the world was the way in which French catholicism in the nineteenth century dwelt on the moral aspects of the Christian message, almost reducing faith to a series of moral interdicts, often of a petty kind. Christians must ever struggle against their evil passions, was the message - to the degree, writes Claude Savart, that the Christian life 'appears less as a flowering of love than as a constant tension of the will' .27 It was a religion where conformity with a rigid moral code mattered more than the transforming experience of the love of God. Grace became the means to a virtuous life. a remedy against sin when our fallen nature is too strong for us, and the sacraments were presented as means of achieving moral rectitude. This peculiarly desiccated and inhuman form of religion was purveyed by the French Church in numerous forms. It dominated mission preaching, especially in the great missions of the Restoration: whereas the great internal missions of the seventeenth century had aimed to instruct. the masses. whose ignorance was so shocking to men like Saint Vincent de Paul, those of the first half of the nineteenth century 'insisted so heavily on the necessity for moral effort that such an effort ran th~ risk of seeming an essential condition for the Christian life' .28 It also infested the ordinary pulpit: the aim of many a cure's sermon was to moralize his flock, rather than to uplift their hearts. Dupanloup 's Entretiens sur Ia predication populaire (1866) stated bluntly that the aifi1 of preaching was 'to get people to desire and to practise good . . . to persuade them to the virtuous life, inspire in them a love of virtue and a terror of evil'. 29 Cures found little difficulty in riding roughshod over biblical texts like the parable of the Lord's vineyard or the prodigal son: a sermon on the latter could become one on the necessity for sincerity in the confessional (the returning son confessed sincerely that he had erred), and the treatment of the workers in the Lord's vineyard might contrive to ignore those who arrived at the eleventh hour, except

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to suggest that they were likely to be deprived of their wages. 30 But the

moralizing obsession of nineteenth-century French catholicism is most of all evident in diocesan catechisms, which tended 'to assimilate holiness to a moraL perfection of a legalistic kind' 31 The highly respected catechisme de Montpellier, dating from the early eighteenth century but widely used in the nineteenth, asked: 'In generaL what do God and the Church order us to do?' The response was concise: 'To avoid sin and to practise virtue. ' 32 Elisabeth Germain has analysed the increasing popularity of a particular tripartite model of catechism, dating from the seventeenth (or even late sixteenth) century but more and more widely diffused in the nineteenth, which divided its teaching~ into what we must believe, what we must do, and the means to achi~ve it. Catechisms such as this put all the emphasis on what ought to be believed and what ought to be done, to the detriment of any more spiritual dimension. There were 13 diocesan catechisms on this pattern in 1822, and 62 in 1900; the culmination was the national catechism of 193 7. Sister Germain concludes that, increasingly, morality takes precedence over everything, and religion becomes its servant. Faith and the sacraments are no longer understood as the basis and the source of moral life, but as duties to be carried out, as truths that we must believe, and as means to help us fulfil these moral obligations. 33 Catholicism in nineteenth-century France was thus marked by what seems to us an obsessive concern with morality. Understandably, a religion which made such a determined and detailed attempt to control people's thQughts and behaviour had difficulty in making itself popular. The clergy was more or less aware of this. One priest of the diocese of Bordeaux, faced wilth his total inability to prevent his parishioners from frequenting the cabaret, dancing, and roaming around the countryside at night with rpembers of the ppposite sex, reported in 1859 that 'it's not for us priests to lay down 1the law, they say. It seems that all we're good for is baptizing, burying, and saying the mass.' 34 There is no doubt that he was right: the liturgical aspects of catholicism, its sacralization of the key moments of existence and even of everyday life. were in popular demand; the attempt to impose on the mass of the people a rigorous code of thought and behaviour was not. It was of course especially unacceptable where sexual matters were concerned. This was a particular problem in the nineteenth century, for a number of reasons. The hiatus in clerical control consequent upon the Revolution seems to have enabled at least some French men and

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women to break free from old constraints. The clergy certainly thought so, and so did Napoleonic administrators. 35 Even if the Revolution was not the cause, the nineteenth century does appear to have been a time of intensifying eroticism. Edward Shorter's picture of a 'sexual revolution' may rely on questionable evidence, and his timing of it in the case of France is almost certainly wrong, but the long-term evolution towards a more eroticized society (of which we are now the dubious beneficiaries) was certainly under way. We have seen this in the case of dancing: it was the eroticization of the dance, rather than the increasing puritanism of the clergy, that made it such a problem for the Church. It was thus more and more difficult to impose a repressive sexual morality on the mass of the faithful. There were some spectacular - and indeed frightening- successes: when Louis Martin married in 1858, he proposed to his wife that they should live as brother and sister; she agreed, and it was only ten months later that their confessor got . them to change their minds - fortunately, at least for the communion of saints, since one of their daughters was Saint Theresa ofLisieux. But for one family that accepted the Church's teaching on sexual matters (Madame Martin was married at 26, and ultimately had nine children), there were thousands who were alienated by it. Contraception was only one aspect of the problem; the universal suspicion in which the clergy held sexual pleasure, even in marriage, was in frontal conflict with a society that was taking more and more interest in such pleasure, and indeed beginning to perceive it as a positive good. Men, it is true, were much more seriously affected than women: it has been suggested in chapter 6 that women's sex lives were often so unrewarding that they may have found the Church's teaching appropriate to their experience{ 1furthermore. the clergy rapidly gave up hassling them over the contraception issue. But for some women, and many men, sex was the sticking-point. At Bonnat, in the Limousin, during the mission of 1898, the Fathers spoke much, both in public and in private, on sins of the flesh; there were very few communions by men, and, when a new priest arrived in the parish in 1904, men came to him promising to leave him in peace if he did not talk of 'ces chases' .36 Here was definitely one of the major forces working against catholicism. It has already been pointed out in chapter 1 that almost the only way to get people to accept the rigorous moral code that Tridentine catholicism demanded was to make them petrified of the consequences of not doing so. This is probably why the clergy of the first half of the hineteenth century (and to a certain extent of the second half) purveyed 4religion of fear. Sin would result in condign punishment. The worst of such punishment would come after death, but God would not

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necessarily wait so long to scourge the unrighteous. Priests regularly threatened their parishioners with punishment in this world, and the episcopate encouraged them to do so. In 1849 the Bishop of Limoges instructed his clergy to use the epidemic of potato blight 'to show the faithful that Sunday labour, blasphemy, and the indifference of the majority of Christians must give us cause.:to fear that the blessings of Heaven will dry up at their source' .37 It was in fact common practice to explain natural calamities as punishment for sin. The classic expression of this mentality came in the aftermath of the Franco-Prussian war and the Commune: these were clearly a visitation of God's wrath upon a nation that had erred - particularly in contributing, by deed and omission, to the loss of the temporal power. Christians were thus exhorted not so much to love God as to fear him. The Vicar-General of Orleans, in 1854, explained to C1fres who were encouraging young adolescents to enter the priesthood lhat 'it is first of all necessary to inspire in young pupils of the sanctuary the fear of God and the horror of sin: that is the basis of everything in Christian life' .38 Clerics brought up with this amazing distortion of the Christian message did not fail to pass it on to the faithful. The most classic example was the mission preaching of the Restoration. Father Guyon, preaching at ?rianc,:on in 1818, was not untypical: Soon the hour of your death will sound; continue the web of your disorders; sink yourselves deeper in the stinking mire of your shameful passions; insult by the impiety of your heart Him who judges even the just. Soon you will fall under the pitiless blows of death, and the measure of your iniquities will be that of the fearful torments which will then be inflicted on you. 39 Mission sermons concentrated on les fin.r dernieres: death, judgement, hell, and salvation - above all, the dreadful consequences of sin. Missionaries even composed hymns about it; here is one from the · diocese of Valence in 1830: In Hell I endure unbelievable torments, I see on all sides the most terrible sights. I hear only moans and howls and cries, Horrible blasphemies, and gnashing of teeth, Because I concealed my sins in confession.'10 Cholvy and Hilaire have suggested that mission preaching may not have been typical, but what we know of the ordinary pulpit suggests

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that it too served as a vehicle for the pastorale de Ia peu.r. The cure d'Ars was capable of some quite spectacular heresies in this area: paraphrasing the early eighteenth-century Joly - and substituting Jesus Christ where Joly spoke of God - he exclaimed '0 hell of the Christians, how terrible you will be, since Jesus Christ seems to devote his full power, his anger, and his fury to cause these bad Christians to suffer. ' 41 Andre Soulas, born in 1808, preached in a not dissimilar vein. Hell was, he told those who heard his favourite sermon, a place of horror and despair, where the avenging thunderbolt of the Lord strikes, where millions of victims, the object of the most fearful of vengeances, discover how terrible a thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God. What is hell? It is a frightful prison where all is fire and flame, a stinking sewer from which rises an odour of sulphur and bitumen .... An ocean of fire engulfs the damned. The conclusion was significant, making no bones about the relationship between the preaching of hell-fire and the moralizing emphasis of the catholicism of the day; it was impossible, he argued, to have a religion without hell: 'Take away hell, and you will thunder in vain against sin. If there is no hell, where is the justice of God?' 42 There is in fact a lot of evidence that preaching at grass-roots level. in the early nineteenth century at least, aimed consciously to instil fear, and thereby moral behaviourY It is hard to imagine (at least with our late twentieth-century sensibility) that such a religion, appealing to the fear of punishment rather than to the love of God, can have been very attractive to the ordinary Catholic. It is true that there was always one simple way to avoid'damnation: to repent and confess one's sins. It was God's truth, said an early nineteenth-century text (lifted from the late eighteenth century) 'that however great the sins we have committed may be, they will be forgiven if we confess them sincerely to the minister of Jesus Christ' .44 Indeed, much of the point of the pastorale de Ia pettr was to get recalcitrant Christians into the confessional. But confession was as unpopular with the mass of the people as it had ever been. Men were of course (as we have seen) particularly hostile: they hated to bare their souls to another man, and they hated to see their wives controlled by another man through the confessional. The greater the antipathy of Frenchmen to the institution of auricular confession, the greater was the temptation to use the threat of damnation to overcome it. The result was a model of catholicism in which the dominant

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sentiment was not ll>Vc but fear. The Christian message was less that God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son, than that He hated the world and would punish men dreadfully for their sins in it. It is hard for us to believe that such a message was appealing. It may have been temporarily effective in getting men and women to subject themselves to clerical authority and even to internalize an asceticism originally developed for a religious elite. But, if for any reason that authority should falter, then not only the moral code that went with it but also the whole structure of faith was likely to fly out of the window. As Saint A\~onsus of Liguori said, 'fear doesn't last' ,45 Therein, in the early mneteenth century at least, lay another of the major weaknesses of French catholicism. I Forces favouring catholicism: post-Revolutionary reconstruction If the first half of the nineteenth centurv saw a notable increase in Catholic practice, despite the unappealing ~ode! of catholicism that was on offer, it was because other forces were at work in its favour. The most important of these was the steady reconstruction, after the ravages of the Revolution, of the physical presence of the Church. The churches themselves, after a decade or so of neglect, and in some cases the iconoclasm of the clechristianizers, were often in a parlous state. Sometimes churches were too small, as populations grew and many pre-revolutionary parishes were not re-established. Presbyteries were an even bigger probleJ;D., inasmuch as many of them had been sold as biens nationattx. The Church was thus faced with an immense task of reconstruction, which it tackled with vigour throughout the century. The diocese ofRennes saw 168 new parish churches built in the course of the centurv and that of Strasbourg perhaps 300; in 1852, there were more than ,2,00 churches under construction in France. The.cttre.r were usuall}' the prime movers, often contributing heavily out of their own pockets; the Stat,e, the departments, and the communes also helped in varying degrees. The major part of the finance for this church building boom, howevet, came from the faithful themselves. The result was something of a transformation of the religious architecture of the French countryside, still very visible today. We tend now to think that this transformation was not architecturally for the better. From the July Monarchy till nearly the end of the century, the taste was for nco-Gothic, of an increasingly stereotyped kind. Even partial reconstruction was clone in the Gothic style, with little regard for the original. Gothic was cheap: standard plans were available, and it was relatively easy to construct. It was also of course

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part of Romanticism, further encouraged by post-revolutionary clerical myth-making about the Catholic Middle Ages. The clerical preference for Gothic architecture may also, however, have had some less avowable causes. The simple form of an elongated Latin Cross with short transepts did not include the old lateral chapels in the nave where the cult of the saints had flourished, and where the faithful were likely to pursue their more or less heretical devotions away from clerical surveillance. Nco-Gothic was thus part of the clergy's campaign against those aspects of popular religion which they did not like and did not control. The same may be true of the nineteenth-century clerical passion for plaster and whitewash, often obliterating old decorative stonework and even medieval painting; Bernard Del pal sees this aesthetic vandalism as part of the process whereby 'local particularisms gradually gave way to a religious standardization'. '16 Nevertheless, most parishioners seem to have been enthusiastic about their new or reconstructed churches, and proud of the nco-Gothic spire that expressed their communal identity. At any rate, the fact of actually having churches in which to attend mass, where the roof did not leak over their heads or the tower threaten imminent collapse, was an important visible manifestation of the postrevolutionary reconstruction, which was very important in bringing French men and women back to religious practice. 47 Obviously, what was even more important than the church buildings was the clergy to operate them. We have seen in chapter 3 how the clergy was re-established in the decades following the Concordat. Initially it was numerically inadequate, aged, and of very variable professional value. As seminaries were re-established, however, and perhaps also as the financial rewards of a vocation to the priesthood became more secure, a new, young, numerous, and professionally competent clergy took over. Increasingly, they were seconded by the religious orders, whose staggering expansion has been documented in chapter 4, and whose role in education may have been as important in reviving the practice of catholicism as was the presence of the parish clergy itself. A model of catholicism that relied very heavily on clerical administration of the sacraments and on popular participation in clerically directed rites was understandably dependent on the presence of a numerous and rompetent clergy, Leave a parish twenty years without a priest, said the cure d'Ar.r, and the people will worship the beasts of the field. Many parishes were indeed without a resident cure for that period of time and longer. Perhaps the people did not worship the beasts, but they did fall back into what the clergy regarded as crass superstition, and what we are more inclined to call pagan-Christian syncretism. At any rate, they stopped going to church, often for the

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simple reason that there was no regular service to attend in their own parish, or because the parish priest was so old and disillusioned that he no longer exercised any control over his flock. The new clergy that graduated from the seminaries of the Restoration provided the services and the discipline that were crucial for religious practice. Their presence was the single most important factor behind the rising rates of church attendance in the first ~'llf - and indeed well into the second half- of the nineteenth century. 'In the early decades, the inadequacy of the parish clergy caused bishops to favour the intense short-term propaganda effort known as the 'mission'. A mission could last from one to six weeks, with intensive preaching every day by specially designated clergy, facilities for everyone to confess, a climactic general communion, and usually the processional erection of a mission cross (of which many may still be seen). There were missions under Napoleon, but their heyday was the Restoration. The most notorious were those given by the Jesuits and Missionnaires de France, whose preachers shamelessly brandished the threat of damnation and flagrantly associated catholicism with the Bourbon cause. 'Long live the faith, long live the King', sang the crowds at the missionaries' prompting; 'for ever in France, the Bourbons and the faith', There were also, however, many less aggressive missionary organizations, in particular the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, founded in 1816 and specializing in preaching to the poor of the Midi in the Proven<;allanguage. As many as forty-five dioceses may have had their own body of mission preachers, of varying activity. An estimated 1,200 to 1, 500 missions were preached under the Restoration, in all dioceses except Corsica and Cambrai. Some were monster affairs of six weeks' duration and spectacular closing ceremonies: at Faugeres (diocese of Renncs) the mission of 1821 was preached by twenty-eight ecclesiastics and there were 15,000 for the closing ceremony- twice the population of the town. Not surprisingly such high-profile missions, with their explicitly royalist content, got under the skin of the liberal bourgeoisie, and there were major disturbances - notably at Brest in 1819, where the missionaries' success with the indigenous Breton-speaking population stimulated the youth of the Francophone bourgeoisie to violent disruption. The revolution of 1830 saw the accession to power of precisely that liberal bourgeoisie that had so execrated the missions of the Restoration, and their like would not be seen again. But discreet mission preaching did continue in the more fervent areas, and from the mid-1830s onwards many dioceses established or re-established their group of 1m:r.rionnaire.r diocesain.r. As the religious orders revived, they

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increasingly took over this role from the secular clergy: Jesuits, Capuchins, Lazarists, Redemptorists, and many others (including the secular clergy) made the mission a recurrent high point of parish life. Increasingly, it served as a warm-up for the bishop's pastoral visit. Periodicity varied, but in the second half of the century a rural parish might expect a mission every ten years or so; important parishes were visited more often, and the inhabitants of smaller ones could and did attend missions ncar by. These were more modest affairs than those of the Restoration: normal duration was two or three weeks, and all political content was scrupulously avoided. But, although less well known, mission activity from the 1840s onward was much more widespread than under the Restoration, reaching into nearly every part of Ia France

profonde. How effective was it? Opinions differed at the time, and they still do. Of the 12 3 missions in the diocese of Perigueux under the Second Empire of which we have the cure's opinion, 29 were considered to have had a durable positive result (if only for a few), 38 to have had a positive result of which the duration was not specified, 45 to have had a positive but ephemeral result, and 11 to have been useless. Here as elsewhere, it depended to a considerable extent on the general religious fervour of the area: missions were perceived to be most successful in the most fervent areas. The director of the diocesan missionaries of Perigueux considered that his ministry was like working in the Gobelin tapestry factory: one worked from behind the cloth, without being able to see the results. Historians are still unsure, but the balance of opinion seems to be that parish missions made a significant contribution to stimulating religious practice: Easter communion rates, even if they fell back again after the initial impact of the mission, did not usually return to previous levels. The cumulative effect over the century must have been considerable. Missions shook people out of their ordinary parish routine, and in some cases provided the trigger for a permanent return to the fold. They were an important example of the way in which the existence of a numerically and professionally adequate clergy helped to bring French men and women back to the practice of catholicism. 48 Forces favouring catholicism: from a God of fear to a God of love

The effectiveness of a revived clergy, whether in mission preaching, in the parish pulpit, or (perhaps above all) in daily life, did not however depend simply on its physical presence. I have already argued that the appeal of catholicism may have depended above all on what it had to

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offer as a religion. We have seen that the model of catholicism that Franc~ inherited from the ancien regime was dominated by a (to us) exccss1vc concern with morality, a blanket rejection of 'the world', and a dangerous reliance on the weapon of fear to keep the faithful on the straight and naJrow path. This model was a very durable one, and elements of it were still powerful in the early twentieth ccnturv. A judicial and vengeful God continued to be presented by many pri~sts, especially to young women in pensionnats, who, in the vears before the First World War, still lived 'in terror of a severe and te~rible God who could damn them for all eternity' ."19 What is crucial about the history of catholicism in France in the nineteenth century, however, is that this fear-laden religion was gradually replaced by one of the reciprocal love between God and man. Faith became concerned with the transformation of human existence hie et nunc, rather than with salvation reserved for another world in reward for adherence to a repressive morality in this one. This evolution was slow, incomplete, and certainly not linear. From the perspective of the late twentieth century, however, we can sec that here was the real 'Copernican revolution· in nineteenthcentury French catholicism. The old religion of other-worldly salvation based on fear was in the process of becoming one of the transforming experience of love between God and man. It would of course be unfair to present catholicism in eighteenthcentury France as totally dominated by the pastorale de Ia peur; there were always exceptions, and quite important ones. It is therefore not surprising to find, even under the Restoration, signs of a new vision. While missionary pulpits thundered with hell-fire and damnation, the hymn-books of the period - though still evoking judgement, punishment, and rejection of the world - did also sing the love of God. 50 Most significantly, Lamcnnais's close collaborator, the Abbe Gcrbct, published in 1829 his Considerations sur le dogme generateur de Ia piete catholique. This was explicitly a work of Eucharistic devotion, but it was also a more general plea for a quite different view of the Catholic faith from that of the eighteenth century. In the flowery style of the period, it emphasized that faith was to do with hope and love rather than with fear. Hope, cross in hand, walks before us on the path of life. A celestial interpreter, she explains to us those mysterio~s ciphers of forgiveness that religion presents to us at every step, and sombre justice itself is only visible to us under the veil of God's mercy. The spiritual world, shining with the emblems of eternal union, is but the radiance of Christ living among men to satisfy their hunger for truth and Iove. 51

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· There is nothing in the whole book about hell; the word is only mentioned two or three times, in passing. Gerbct (who would abandon Lamennais after the latter's disgrace, and finished up Bishop of Perpignan) was thus an important herald of a new religious sensibility, at · the end of the Restoration. As the century advanced, other well-known figures took a similar path. Lacordairc, in his famous sermons in the cathedral of NotreDame (1835-6, and again in 1848-51) may have owed his success less to his political liberalism and his desire to reconcile the Church and the modern world, than to his emphasis on the love of God. He did preach an austere morality of renunciation, but he presented the sacrifices involved in light of their attractive power and the union with God that they made possible. Emmanuel d' Alzon, founder of the Assumptionist Order, was more explicit. To a young man of 18, he wrote in 1852 that 'certainly the thought of salvation and eternity can provoke salutary reflection, but alongside God's justice I think ontllshould always speak of his goodness'; 'a single sentiment of love', he wrote in another letter, 'is worth more than 10,000 sentiments offear'. 52 Dupanloup"s notes for a retreat in 1867 record that 'everything comes down to the love of God in Ou.r Lord, and to the love of our souls for God'. 53 The blind prelate Monseigneur de Segur (son of the author of children's stories) attacked the idea of a joyless faith: 'Sadness is always bad,' he wrote in 1872 to a young girl; 'even the sadness of contrition is worth nothing, if it is not sweetened and wholly transformed by the confidence of lovc.' 54 Like most of those mentioned, de Segur's religion remained one of renunciation, of rejection of the world and particularly of the flesh; one could not, however, live on renunciation, and a more life-giving faith was indispensable. The decline of hell and damnation

This new religious sensibility was evident in both negative and positive ways. Negatively, it can be observed in the rapid abandonment of the small number of the elect, and in the much slower decline of doctrines of the eternity of punishment and the materiality of hell-fire. The small number of the elect went fairly rapidly out the window. Under the Restoration, the idea that most Catholics would be damned appears to have been decisively abandoned. For children who died without baptism the doctrine of limbo was developed, and for those who could not know of the Revelation that of the 'baptism of desire'. By 1851 Lacordaire could safely preach that' the small number of the elect is not a dogma of faith. . . The Christ has redeemed all, blessed all, conquered all,

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and his generous hands hold the whole world in his embrace)' By mid-century; the only people who were likely to be damned were~ those who wilfully rejected the Catholic faith and obdurately persisted in their wickedness. Clerical affection for the threat of hell-fire was rather slower to decline - particularly where it might serve to keep young women from thinking pleasurably about sex. But the second half of the century saw theologians and parish priests experimenting with ideas about the metaphorical nature of hell-fire (though none the less to be feared for that), the possible mitigation of the sufferings of the damned, and even of their limited duration. More importantly, the classical evocation of hell-fire simply disappeared from the pulpit. Hell, furthermore, was progressively replaced in the clerical armoury by purgatory, which - although still very painful - was of limited duration. (One theologian calculated in 1888 that an average of ten sins a day. of which half might be expiated by penitence and good works, would - at a low estimate of the tariff - give you 3 years, 3 months and 17 days of purgatory for 20 years of life.) Even purgatory declined in the second half of the century. at least if we are to judge by the decline in altars established for the souls in purgatory. The whole idea that suffering in the after-life would be physical was on the way out; deprivation of the sight of a loving God would be punishment terrible enough. Damnation and hell-fire thus ceased to be coping-stones of Catholic theology. Death was no longer to be feared. 'Death!' exclaimed a Perigord cure in his sermon on the subject in 1909, 'it is the moment of reward for the faithful soul. Death! it means Heaven and all its joys, Heaven with the saints and the angels. Death! it is God himself, God blessing us and making himself into our happiness. ' 56 The nineteenth-century evolution in the direction of a religion of God's love can thus be measured negatively, in the decline of doctrines of the small number of the elect and of hell-fire and damnation. Positively it had many aspects, of which I shall single out: the mushroom growth of Marian piety; the spread of Eucharistic devotion; and a new attitude to confession and the sacrament of penance. most evident in the dissemination in France of the moral theology of Saint Alphonsus of Liguori. Marian devotion

Marian devotion is of course a very old element of the Catholic faith, and it has had many high points. The eighteenth century was not one of them; the austere piety of that time did not find in Mary a figure

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easy to relate to. The nineteenth century was quite different: it saw a steady upsurge of devotion to the Virgin. We have already seen this in chapter 5, with her multiple apparitions and the popular enthusiasm for them. There were many other expanding forms of Mariolatry, The practice of celebrating May as the month of Mary spread from the late 1830s onwards, with special altars decorated each day with flowers, and special Marian offices. The Bishop of Arras prescribed the mois de Marie in 1836, and by 1858. 85 per cent of the parishes of the diocese were celebrating it; other dioceses followed a similar path. New religious orders dedicated themselves to the mother of God in preference to any other patron: 38 peJ; cent of female congregations founded in the nineteenth century bore a Marian name. The production of Marian devotional literature was an important growth industry: Claude Savart has located 6,348 publications (including a massive number of new editions) between1815 and 1908, with a high point in the years following the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception in 1854. Marian confraternities, particularly that of the Rosary, were established in most parishes. Statues of the Virgin were legion, and the practice of great ceremonial 'crownings' spread: 40 between 1878 and 1903, 22 between 1903 and 1914. Louis Veuillot claimed. not without reason, that 'the epoch following the century of Voltaire will be able to call itself the century of Mary'. 57 We have noted in chapter 5 that. as the clergy began to exploit and to channel popular Marian fervour, the nature of the devotion changed. Traditional Mariolatry had consisted of the veneration of a multiplicity of local Virgins, largely for their thaumaturgical powers. The immaculate Mary whose cult was encouraged by the clergy was a universalist saint, not rooted in a particular spot and the traditions of one community. (The difference is very evident in the contrast between the interchangeable Virgins ofSaint-Sulpice art, and the battered and even sinister statues of the madones du terroir.) The functions of the universalist Mary were quite different from those of the local madonnas: she did retain their thaumaturgical powers (witness Lourdes), but she also became the personification of God's love for man. Catholics who could not immediately shake off their eighteenth-century vision of a God who inspired fear clearly found in Mary a sympathetic and loving figure, and that is the chief reason for her immense popularity in the nineteenth century. Her changing function is apparent in her apparitions: those in the first half of the century were essentially threatening (Redon-Espic, La Salette, etc.); Lourdes, where the traditional menace of material punishment was largely absent, was a turning-point. Mary became the key intercessor between sinful men and a stern and angry

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God - or even a stern and angry Jesus. One ex-student of the Jesuit college at Saint-Acheul wrote in 1820 to a former teacher that the school had taught him to have confidence in Mary; 'sometimes I don't. dare pray to God; one fears one's father, when one knows that he has good reason to be angry; but my Mother, I'm never afraid to have recourse to her. ' 58 Or, as one author wrote in 1861, 'Mary ... takes you in her arms and covers you with her merits to appease the anger of her divine son'. 59 Marian devotion was thus crucially important in the move towards a God of love: while old traditions of a God of fear remained too strong to be jettisoned immediately, many Catholics found in the blessed Virgin the expression of a loving side to the deity that they were increasingly seeking. Eucharistic devotion

The second important aspect of a new religious sensibility in nineteenth-century France that I have singled out is the spread of devotion to the Eucharist. This took two rather different forms: the worship of the real presence in the host through various forms of adoration, and the increasing desire for frequent communion. The former was not entirely part of a new religious sensibility, being in many ways the continuation of an old one. The worship of the host in Corpus Christi processions had remained popular even at the height of the Revolution, and continued so thrC?ughout the nineteenth century. Anticlerical municipalities of the Third Republic were so bothered by popular enthusiasm for the Fete-Diett that they often banned the public procession, on the wholly spurious grounds that it was a threat to public order. Other old traditions continued with equal fervour, particularly the monthly exposure and benediction of the holy sacrament; it is more than possible that these latter practices were popular in the countryside for superstitious reasons, pcasan.ts considering them as another means of manipulating the matcriahvorld. The nineteenth century did, however, sec the spread of more refined forms of devotion to the real presence. The visit to the holy sacrament was increasingly popular: Saint Alphonsus of Liguori's Vt:rits to the Holy Sacrament and the Blessed Virgin for Every Day (1745) was republished 109 times between 1815 and 1908, and at Bourgcs (as no doubt elsewhere) scminarists were required by the rules of 1829 to make a daily visit, with half an hour of adoration. Various new forms of adoration of the host were introduced from Rome. The practice of the adoration nocturne was established in 1839 for women and in 1848 for men; by 1880 it existed in some fifty dioceses. That of the adoration petpetuelle (whereby each parish in a

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diocese took turns) existed in two dioceses when it was recommended bv Pius IX in 1851; by 1875 it was established in 59 dioceses, and by 1S96 in 75 ~60 Other devotions, like the Forty Hours, were similarly imported from Rome. Most catered for an acute sense of the real presence, in a tradition that had been strong before the Revolution. . French catholicism of the eighteenth century, however, while capablewof adoration of the host, had been very hostile to frequent communion. Respect for the Eucharist had been transformed into a kind of phobia. Nineteenth-century adepts of frequent com~union would ascribe this phobia toJanscnism, which had indeed cons1dcrcd that the level of grace required for taking communion was very rarely achieved. The whole eighteenth-century Church, however, and not just thcJanscnists, had adopted a rigorist attitude to the sacrament, regarding it as a reward for supreme efforts of virtue, rather than as an ever-present help in time of trouble and a means whereby the soul might enter into communion with a loving God. Thus the vast mass of the population took communion only at Easter - and quite a number not even then, being refused the necessary absolution by a rigorist clergy (or being so unaccustomed to communion that they could not bring themselves to take it): a cure of the diocese ofCMlons could claim in 1741 that all his flock save one had confessed at Easter but that two-thirds had not taken Easter communion. Confession and communion were used as weapons of moral discipline, and frequent communion was reserved for a spiritual elite; even in religious houses, daily communion was unknown. The hostility to frequent communion remained a very powerful tradition well into the nineteenth century. An 1861 tract on the adoration of the blessed sacrament could still maintain that to take communion 'it is not enough ... to be purified of the most serious sins by the sacrament of penance, it is also necessary ... to destroy all human affections, terrestrial sentiments, the desire for pleasure' 61 The nineteenth century did, however, sec, from its very beginning, a steady evolution towards a wholly different attitude to the Eucharist. Sophie Barat, who founded the Society of the Sacred Heart in 1800 (at the age of 21), recalled that her aim had been to establish a little community which, night and day, would worship the Heart of Jesus revealed in his Eucharistic love ... to dedicate ourselves to the education of youth, to re-establish in men's souls the solid foundations of a lively faith in the Blessed Sacrament. 62 Religious orders were particularly keen on frequent communion, and the Jesuits and Oblates of Mary Immaculate played a pioneer role from

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the 1820s onwards. Gerber's Comideratiom sur le dogme generateur de Ia piete catholique {1829) had as its fundamental purpose to establish the dogma of the Eucharist (i.e. the dogme generateur in question) as 'the heart of Christianity'; he strongly favoured frequent communion. In 1833 the Easter letter of the Bishop ofLe Mans, attacking the aversion to taking communion, expressed very clearly the new attitude: It is precisely because you are impetfect that you should have recourse to the sources of perfection: the more you feel yourself imperfect, the more eager you should be to approach him who, having wme to call not the just but sinners to repentance, said with such a touching desire: come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you restY Leading clerics became propagandists of frequent communion: Emmanuel d'Alzon, Dupanloup (his re-publication in 1855 of Fenelon's Letter on Frequent Communion rapidly sold 100,000 copies), and the blind prelate Monseigneur de Segur. The greatest champion of Eucharistic devotion and frequent communion, however, the real fou de /'eucharistie, was Pierre-Julien Eymard {1811-68), canonized in 1962. To those who recommended prudence in approaching the sacrament, he replied that 'this nourishment taken at such intervals is only an extra-ordinary dish, and where then is the ordinary everyday nourishment which I need to sustain me?' 64 More than others, he was abie to break away from the purely devotional -and often expiatory- aspects of Eucharistic piety, and (like Gerbet) to make the Eucharist the centre of all Christian life. His influence was perpetuated through the religious orders (for men and women) that he established, as well as a tertiary order and an organization for parish priests. He was both the expression and a further cause of the intensification of Eucharistic devotion in France in the nineteenth century. Under the Third Republic, Eucharistic devotion and the movement for frequent communion gathered pace. Figures on actual practice are few and far between, but it does seem that the numbers taking frequent communion increased in most dioceses. In 1881, at Lille, the first Eucharistic congress was held, under the patronage of Monseigneur de Segur just before his death. Between 1881 and 1904 there were at least nine such congresses in France; as the movement became more international and the French government more hostile Eucharistic congresses tended increasingly to be held elsewhere, but at Lyons in 1914 there were 35,000 faithful in attendance. Under Leo XIII, from 1885

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onwards, a number of Roman statements approved daily communion for religious orders, and in 1902 Mirae caritatis included the mass of the faithful, condemning opposition to frequent communion. Finally, in 1905 the decree Sancta tridentina synodus allowed any catholic in a state of grace to take daily communion; in 1910 Quam singulari extended this to children having attained the age of reason (i.e. about 7). These Roman developments found a ready echo in France, resulting in sharp increases in communion figures (particularly swollen by the inclusion of children). The nineteenth century had clearly seen a transformation of French attitudes to holy communion: the Eucharist ceased to be presented as an exceptional reward for virtue, and was presented instead as the best way of getting close to God. It should be emphasized, however, that it was only a relatively small spiritual elite that was capable of responding to this change. Frequent communion did mean overcoming the aversion to confession, and accepting the subjection to clerical authority that confession involved. (Indeed, the clergy's favour for frequent communion may have been partly due, at least at a less than conscious level, to the increased opportunities for surveillance and control that it offered them.) It also implied a personal and conscious adhesion to faith, rather than the pratique gregaire which had characterized the countryside and which often continued to do so at the end of the nineteenth century. Frequent communion was thus mostly associated with a largely urban spiritual elite. An inquiry in the very rural diocese of Perigueux in 1892 showed that, although popular enthusiasm for processions of the blessed sacrament was fervent and undiminished, the actual taking of communion remained almost as rare as it had ever been, at any rate among peasants. As one cure remarked, his parishioners 'have the religious sentiment in a general way. That is what makes them attend mass on Sundays, celebrate the feast of the Adoration, etc., etc. But they don't have ... what I would call the Eucharistic sense. 65 Frequent communion was in fact part of the development of a fervent nucleus of Catholics under the Third Republic referred to earlier in this chapter. Interestingly enough, there was little spatial correlation between the taking of frequent communion and levels of fulfilment of Easter duties: the latter was part of traditional community behaviour, the former was associated with a new religious elite. We are thus looking, in the nineteenth-century development of frequent communion, at a clerical campaign and a limited elite response. Nevertheless, that campaign was an important aspect of the new religious sensibility in France which focused on the love between God and man rather than on the judicial and even vengeful role of the deity

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so emphasized in the eighteenth century. It was part of an entirely different presentation of the faith, a new model of catholicistn. The fact that only a minority availed themselves of the possibility of frequent communion was less important than the fact that the majority were exposed, through the changing clerical presentation of the Eucharist, to a religious vision which was more attractive than that of the eighteenth century had been. The idea that communion was to bring you closer to God, rather than to keep you on the straight and narrow path, was a significant factor working in favour of French catholicism.

Liguorism The change in the attitude to communion also involved a radical change in Catholic moral theology. In the France of the eighteenth century, moral theology had been fixed in a rigorist mould. Where theologians had differed on moral issues, it was considered best to play safe and impose the tougher line - to favour the law, as it was said, rather than the liberty of the penitent. The burden of proof, moreover, was placed on the penitent; a confessor had to be very sure of his penitent's contrition before he should absolve. Seminary manuals almost' without exception - and not just those of Jansenist inspiration adopted these attitudes; there seems in fact to have been a kind of rivalry betweenJansenists and anti-Jansenists to occupy the high moral ground, resulting in universal rigorism. As far as we can tell, furthermore, the principles of rigoristtheologians were often put into practice: it was difficult to get absolution, and penitents might be required to return a number of times before it was given - if it was given at all. As we have seen earlier, this might include the absolution necessary for Easter communion. The hyperdeveloped sense of man· s sinfulness that was characteristic of Tridentine catholicism resulted in rigorist confessional practice and a restrictive attitude to communion which were probably an important cause of the warning lights of dechristianization in the second half of the eighteenth century referred to in chapter 1. All this would change quite radically in the course of the nineteenth century. The change was largely mediated through the diffusion in France of the moral theology of Saint Alphonsus of Liguori (16961787), an Italian theologian and founder of the Redemptorist Order. Liguori had made himself the champion of the old doctrine in moral theology known as 'probabilism' - a term which is very confusing in modern English. It was basically the doctrine that where a m~allaw was not absolutely clear, i.e. where it had been contested by reputable

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theologians and where the contrary proposition was 'probable' in the Latin sense that a reasonable case could be made out for it, a confessor must not impose it- even if he were personally convinced of its validity. Liguori's actual position varied somewhat in the course of his long life, and he seems to have finished up as an 'equiprobabilist' (meaning that one should only favour the less restrictive position on a moral issue if the argument to be made out for it was at least equally compelling or 'probable'). But in nineteenth-century France he came to be considered as the champion of probabilism, and indeed of a probabilism fairly generously interpreted. In any case, what may have been more important than his contribution to a fairly arcane debate in moral theology was his general attitude to confessional practice. He taught that the confessor should not be an inquisitor, and that he need not require irrefragable proof of contrition. He even taught that, if a penitent seemed irredeemably convinced of the non-sinful nature of his actions, the confessor should not enlighten him, since that would only expose the latter to sin knowingly instead of through ignorance; this was the doctrine of 'good faith·. Above all, Liguori taught that the confessor was a father to his penitents, and no matter how sinful thev were he should never let them despair. (He claimed at the end of hi~ life that he had never had finally to refuse absolution to anyone.) The sinner should be encouraged to pray, to make devotions to the blessed Virgin, and to use the sacraments. Liguori in fact taught a whole attitude to the sacrament of penance that was radically at variance with that adopted in France in his day. His influence did not extend to France during his lifetime, but in the nineteenth century it was to be crucial. Ultramontanes liked to think that they were responsible for the introduction of Liguorist moral theology in France, and for the abandonment of a rigorism that they usually referred to (quite erroneously) as Jansenist. The real precursor in France was, however, Monseigneur Devie, Bishop of Belley from 1823 to 1852, whose ultramontanism was distinctly lukewarm. He had become acquainted with Liguori's work in 1792, and adopted his principles in the confessional after the Concordat; he taught them as professor of moral theology at Viviers in 1812. His circular to his clergy in 1826 was 'the first French episcopal declaration in favour of Liguorism' ,66 and his influential Rituel de Belley ( 1830) was a further attempt to impose less rigorist confessional principles on his clergy. Meanwhile, Liguorism was being propagated in France by the Jesuits in the 1820s, and particularly by Eugene de Mazenod's Oblates of Mary Immaculate, founded in 1816. Mazenod had adopted Liguorism in 1816, and his Oblates practised it openly in

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their missionary activity in Provence: in the Alpine dioceses of Gap and Digne they found themselves in a running fight with the rigorist local bishops and clergy, who even accused them of leading people to damnation and being like wolves in the fold. 67 Other pro-Liguorist forces were at work in the 1820s. Liguorism appears to have been taught between 1829 and 1834 at the Malestroit seminary run by the Lamennais brothers. Rome was a constant help: Liguori was beatified in 1816 (he would be canonized in 1839), and his writings declared irreproachable: in 1831, at the prompting of Cardinal de Rohan (Archbishop of Besan\on) ancfhis moral theology professor the abbe Gousset, the Holy Penitentiary declared unambiguously that a confessor might adopt Liguorist principles and could not be attacked for it. The great breakthrough, however, came with the publication in 1832 ofGousset' s }wtification de Ia thea/ogle morale du bienheure11x Alphonse M. de Liguori. It was this book that generalized knowledge of Liguorism among the French clergy. Thereafter, the doctrine was spread through various compendia, particularly the Jesuit Gury's Compendium theologiae mora/is (1850: 19 editions by 1885). and the publication of Liguori's own works of moral theology. France was thus being introduced not just to probabilism, but to a whole new attitude to the confessional and the sacrament of penance. This attitude was a crucial part of the new religious sensibility which was turning away from the pastorale de Ia peur and towards a concept of relations between man and God governed by reciprocal love. There is some dispute about the rapidity with which the mass of the French clergy actually adopted Liguorist principles. Cholvy and Hilaire have emphasized the stubborn rearguard action of the old rigorist clergy. Certainly some seminary professors of moral theology remained hostile. referring in their classes to 'that joker Liguori' (Chartres, c. 1845), or 'le malheureux bienheureux Liguori' (Le Mans, 1830s). 68 It is not easy, however, to measure the impact of Liguorism in a precise way. One champion of the doctrine claimed in 1842 that more than 30,000 copies of Liguori's Theologia mora/is (or its abbreviation, the Homo apostolicus) had been distributed in France. in the last ten years; if so, this represents about three copies for every four members of the clergy. More reliable is a survey carried out in the diocese ofPerigueux in 1841. Gousset became Bishop of Perigueux in 18 36, before going on to be Archbishop of Reims in 1840. He must have spent his four years in the Perigord pushing Liguorism hard, trying to impose it on a clergy brought up on rigorist principles in the f'ocal seminary. The survey asked cures what theology manual they possessed, and 300 (a large majority) of them replied (mostly mentioning more than one author).

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Of these, 102 possessed Liguori's moral theology in one form or another; 48 had Bouvier (recent and anti-rigorist, at least in later editions), and 8 Bergier (an anti-rigorist exception from the late eighteenth century). There were 434 mentions of various more or less rigorist manuals, almost all dating from the eighteenth century (and 55 of manuals whose tendency in moral theology I have not yet been able to ascertain). Many cures possessed Liguori or Bouvier alongside the older rigorist theologies. Those with Liguori were noticeably younger. 69 ·-How are these figures to be interpreted? To my mind, they suggest that, at least in a diocese where the leading Liguorist was Bishop. the diffusion of the new moral theology was very rapid. This was a clergy of rural origin. not much given to buying books: for a third of them to equip themselves with a new reference work in moral theology in the space of four years suggests that they were either trying to curry favour with the bishop, or that they found Liguorism appropriate to their pastoral experience. The numerical dominance of older manuals is scarcely surprising. It seems in fact that the French clergy responded very rapidly to the revolution in moral theology that Liguorism represented. Significantly, even the cure d'Ars, with his hyperdeveloped sense of sin and a training in rigorist principles, adopted Liguorism in the confessional from about 1840 onwards. The pressure from the faithful to adopt a more understanding attitude was probably the chief factor driving most cures to adopt in practice a less rigorist and more tolerant approach. What did Liguorism mean in practice? Apart from a generally more tolerant approach, it also meant a change in confessional practice where certain crucial areas of behaviour in the nineteenth century were concerned. One of the most important was the taking of interest. The Church had traditionally taught that lending money at interest was a grave sin. The rise of comm·ercial capitalism in the eighteenth century had already brought this doctrine under pressure, and the problem was intensified in the nineteenth, especially after an 1807 law explicitly legalizing the taking of interest at 5 or 6 per cent. Here was no doubt one of the issues that kept the bourgeoisie of the early nineteenth century hostile to the Church, as priests if anything toughened up on their traditional condemnation of le pret ainteret - and often refused to give absolution to persistent offenders. Liguori's probabilism was the escape route: even if a priest was firmly convinced of the sinful nature of taking interest, he should not impose that view on his penitents - since there was a strong minority body of reputable theological opinion which had argued that it was permissible. Gousset - himself convinced that it was a sin - was quite explicit on this point. In a similar

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spirit, the cure of Chartres Cathedral had written on the subject to a friend in 1827 (but already clearly under Liguorist influence): To tolerate an evil the nature of which is under debate, an evil which many people regard as licit, people in a position to have an opinio~1, to tolerate this evil in order not to condemn a large number of Chnstians to abstention from the sacraments and a feeling of disgust and hatred for religion, is it really such a bad thing to do? 70 Sexuality was another area where the introduction of Liguorism was crucial. We have seen (in chapter 6) that nineteenth-century French priests came under tremendous pressure from couples practising contraception by premature withdrawal. There was, however, a rep~table tradition in Catholic moral theology that the woman consentmg to intercourse in such cases was not committing a sin - even if she was morally certain that her husband would withdraw - provided she had reason to fear other ill effects (e.g. breakup of the marriage) if she refused. Priests who were themselves not convinced of this could nevertheless give absolution to women practising contraception; equally importantly, they could follow Liguori in not interrogating women about it in the confessional. Towards the' end of the century, many priests even adopted the Liguorist doctrine of 'good faith' to giv~ up hassling men over the issue of contraception: since men would contmue to practise contraception anyway, it was better not to i?form ~hem of the sinfulness of their actiQn. In sexuality as in the takmg of Interest, the clergy, faced by a massive refusal by their parishioners to accept t.he traditional doctrines of the Church, found in Liguorism a way of avoiding conflict and - most importantly - of not alienating the mass of the faithful. There were many other areas of behaviour where Liguorism enabled the clergy to take a more understanding attitude, notably with reg~rd to biens nationattx, or the obligation to confess only to one's pansh priest at Easter. More generally - and perhaps more importantly - it enabled priests to use the confessional in a paternal and pastoral rat?er than an inquisitorial and judicial way. It will not of course do to ascnbe all this to Liguori's influence, or even to that of the Frenchmen of the nineteenth century who took up his cause. Clearly the populanty of Liguorism with the clergy was due in large part ~o the fact that it enabled them to respond to pressures from below, 111 cases where traditional teachings in moral theology were being massively rejected by Catholics at large - notably in matt~rs of.commercial.capitalisit'l and sexuality. Most importantly of all, Ltguonsm was an mtegral part of

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that new model of catholicism that was being developed in nineteenthcentury France. His doctrine - particularly as it was developed by Frenchmen -was one of God's mercy and love. Ultramontane piety

What I have called here a new model of catholicism was sometimes described at the time, and by historians since, as 'ultramontane piety'. The term is a bit imprecise, and it does not do justice to a precursor like Monseigneur Devie. There is no doubt, however, that developments like the intensified Marian devotion of the nineteenth century, the spread of Eucharistic devotion, and the new attitude to the confession represented by Liguorist moral theology were strongly encouraged from Rome and disproportionately favoured in France by ultramontanes. This was the positive side of ultramontanism, to be set against its political illiberalism and anti-intellectualism discussed earlier. Ultramontane piety did involve a vision of a loving God very different from that of the traditional Gallican Church. It also involved, however, a new style of piety, a new religious taste, which to us is less attractive. Whereas eighteenth-century piety had been characterized, by and large, by austerity and intellectual rigour, French Catholics in the nineteenth century developed a taste for flamboyant ceremony appealing to the heart rather than to the head. Piety ceased to be a matter of severe duty, and became an emotional experience. Processions and pilgrimages were staged, with hymns, candles, etc., to achieve the maximum emotional impact. Flowers and draperies were used to evoke a religion aimable - particularly evident in the new practice of celebrating the month of Mary. It was a style which appears to have recognized itself in the 'Saint-Sulpice art' analysed in chapter 5, and in a devotional literature increasingly devoid of intellectual content and often vapid and mindless to an alarming degree. Commentators hostile to ultramontanism often found it dangerously infantilizing. Dupanloup, in 1874, thought the imagery achieved 'the furthest limits of the ridiculous and the insipid', and Ernest Hello (in the 1860s) deplored 'those frightful little books of piety', which appeared to suggest that 'feebleness, mediocrity, and silliness are the necessary attributes of the Catholic word' 71 By modern tastes, such criticisms seem wholly justified, as a collection of iconography, or a sampling of the devotional literature intended for urban workers, will show. 72 It does, however, appear to have appealed to a lot of Catholics at the time. Perhaps it appealed particularly to women, and may have been both cause and consequence of their growing dominance in religious practice. There was a process of

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'feminization of piety'; women were 'more avid for devotional practices, great devourers of works of piety, always ready to adopt the new "pious" practices recently proposed to the public'. It may even be given the infantilization of women at the time - that it was female pressure that led to 'greater affectivity, sentimentalism, mawkishness'}3 Conversely, the educated male bourgeoisie often found the style and non-content of ultramontane piety a further reason for regarding catholicism as at best a useful plaything for women and children. The undoubtedly infantile nature of the style of much ultramontane piety should not, however, blind us to the very real (and to my mind positive) revolution that was under way in the content of catholicism in France in the nineteenth century. Both, as it happened. found their ultimate expression in a young girl who died ofTB in 1897 at the age of 24: Saint Theresa of Lisieux. When she died she was an obscure Carmelite nun, but the publication of her notebooks in the following year, as Ht:rtoire d'tme ame ('The Little Flower of Jesus'), made her almost overnight perhaps the most popular spiritual figure of modern times. By 1~15 her convent had distributed 211,515 copies of Hi.rtoire d'une ame, and 710,000 of a short biography; by 1925 over 30,000,000 portraits had been distributed throughout the world. She was canonized in 1923 - a world record for rapidity in recognition of sainthood. There is much in her spirituality that can be infantilizing. Her path to Jesus was what she called her petite voie, making herself as insignificant as possible, abandoning herself' like a little child who falls asleep without fear in the arms of her Father'. She had a taste for the worst excesses of ultramontane piety, especially where flowers and iconography were concerned (though perhaps the taste of some of her devotees has been even worse). His to ire d'ttne ame has thus been criticized as 'rose-water holiness that cannot last'. Therese was also able, however, to give expression to a religion of the love of God which manifestly had tremendous impact on millions of Catholics in France (and elsewhere). Her childlike trust was for her 'a lift to raise me up to Jesus, for I am too little to climb the rude stairway of perfection'. She managed wholly to shake off that hyperculpabilization which Jean Delumeau thinks had dominated the west since the thirteenth century; as she told her sister: 'How easy it is to please Jesus, to delight his heart, all you have to do is to love him without thinking too much about yourself, without examining your own defects too hard.' The passage from one religious sensibility to another was perhaps most clearly illustrated by her first communion in 1884: the preacher at the retreat had concentrated on death, hell, the last judgement, and the possibility of dying at any

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moment; her own account of the day ran: 'Ah! how sweet was the first embrace ofJesus to my soul! ... It was a loving embrace, I felt myself loved, and so I said: I love you, I give myself to you for ever.' The ambiguities of the word love can tempt one to see suppressed eroticism in all this, but if so it was wholly suppressed, and in fact there is no need to take the passage at any more than its face value: a rather childish statement of an intense sense of the reciprocal love berween God and man .. Therese de Lisieux represented the culmination of that nineteenth-century evolution in France towards a religion of love which the last part of. this :hapter ~as been about. Her immense popularity reflects the ltberatmg expenence that vast numbers of French Catholics felt in contact with a spirituality which had finally wholly shaken off the pastorale de Ia peur. 14 This evolution should not be exaggerated. French catholicism remained very much a religion concerned with other-worldly salvation, hostile to 'the world', and very concerned with controlling thought and behaviOur. Moral rigorism, hell-fire preaching, and other attributes of the old religion were certainly not dead by the twentieth centurv. Nevertheless, what is significant in the long term is the fundament~! change in religious sensibility that gradually got under way in France in the nineteenth century. This change can be observed negativelv in the decline of doctrines like the small number of the elect and the 'materiality of hell-fire. and positively in intensified Marian devotion, fervour for the Eucharist, a new attitude to the sacrament of penance typified by the rapid success ofLiguorist moral theology- and much else. This was the development that was working in favour of French catholicism in the second half of the nineteenth century, and which enabled it to withstand remarkably well - though with losses - the anticlerical offensive of the republic. Along with the process of reconstruction after the Revolution, it was largely responsible for the fact that the nineteenth century was far from being a period of simple linear decline for French catholicism. The number of French men (and even of women) practising catholicism at the opening of the rwentieth centurv was in most places declining - but was often higher than it had been; centurv before. Most significantly, the catholicism they were practising was; different one: instead of being a religion of fear, it was a religion of God's love.

Conclusion

9 Conclusion I

I

There has been a tendency to consider the history of French catholicism since the Revolution as one of unrelieved failure, the responsibility for which is to be laid largely at the door of the Church itself. Catholicism is perceived as having lost its power to control the thoug~ts and ?ehaviour of the mass of French men and women. The Church ts percetved as having to a considerable extent engineered its own downfall by its right-wing political options and its d~fence of an u?jus.t s~cial order; i? so far as the Church was not responstble, the dedme m Its fortunes ts attributed to a process of modernization which involved not only the secularization of public life but also a necessary decline in Catholic belief. The story is one oflinear decline, brought about by the reactio.nary nature of catholicism and by the ineluctable process of modermzation. The real storv is in fact a far more complex one. and certainly does not involve a li~1ear development of any kind. In so far as it is one of decline, it starts not with the Revolution but somewhere in the middle of the eighteenth century. By that stage, the Catholic Reformation in France had been quite remarkably successful in imposing on the mass of French men and women a difficult and demanding religion, capable of inspiring great spiritual intensity, but requiring levels of discipline and asceticism difficult for ordinary mortals to achieve. It presented this world as the seat of evil and as a place of necessary suffering; the human body in particular was likely to drag the soul to damnation, a~d had to be mortified if that soul was to be saved. It was obsessed by gutlt and sin, on occasion to the exclusion of more spiritual values. It was hostile to joy, and to any mixing of the sacred and the p:ofane. It reserved all spiritual initiatives to the clergy; the task of the fatthful was merely to watch and pray. To impose such a demanding religion, the

I

~

269

clergy often relied on the weapon of fear, including the threat of damnation in often very physical terms. This was all part of the model of catholicism that I have termed (following recent French historians) Tridentine. From my late twentieth-century perspective, I am clearly unsympathetic to it. It is of course important to remember that Tridentine catholicism was able to inspire tremendous levels of devotion and sacrifice (as the great saints of the seventeenth century had shown), and that it undoubtedly helped millions of ordinary people to see meaning and direction in lives that were physically difficult and which might otherwise have been spiritually barren as well. It is also important to remember that my presentation of it here is something of a caricature; men like Saint Franf,:ois de Sales and Fenelon - and no doubt many who have left no memorial - could and did adapt the catholicism of their day to fit human needs. Nevertheless, the fact remains that it was difficult to impose on the mass of the population a model of behaviour designed for a spiritual elite, and by the second half of the eighteenth century cracks in the imposing edifice of French catholicism were beginning to show. The signs of these cracks are not unequivocal, but taken together they suggest that some French men (and even women) were beginning to reject the model of catholicism that was being presented to them. The 'warning lights of dechristianization' were thus beginning to flash well before 1789; the anticlerical and anticatholic storms of the Revolution did not break out of a clear blue sky. The effect of the revolutionary decade was nevertheless cataclysmic. It deprived the Church of the ownership of nearly a tenth of the surface area of France. It first divided and then dispersed the clergy, killing not a few in the process, and caused many others to abandon their vocation. At one point (spring of 1794) it closed nearly every church in France. Perhaps more importantly. it presided over the youth of a generation that grew up accustomed to seeing the Church reviled, and often not subject to the old religious education centred on the catechism. Most importantly of all, it decisively shattered the old assumption that you were automatically Catholic simply by the fact of being French. The old unanimity of French catholicism was broken and would never be repaired. French catholicism thus entered the nineteenth century in a parlous state. The physical fabric of the Church was sold off or in disrepair. Among the people. habits of religious practice were broken, or among the young- never established. The clergy was decimated; those who remained were aged, often incompetent, and disillusioned. It took the best part of half a century to repair these ravages of the Revolution. The most crucial repair was the creation of a new clergy. This

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A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

new clergy turned out to be a very different one from that of the eighteenth century, in that it came from the mass of the people - not perhaps from the very poor, but typically from the better-off peasantry and the artisan class of smaller towns. As a result, it was (in modern terminology) 'culturally deprived', Priests were not in the forefront of intellectual life, and often made a virtue of their limitations, valuing piety and dedicated service above intellectual inquiry: their model was the cure d'Ars. They were, however, in their vast majority, sincere in their piety, chaste, and dedicated to the service of God as they perceived it. They were increasingly supported by a new regular clergy. The regulars were also different from their eighteenth-century predecessors, particularly in their increased concern for social action (especially education and paramedical work), and in the fact that by the second half of the century most of them were women. The secular and regular clergies set about the reconstitution of French catholicism in the aftermath of the Revolution. Judged by their own lights, they were remarkably successful. From the Restoration perhaps, from the July Monarchy certainly, more and more French people went to church. Everybody learned their catechism off bv heart and made their first communion; almost without exception, they were baptized, married, and buried bv the Church. What all this meant in terms of their spiritual e~perience is impossible to determine with any precision, but it is clear that by the middle of the nineteenth century it was once again the Catholic Church which ritualized the key moments of life and which provided the dominant model for giving meaning to human existence. The second half of the century, and particularly the Third Republic, began to provide other models. Positivism and scientism claimed to provide a basis for morality and an explanation of the human condition, and even to ritualize those key moments of life. Perhaps more importantly, the dominant anticlerical ideology of the Third Republic enabled many, who had previously merely conformed to the Catholic model without inner conviction, to adopt a new conformism - i.e. to abandon religious practice, and often to snipe at the clergy. Others, however, drew greater strength of convictionJrom persecution, such that, although the numbers of practising Catholics clearly declined under the Third Republic (at least until c. 1905), a fervent nucleus - perhaps a ghetto - intensified its faith. All such generalizations, however, need to be treated with the greatest circumspection. One of the themes of this book has been the diversity of French catholicism: it made an enormous difference where you lived, what sex you were, how old you were, and to what social class you

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271

belonged. Perhaps the most fascinating and inexplicable of these differentiating factors was region. France exhibited wide differences in Catholic fervour - as, say, between the Limousin and the Rouergue (~ap references G9 and H12, p. xiii) - differences which certainly existed before the Revolution and of which the origin seems to lie in a distant past where the memory of archives runneth not. Gender mattered almost as much as region: the nineteenth century witnessed a process of galloping feminization of French catholicism - though this too had its origins in pre-revolutionary times, if not as far back as regional differences; a gender-differentiated culture meant that men and women reacted very differently to the Tridentine model of catholicis~.' men resenting in particular the subjection to clerical authority that tt mvolved. Age also made a difference, though we don't know a lot about it in precise terms. Class, finally, could be crucial. The nobility was solidly Catholic - with increasing fervour as the century progressed. The urban working class, resenting the paternalism of the Church and sometimes growing up outside its direct influence, was often indifferent to catholicism and sometimes violentlv hostile That infinitely varied class which constituted the bourgeoi;ie was l~rgely hostile to the Church in the first half of the century; after 1848, one part of it went clerical and later fervently Catholic, another part (particularly but not exclusively the professional element) provided the anticlerical leadership of the Third Republic. The evolution of French catholicism in the nineteenth century was thus a complex one. I twas not a linear story of either success or failure. Its complex evolution was governed by conflicting forces. To a certain extent it was true that the Church sowed the seeds of its own misfortunes. In particular, it favoured authoritarian political regimes and defended an unjust social order. These often repeated allegations need, however, to be looked at with some care. If the Church sided with illiberal and undemocratic governments, it was partly because a hierarchical religion like Tridentine catholicism was inherently likely to do so. But it was also a legacy of the revolutionary decade, after which it was understandably impossible for ardent Catholics to regard any republic as anything less than a work of the devil. That the Church had come into such violent conflict with the Revolution may have been partly the result of its authoritarianism and blind self-interest (though it was also the consequence of a chapter of accidents); the fact remains, however, that ..after that experience Catholics could scarcely be blamed for an almost i?stinctive associat.ion of the interests of the Church with the political nght. The associatwn of the Church with social conservatism also needs looking at carefully, It is true that a religion of other-worldly salvation

272

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789..:..1914

could not but regard injustice in this world as a relatively minor matter; furthermore, a clergy with its roots in the landed peasantry was likely to be hostile to a reform of the social order. The Catholic Church thus was socially reactionary. Nevertheless, it could also on occasion be very hostile to the spirit of capitalism, to its materialisl et:~and to the idea that the world was ultimately controllable and explainable by men. Veuillot and his followers were thus indeed defenders of an unjust social order; they were also explicit enemies of the bourgeoisie. Their ideal society was a mythical past, an 'autrefois', in which men's conduct was governed by spiritual values and not by the pursuit of profit. In political and social matters, then, Catholics in general and the clergy in particular were a basically conservative social force, and the stances they took were probably ultimately counter-productive. In more strictly religious matters, however, they effected in the course of the nineteenth century a revolution which enabled French catholicism more or less to withstand in the evil day of the Third Republic. The French Church had come out of the Revolution with the Trid,entine model of catholicism largely intact, and perhaps even reinforced by the association of the Constitutional Church with any kind of change. The nineteenth century saw the abandonment of that model. This abandonment was far from complete: catholicism continued to perceive the world in general and the body in particular as sources of evi~, to cultivate a (to my mind) excessive sense of sin and guilt, and to concentrate on salvation in another world. Bm a great deal did change. The old pastorale de Ia pe11r, the attempt to impose on the ordinary faithful an impossibly high level of asceticism by the weapon of fear, was largely jettisoned. The doctrine of the small number of the elect was abandoned, and the preaching of hell-fire and damnation disappeared from most pulpits. More positively, priests came increasingly to emphasize the love between God and man, particularly as e~pressed in the Eucharist, the taking of which ceased to be seen as a reward for Herculean feats of renunciation and rather as a means for man to get close to a loving God. The rigorist morality of the eighteenth century was softened via the adoption of the moral theology of Saint Alphonsus of Liguori, enabling confessors to treat the sacrament of penance in a paternal rather than an inquisitorial and judicial way. The Virgin Mary provided an intermediary figure for many who found the awe-ful figure of the Father too unapproachable - hence the tremendous upsurge in Marian devotion. The whole direction of French spirituality changed, from one of asceticism and renunciation, towards that emphasis on the love of God that made the spirituality of Saint Theresa ofLisieux so immensely popular. The love of God had of course never been absent from French

Conclusion

273

spirituality, as the durable success of Saint Fran(ois de Sales ·s Traite on the subject showed; asceticism and renunciation certainly did not exclude an acute sense of God's love for sinful man. The nineteenth cen'tury did, however, clearly witness a crucial change of emphasis: French catholicism was in the process of evolving from a religion encouraging a sense of guilt and fear to one of encouraging a sense of God's forgiving love. It was the beginning of a new model of catholicism, more appropriate to the spiritual needs of French Catholics in the twentieth century. The balance-sheet of French catholicism between 1789 and 1914 is thus one of both profit and loss. It is easy enough to document the loss side: social and political reaction, a failure to 'come to terms with modern society', intellectual inadequacy - the litany of accusation is long, and often justified. I have tried in this book also to emphasize the more positive side: the way in which obscure men and women, often of limited ability, struggled to provide an answer for ordinary people to that fundamental and irresolvable question of the catechism: Why are we here on Earth?

J

Notes

275

G. Mandon, Les Cures dtt Perigord au xvm·· siecle, thesis (III< cycle), University of Bordeaux III, 1979, p. 189; J. de Vigucrie, 'Les fondations ct Ia foi du pcuple chretien. Les fondations de mcssc en Anjou aux xvw ct XVIJJC siecles', Revue Hi.rtorique, CCLVI (2) (1976), 289-320 ( csp. p. 319). 9 J. Queniart, Culture et societe ttrbaines dans Ia France de !'Ouest au xvm· siec!e, Paris, Klincksicck, 1978, part 2;]. Queniart, L'Imprimerie et Ia !ibrairie aRauen au XV!fit' siecle, Paris, Klincksieck, 1969, part 2, cbs 2, 3; G. BoHeme ( ed. ), Livre et societe dan.r Ia France du XVI!l" siec!e, Paris/The Hague, Mouton, 1965 (articles by Furet and BoHeme). 10 M. Agulhon, Penitents et francs-mar;:on.r de !'ancienne Provence, Paris, Fayard, 1984 (1968), csp. ch. 4; M. VovcHe, Piete baroq11e, pp. 402-3 (and

Notes

passim). 11 E. LeRoy Ladurie, 'Demographic et "funcstcs secrets": le Languedoc (fin XVIJJC-debut x1xc siecle', Anna!es Historiques de Ia Revolution Franr;:aise, 182 (Oct.-Dec. 1965), 385-400 (esp. p. 399); M. Lachivcr, 'Fecondite legitime ct contraception dans Ia region parisiennc', in Hommage Marcel Reinhard: sur Ia pojmlation franr;:aise au XVIII' et au XIX" siecles, Paris, Societe de Demographic Historique, 1973, pp. 383-401 (esp. p. 401 ); A. Molinier, 'Cures et paroissicns de Ia Contre-Reformc', in Histoire vecue dtt peup!e chriltien, ed.J. Dclumeau, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, vol. ii, pp. 67-91 (esp. pp. 82-4); M. W. Flinn, The European Demographic System, 1500-1820, Brighton, Harvester J:>ress, 1981, p. 82; J. Meyer, 'Illegitimates and foundlings in pre-industrial France', in Bastardy and its Comparative Hi.rtory, ed. P. Las lett eta!., London, E. Arnold, 1980, pp. 249-68. A. Chamoux and C. Dauphin, 'La contraception avant Ia Revolution fran\aise: 1' exemplc de Chatillon-sur-Seine', Anna!es B.S. C., a. 24 (3) (May-June 1969), 662-84;). DupaquierandM. Lachiver, 'Surles debuts de Ia contraception en France ou les deux malthusianismes', Anna!es B.S. C.. a. 24 (6) (Nov.-Dec. 1969), 1391-406; J. Dupaquier, 'Les caracteres originaux de I 'histoire demographiquc fran\aise au XVIJI" sieclc ·, Rev11e d'Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, xxiii (April-June 1976), 182-202 (esp. pp. 197-8). An ongoing debate. SeeM. Vovelle, 'Ques'est-ilpassevers 1750?' in2000an.rdechristiani.rme, vol. vii, ed. B. Plongeron and C. Langlois, Paris, Aufadi, 1975, pp. 54-65. J. Brancolini and M.-T. Bouyssy, 'La vie provincialedu livrcalafin de ]'Ancien Regime·, in Livre et societe dam ia France du XVJJJ" siecle, ed. M.- T. Bouyssy eta!., Paris/The Hague. Mouton, 1970, vol. ii, pp. 3-37 ( esp. pp. 29, 33). T. Tackett, 'Social history', esp. pp. 328-9- though he seems less certain in his Religion, Revolution and Regionai Culture m Eightemth-century France: the Eccle.riastical Oath o/1791, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1986 (csp. pp. xvi and 239); D. Dinct, 'La dcchristianisation des pays du Bassin parisien au xvmc sicclc', in Chrirtianiration et Dechrirtianisation, Angers, Presses de l'Universite d'Angers, 1986, pp. 121-36; P. Foucault,

a

1 Catholicism under the ancien regime B. Groethuysen, Origines de /'esprit bourgeois en France, Paris, Gallimard, 1927; Eng. edn, The Bourgeois: Catho!idrm versus Capitalism in Eighteenth-century France, trans. Mary lifo rd. London, Cresset Press, 1968, p. 2. 2 ]. Delumeau, College de France. Chaire d'hi.rtoire des menta!ites re-

!igieuses dans /'occident modern e. Ler:on inaugura!e faite le ;eudi 13 fevrier 1975, Paris, College de France, 1975, p. 14. 3 T. Tackett, 'The social history of the diocesan clergy in eighteenth-century France·, Church, State and Society under the Bourbon Kings ofFrance, ed.

4 5

6

7

8

R. M. Golden, Lawrence, Kan., Coronado Press, 1982, pp. 327-79 (esp. pp. 333~6). (Also in Revue d'Ht:rtoire Moderne et Contemporaine, xxvi (1979), 198-234.) B. Plongeron, Les Regu!iers de Paris devant !e serment con.rtitutionne!. Sen.r et con.requences d'une ojJtion, 1789-1801, Paris,). Vrin, 1964. p. 69. J. McManners, French Ecclesiastical Society Utlder the Ancien Regime: a Study of Anger.r in the Eighteenth Century, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1960, pp. 78-9 (and ch. 5 in general). ibid., pp. 91, 101. G. Baudct-DriHat, 'Regard a l'intericur d'une congregation feminine', in Un chemin d'histoire: chriltiente et christiani.ration, cd< J. Dclumeau, Paris, Fayard, 1984 (the date on the back of the title-page is an error), pp. 209-30. M. VoveHe, Piilte baroque et dechristianisation en Provence au XVlW siecle: !es attitudes devant Ia mort d'apres les clauses des testaments, Paris, Pion, 1973, csp. pp. 123-5; P. Chaunu, La Mort Paris, XV}", XVII" et XVI!l" .riecle.r, Paris, Fayard, 1978, csp. pp. 432-5; P. Chaunt\. 'Mourir a Paris (xvic-xvw- XVIUC sieclcs)', Anna!e.r (Economie.r-Societes- Ciz1tlisations). 31 (1) Oan.-Fcb. 1976), 29-50 (esp. 42); K. Norberg, Rich and Poor in Grmob!e, 1600-1814, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1985, esp. p. 245; P. Goujard, 'Echcc d'unc sensibilite baroque: lcs testaments rouennais au XVIUC sieclc', Anna!es B.S. C., 36 ( 1) Oan. -Feb. 1981 ), 26-43;

a

12

13 14

15

Aspects de Ia tile chretienne dam un grand diocese de !'Oue.rt de Ia France: le diocese du Man.r, 1830-1854, thesis (III'' cycle), Caen, 1980, p. 17; G. Cholvy, 'Le legs religieux de I' ancien regime au departement de l'I-Icrault', Annales du Midi, 85 (1973), 303-26. References also available on dioceses ofRouen, Limoges, Nantes, Arras, Bordeaux.

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16 P.-F. Hacquet, Memoire de.r mir.riom de.r Montfortains dam !'Ouest (1740-1779), eel. L. Pcrouas, Fontenay-lc-Comte, Lussaud, 1964; L. Perouas, 'Contrastes regionaux au XVIW siecle dans le diocese de Ia Rochelle', Archir1e.r de Sociologie des Religion.r, 15 Oan.-July 1963), 113-21; L. Perouas, Le Diocese de Ia Rochelle de 1648 a 1724, Paris, SEVPEN, pp. 453-71; P. Chaunu, 'Une histoire religieuse serielle. A propos du diocese de Ia Rochelle (1648-1724) ct sur quelques cxcmplcs normands', Revue d'Histoire Modeme et Contemporaine, xii (1965), pp. 5-34. 17 P T. Hoffman, Church and Community in the Diocese of Lyon, 15001789, New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1984, pp. 126-8; ). Flandrin, Fatmlle.r: parente, matson, sexualite dam !'ancienne .rociete, Paris, Hachctte, 1976, pp. 98-9, 184 (for rape). 18 PT. Hoffman, Church and Community, pp. 142-3;).-P. Gutton, 'Confraternities, cures and communities in rural areas of the diocese of Lyons under the Ancien Regime', in Religion and Society in Early Modem Europe, 1500-1800, eel. K. von Greyerz, London, Allen & Unwin, 1984, pp. 202-11 (esp. pp. 207-8). 19 D. Mornet, Le.r Ongine.r inte!!ectue!le.r de Ia Revo!utionfranraire (17151787), 5th edn, Paris, A. Colin, 1954 (1933), p. 270. 20 D. Roche, 'La diffusion des Iumieres. Un exemple: I' Academic de Chalonssur-Marne', Annales E. S.C., 19 (1964), 887-922 (esp. 911, 918-22). 21 B. Groethuyscn, Origine.r de /'esprit bourgeois; trans. The Bourgeoir. 22 A. Latreille, L 'Egli.re catholique et Ia Revolution franraise, Le Pontifical de Pie VIet Ia m:re franrarse (1775-1799), Paris, Hachettc, 1946, p. 25. 23 M. Vovcllc, 'Y a-t-il eu tine revolution culturelle au 18° siecle? A propos de I' education populaire en Provence', RetJtte d'Histoire Modeme et Contemporaine, xxii ( 1975 ), pp. 89-141 ( csp. pp. 140-1 ), and his Piete baroque, pp.605-7 24 J. Lough, The Philo.rophes and Po.rt-revolutionary France, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1982, ch. 4; R. Darnton, The B11.rine.r.r ofEn!ightenment. A Publr:rhing 1-hrtory ofthe Encyclopedie, 1775-1800, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1979, pp. 37, 277-81, 286, 298-9, and 1 conclusion. 25 T. Tackett, Prie.rt and Parirh in Eighteenth-century France: a Social and Political Study of the CuriJ.r in a Dioce.re a/Dauphine, 1750-1791, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1977, p. 83. On the seminaries in general, see A. Degen, Hr:rtoirr: de.r .reminaire.r franr:ars pt.rqu 'a Ia Revolution, Paris, Beauchesne, 1912, 2 vols. 26). Dclumeau, Le Catho!icirme entre Luther et Voltaire, Paris, PUF, 1979 (1971 ), pp. 221-3, 274-84; T Tackett, Prie.rt and Pansh, ch. 5; D. Julia, 'Lc clerge paroissial dans le diocese de Reims a Ia fin du xvme siecle', Revue d'Hr:rtoire Modeme et Contemporaine, xiii (1966), 195-216 (esp. 213-14); A. Poyer, 'Les cures de Ia Quinte du Mans au XVIII< siecle (de 1723 au debut de Ia Revolution)', La Province du Maine, 76 (4, 11) (1974), 263-77 ( esp. 275 ); C. Berthelot du Chcsnay, 'Le clerge diocesain fran\ais au XVIII" siecle ct lcs registres des insinuations ecclesiastiques', RetJtle d'Hirtoire Modeme et Contemj;omine, x (1963), 241-69 (esp. 260).

Notes

277

27 T. F. Sheppard, 'The clergy of Touraine at the time of the Revolution', in Proceeding.r of the 9th Annual Comortium on Rez;o/utionary E11rope: 1750-1850 (1979), Athens, Georgia, 1979, pp. 133-9 (esp. pp. 137-8). 28 T. Tackett, Prie.rt and Pari.rh, p. 63. 29 P. T. Hoffman, Church and Community, p. 72. 30). Delumeau (eel.), Un chemin d'hr:rtoire, p. 122. 31 See, for example, F. Lebrun, 'Le "Traite des superstitions" de JeanBaptiste Thiers, contribution a l' ethnographic de Ia France du xvue siecle', Annale.r de Bretagne, 83 (3) (1976), 443-65. 32 G. Bouchard, Le Vt!lage immobt!e. Sennely-en-Sologne au XVJJI" siec!e, Paris, Pion, 1972, p. 341. 33 M. Menard, Une hirtoire de.r mentalites religleu.re.r auxxvw etXVIW siecles. Mrlle retab!e.r de !'ancien dioce.re du Mans, Paris, Beauchesne, 1980, pp. 336-43; M. H. Frocschle-Chopard, 'Univers sacre et iconographic au xvme sieclc: eglises ct chapclles des dioceses de Vcnce et de Grasse', Anna!es B.S. C., a. 31. no. 3 (May-June 1976), pp. 489-519 (esp. p. 507). 34 P. Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modem Europe, London, Temple Smith, 1979 (1978), p. 212. 35 P. T. Hoffman, Church and Community, p. 88. 36 Parole de Dieu et Revolution. Le.r .rermons d'tm cure angevin avant et pendant Ia guerre de Vendee, introd. F. Lebrun, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, p. 73. 37 ). Ferre, La Vie religieuse dam les campagne.r parisiennes (I 622-1695), Paris,). Vrin, p. 104 (notes 207-8). 38 For example, Ritue! du diocese de Pengueux. imp rime par l'autorite de Mgr jean- Chretien de Macheco de Primeaux, eveque de Perigueux, Paris, 1763 (B.N. B 1713 ). See the list of benedictions in the Table de.r matiere.r. 39 Particularly in the collection edited by K. von Grcyerz, Religion and Socie~y: sec the introduction and the articles by P. Burke (pp. 45, 53), ). Wirth, and). Bossy (p. 194). Sec also P. Burke, Popular Culture, pp. 58-64. 40 P. T. Hoffman, Church and Conmnmity, pp. 140, 147-9. 41 ]. Delumeau, Un chemin d'Hi.rtoire, p. 131. 42 Parole de Dietl et Rft;o/ution. pp. 59, 77. 43 B. Groethuyscn, Origine.r de l'e.rprit bourgeors; trans. The Bourgeots, pp. 171-3. 44 M. Menard, Une hrstolre des mentalitiJ.r religie11.re.r, pp. 255-6. 45 E. Germain, Langages de foi a traver.r l'hirtoire. Mentalite.r et cathechese: aj;proche d'une ftttde de.r mentalith, Paris, Fayard-Mamc, 1972, esp. pp. 99-102. 46 B. Groethuysen, Ongine.r de !'e.rprit bo11rgeoir; trans. The Bottrgeor:r, p. 1 I 7. 47 Parole de Dietl et Revolution, p. 69. 48). Bossy, Chrirtianityandthe We.rt, 1400-1700, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 35. 49 F. Lebrun (eel.), Hi.rtoire des catholiq11e.r en France du XV" siecle ?i no.r;our.r, Toulouse, Privat, 1980, pp. 137-8. 50 J. Bossy, 'The social history of confession in the age of the Reformation·, Tramaction.r of the Royal Hi.rtorica! Society, 5th series, 25 (1975), 21-38.

278

A Social HZ:rtory a/French CatholiciJm1789-1914

51 G. Bouchard, Village immobtie, pp. 291-2. 52 R. Darricau, 'l.es catechismes au XVIII" siecle, dans les dioceses de !'Ouest (province ecclesiastique de Bordeaux)', Annales de Bretagne, 81 (3) (1974), 599-614 (604). 53 Parole de Die11 et Rer;ofution, p. 24; also in F. Lebrun (cd.), H£rtoire de.r catholiques, p. 183, and]. Delumeau (ed.), Histoire vecue, vol ii, p. 65. 54 R. Favre, La Mort a11 .riecle de.r L11mieres, Presses Universitaires de Lyon, 1978, pp. 78-9 55 For example, P Aries,). McManners, D. Roche; see my article 'Hellfire and damnation in 19th-century France·, Catholic Ht:rtorical Review, 74 ( 3) Ouly 1988), 383-402. 56 G. Vovcllc and M. Vovcllc, Virion de Ia mort et de l'au-dela en Provence, d'apres les autels des limes du Purgatoire, xv··-xx·· siecles, Paris, A. Colin, 1970, p. 41. 57 J. Dclumeau, Le Peche et Ia pe11r. La cttlpabilisatiotl en Occtdent, XIW-XVJJJ" siecles, Paris, Fayard, 1983, p. 438. 58 F. Lebrun (ed.), 1-hrtoire des catholiques, pp. 123-4. 59 ) . Delumeau, 'Au sujct de Ia dechristianisation', Retme d'Hirtoire Mode me et Contempomine, xxii (1975), pp. 52-60 (esp. p. 59); also hisLe Catholicirme de Luther a Voltaire, p. 340, and his Un chemin d'histolre, pp. 136-7

2

The Revolution

For the content of the Third Estate cahier.r where religious matters arc concerned, secT Tackett, Religion, Rez;ofution and Regional Cult11re in Eighteenth-century France: the Ecclesiastical Oath of 1791, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1986, p. 13; also T. F. Sheppard, 'The clergy of Touraine at the time of the Revolution', in Proceedings of the 9th Annual Comortiutll on Revolutionary Europe: 1750-1850 (1979), Athens, Georgia, 1979, pp. 133-9 (p. 133). Percentages are for the general cahiers. For the content of clerical cahiers, see Tackett, Religion, Ret;o/ution, pp. 146-55. 2 T. Tackett, Priest and Parish in Eighteenth-cent11ry France: a Social and Polittcal Study of the cures in a Diocese ofDauphine, 1750-1791, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1977. p. 120 (and, for what follows here, pp. 124-7, 144-5, 231-7); D. Julia, 'I.e clerge paroissial dans le diocese de Reims a Ia fin du XVIII" sieclc', Revue d'Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, xiii (1966), 195-216 (esp. 213-14); A. Poyer, 'l.es cures de Ia Quinte du Mans au XVIII" siecle (de 1723 au debut de Ia Revolution)', La Prot;ince du Maine, 76 (4, 11) ( 1974), 263-77 ( esp. 275 ); B. Plongeron, N.J. Chaline, M. Lagree, and S. Chassagne, L'Eglt:re de France et fa Revolution. Hirtoire regionale. 1. L'Ouest, Paris, Beauchesne, 1983, p. 64. 3 R. F. Necheles, 'The cures in the Estates General of 1789', journal of Modem Hz:rtory, 46 (Sept. 1974), 425-44 (427). Different figures in J. I.cflon,LaCrireretJo/utionnaire, 1789-1846, Paris, Bloud&Gay, 1949, p. 43.

NoteJ

279

4 See Necheles, 'The cures', and M. Hutt, 'The role of the cures in the Estates General of 1789', Journal of Ecclesiastical History, vi (2) (Oct. 1955), 190-220. 5 G. Lefebvre. Etudes sur fa Revolution franr:ai.re, 2nd edn, Paris, PUF, 1963, 'La vente des biens nationaux' (pp. 307-37). 6 See the introduction by Roland Desne to the Garnier-Flammarion edition (1968) ofDiderot'sReltgietlse, esp. p. 19 7 A. Latreille, L 'Eglise catholiqr1e et Ia Revol11tion franr:a£re, i, Le Pontifii:at de Pie VIet Ia cri.refranr:aise (1775-1799). Paris, Hachette, 1946, p. 83. 8 P. Christophe, Les Choix du clerge dan.r les revol~ttion.r de 1789, 1830 et 1848, i, 1789, Lille, privately published, 1975, p. 61. 9 T. Tackett, Reltgion, Revolution, p. 40. A brilliant and definitive book. 10 ibid.' p. 62. 11 ibid. p. 53- replacing older versions. For the correlation, seep. xvi. note 3. 12 D. Mornet, Les Ongines intellectuelles de Ia RetJo/ution franvaise (1715-1787), 5th edn, Paris, A. Colin, 1954 (1933), pp. 406-10,412-15. 13 B. Plongeron, Conscience relrgieuse en revolution: regards sur /'historiographic de Ia Revolution franr:aise, Paris, A.&]. Picard, 1969, ch. 1, section 2. 14 M. Reinhard ( ed. ), Les Pretre.r abdicataires pendant fa Revolution franr:aise. Actes du 39c Congres National des Societes Savantes, Section d'Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, 1<:rc partie, Paris, Imprimerie Nationale, 1964, p. 225 (for quotation); M. Vovelle, Religion et RezJOlution -Ia dechristianZ:ration de l'an II, Paris, Hachette, 1976, p. 19; L. Perouas, 'Le clerge creusois durant la periode revolutionnaire'. Memoires de Ia Societe des Science.r Naturelles et Archeologiques de fa CretiSe, 39 (2) (1976), 552-94 (578). 15 J. Go del, La Recomtruction concordataire dans le diocese de Grenoble apres fa Revolution (1802-1809), Grenoble, privately published, 1968, p. 276, appears to be the origin of this figure; A. Latreille, L 'Eglr:re catholique, p. 165, gives a figure of 2,000. 16 R. Cobb, Le.r Armee.r revolutionnarre.r: imtrtttJlettt de Ia Ter.reur dam le.r departements, avri/1793-jloreal an II, Paris/The Hague, Mouton, 1963, pp. 660, 687; Y.-G. Paillard, 'Fanatiques et patriotes dans le Puy-deDome: Ia dechristianisation', Annales Historique.r de Ia Revolution Franr;aise, 233 Ouly-Sept. 1978), 372-404 (esp. 396-404). 17 M. Vovelle, Reltgion et Revolution, conclusion; T. Tackett, Priest and Pan:rh, p. 295; P. Goujard, 'Sur Ia dechristianisation dans !'Ouest: Ia le~on des adresses a Ia Convention Nationale', Annates Historiqttes de Ia Ret,oiutton Fram;aise, 233 Ouly-Sept. 1978), 433-50 (esp. 448). 18 R. Cobb, Les Armee.r revolutionnaire.r. p. 679. 19 A. Soboul, Le.r Sans-culotte.r parisiem en /'an II. Mouvement poprdaire et gouvemement revolutionnaire, 2 jum 1793-9 thermidor an II, 2nd edn, Paris, Clavreuil, 1962, pp. 286, 310. 20 L. Bergeron eta/., Contribution.r a l'histoire demographique de Ia Revolution franya£re, 3rd series, Paris, 1970. esp. the maps on pp. 52, 190; A. Blum and). Houdaille, '12000 Paristens en 1793. Sondage dans les cartes de civisme', Population, 41 (2) ( 1986), 259-302 ( esp. 277).

280

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

21 M. Vovelle, 'Dechristianisation in Year II: expression or extinction of a popular culture', in Religion and Society in Early Modern Europe, 15001800, ed. K. von Greyerz, London, Allen & Unwin, 1984, pp. 79-94; M. Vovelle, Les MiJtamorphose.r de Ia fete en Provence, de 1750 ii 1820, Paris, Aubier-Montaigne, 1976; M. Vovelle, 'De vendemiaire afructidor an II. L' autre '' dechristianisation'' ', in Hr:rtolre vectte du peuple chriJtien, ed. J. Dclumeau, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, vol. ii, pp. 93-124 (esp. p. 122). 22 0. Hufton, 'The reconstruction of a church, 1796-1801', in Beyond the Terror: Essays in French Regional and Social Hr:rtory, 1794-1815, ed. G. Lewis and C. Lucas, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1983. pp. 21-52 (p. 47). 23 A. Latreille, L'Eglr:re catholique et Ia Revolution franraise, vol. ii, Paris, Hachette, 1950, p. 18. 24 S. Dclacroix. La Reorganisation de I' egli.re de France apre.r Ia Revolutiotl (1801-1809), vol. i (the only one to have appeared), Paris, Vitrail, 1962. p. 18. 25 J. Godel, La Recomtmction concordataire, p. 99. 26 P. Bois, Pay.ram de I'Oue.rt: des .rtmctures economiques et sociale.r aux optiom politiques depuir l'epoque revolutionnaire dan.r Ia Sarthe, Paris/ The Hague, Mouton, 1960; C. Tilly, The Vmdee, London, E. Arnold, 1964; D. Sutherland, The Chouam: the Social Origim a/Popular Counterret;o/ution in Upper Brittany, 1770-1796, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1982. 27 T. Tackett, 'The West in France in 1789: the religious factor in the origins of counterrevolution' ..Journal of Modern Hi.rtory, 54 (Dec. 1982), 715-45. 28 J.-L. Ormieres, 'Politique et religion dans !'Ouest', Annales B.S. C.. 40 (5) (Sept.-Oct. 1985), 1041-66 (csp. 1061). 29 M. Reinhard, Religion, revolutiot1 etcontre-revolution, Paris, CDU, 1960, p. 224. 30 J. McManners, French Ecclesiastical Society Under the Ancien Regime: a Study of Anger.r in the Eighteenth Century, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1960, p. 290. 31 D. Greer, The Incidence of the Terror dun'ng the French Revolution: a Stati.rtical Interpretation, Gloucester, Mass., Peter Smith, 1966 (Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1935), pp. 37, 96, 161-3: T. Tackett and C. Langlois, 'Ecclesiastical structures and clerical geography on the eve of the French Revolution', French Hirtorical Studie.r, xi (3) (1980), 352-70 (355-6, n. 12). 32 D. Greer, The Incidmce of the Emigration during the French Revolution, Gloucester, Mass., Peter Smith, 1966 (Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1951), pp. 69, 82-3. 33 M. Lagrec, 'Piete populaire et revolution en Brctagne. L' excmple des canonisationsspontanees( 1793-1815 )',in Commission d'Histoire Economique et Sociale de Ia Revolution Fran~aisc, Votes nouvelle.r pour l'histoire de Ia Revolution franr;aise (Colloquc Albert Mathiez-Gcorges Lefebvre), Paris, Bibliotheque Nationalc, 1978, pp. 265-79 ( esp. pp. 270-1 ); A. Soboul, 'Sentiment rcligicux ct cultcs populaires: saintes patriotes et martyrs de Ia libertC', Annale.r I-hrtoriques de Ia Revolution Franr;aise, 3 ( 195 7), 192-213.

Notes

281

34 Plongcron eta/., L'EgHre de France et Ia Revolution, pp. 55, 80-4; G. Lewis, The Second Vendee: the Continuity ofCounter-revolution in the Department of the Gard, 1789-1815, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1978. 35 M. Lagree, '[Le diocese del Rcnncs', in L 'Eglr:re de France et Ia RetJOiution. pp. 39-60 (quotation p. 51) - and sec M. Lagrec, Aspects de Ia vie religleuse en Ille-et-Vt!aine, 1815-1848, Paris, Klincksieck, 1977. 36 Plongcron eta/., L 'Eglise de France et Ia Ret1o/ution, pp. 30-2, 57, 79; J. Godel, La Recon.rtmction concordataire, p. 211: L. Pcrouas, 'Lc clcrgc crcusois', 587-90.

3

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

The secular clergy

E. Germain, Parler du salut? A11x origines d'rme mentalite religieuse. La catechese du salut dans Ia France de Ia Restauration, Paris, Beauchesne, pp. 504-17 (p. 508); E. Germain, Langages de Ia foi ii traver.r l'histoire. Mentalites et catechese. Approche d'rme etude de.r mentalitiJJ, Paris, Fayard-Mamc, 1972, pp. 168-70 (p. 169). P, Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne dam un grand dioce.re de /'Ouest de Ia France: le diocese du Mam: 1830-1854, thesis (Ill" cycle), Cacn, 1980, p. 72. F. Lebrun ( cd. ), Hirtoire de.r catholiques en France du XV" siecle (}nos ;ourJ, Toulouse, Privat, 1980, pp. 86-7 (quotation by R. Sauzet, from Vehementernos. 11 February 1906). B. Delpal, La Vie chretienne dam les j1aroisses du diocese de Valence au mzfieu du XIX" siecle, thesis (IJJ<· cycle), University of Lyon II, 1980, vol. i, p. 329; G. Cholvy, Religion et societe au XIX'' siecle: le diocese de Montpellier, thesis (d'Etat), University of Paris I, 1972, p. 614. M. Bee, 'La rcvolte des confrcries de charitc de I'Eurc en 1842-1843', Annales de Norman die, 24 ( 1) (March 1974), 89-155. For penitents in general, sec J. Godel, La Recon.rtmction concordataire dan.r le diocese de Grenoble apres Ia Revolution ( 1802-1809), Grenoble, privately published, 1968; B. Delpal, La Vie chretienne, pp. 322-32; G. Cholvy, Religion et .rociiJte, pp. 315-22, 606-14, 883; A. Corbin, Archaisme et modemite en Limormn au XIX'' siecle. 1845-1880, Paris, Marcel Riviere, 1975, vol. i, pp. 666-7. M.-C. Pierre, Les Idees politiques de Mgr Tminaz (eviJque de Tarentaire 1873-1882. eviJque de Nancy 1882-1918), thesis (IJJ<· cycle), University of Nancy II, 1982, p. 163;]. Gadille. La Pensee et l'actron politiqueJ des iJt;iJques franrais au debut de Ia IJJ<· Republique, 1870/1883, Paris, Hachette, 1967. vol. i, p. 196 (and p. 200). G. Cholvy, 'De l'hommc d'oeuvre au militant: une evolution dans laconception du la'icat catholique en France dcpuis le XIxc siecle', Mircellaneae Historiae Ecclesiasticae, vii (1985), 215-42; J.-M. Mayeur, 'La place des la'ics au XIxc sieclc', Recherches et Debats, 42 (March 1963), 52-60. Archives de Ia Compagnie de Saint-Sulptce, papicrs Dupanloup, dossier de l'affairedesclassiqucs, f. 542(Angebault);AmidelaRelzgion, 31July 1849,

282

9 10

11

12

13 14

15 16

17 18

19 20

21

A Social History ofFrench Catho!t'c£sm 1789-1914

vol. 142, p. 270 (Dupanloup). Sec also A. R. May, 'The fourth estate within the first estate: independence or control - France, 1841-4 7', Societas, iv (4) (Autumn 1974), 303-25, and A. R. May, 'The Falloux law, the Catholic press and the bishops: crisis of authority in the French church, French I-hrton'cal Studies, viii (1) (Spring 1973), 77-94. On Veuillot in general, see (inter alia) M. L. Brown, Lordr Vetullot: French Ultramontane Catholic Jo!lnlrllist and La,Yman, 1813-1883, Durham, North Carolina, Moore Publishing Co., 1977: B. Le Roux, Louis Veuillot, ttn hom me, !In combat, Paris, Tequi, 1984; A. Gough, Parir and Rome: the Gallican Church and the Ultramontane CamjJaign, 1848-1853, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1986, ch. 5. B. Dclpal, La Vie chretienne, p. 19. P. Foucault, Aspects de Itt 11ie chretinme, p. 219 (also pp. 72, 187). Sec also M.A. Gabbert, 'The limits of French Catholic liberalism: Mgr Sibour and the question of ccclcsiology', French Historical Studies, x (4) (Fall 1978), 641-63 (esp. 649-55). J.-M. Maycur (eel.), L 'Histolre religieuse de Ia france, 19"-20" siec!e: problemes et methode.r, Paris, Beauchesne, 1975, p. 16. A. Latreille, 'Nominations episcopales au XIX< siecle. Unc enquete de M. de Falloux (1849)', Cahtm d'Histoire, v (3) (1960), 241-9 (247). R. Remoncl, Le.r Det1x Congre.r ecclesiastiques de Reims et de Bourges, 1896-1900, Paris, Sircy, 1964, p. 214. Y .-M. Hilaire, 'Les evequcs mcnnaisiens au XIX" siecle', in L 'E11eque dans l'hirtoire de I'Eg!t:re. Actes de Ia 7" rencontre d'hr.rtoire religieuse tenue a Fontem111d les 14 et 15 oct. 1983, Angers, Presses de l'Universite cl' Angers, 1984, pp. 181-90 (p. 184). Y. Le Gallo, Pretre.r et prelats du diocese de Qmmper de Ia fin drt XVII!" .riec!e a1830, thesis (d'Etat), Brest, 1980, p. 982. For the social origins of the episcopate, see C. Pouthas, 'Lc clerge ct Ia monarchic constirutionnellc, 1814-1848', RetJtte d'Hi.rtoire de I'Eglise de France, xxix (1943), 19-53 (49-51); A. Gough, Paris and Rome, p. 40; ]. Gaclillc, La Pemee et !'action, vol. i, pp. 24-7, 35-6. Archives clu diocese de Perigucux, unclassified. Archives clu diocese clu Mans, Memoires clu chanoinc Paumarcl, vol. i, pp. 115bis, 141; P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne, pp. 249-50. Sec also Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Le rccrutcment ecdesiastiquc clans Ia premiere moitie clu XIX" sieclc: lc diocese cl 'Arras represcnte-t-il un cas original?' Bulletin de Ia Societe d'Hr:rtoire Modeme, 67 (14, 6) (1968), 13-19 P. Vigncron, Histoire des crises dtt c!erge franrai.r contemporain, Paris, Tequi, 1976, p. 49 (for examples of such vocations). M. Faugcras, quoted by M. Launay, Le Diocese de Nantes sous le Second Empire. MgrJaquemet, 1849-1869, Nantes, CID, 1982, vol. i, p. 303. Quotations from F. Boularcl, Essorou dec/in du clerge franr,:ais?, Paris, Cerf, 1950, p. 117; H. Taine, Les Origines de Ia France contemporaine. Le regime modeme, vol. iii, Paris, Hachette, 1899, pp. 109-10; C. Pouthas,L'Eglise et les qrte.rtion.r religieuses sorts Ia monarchic comtitutionnelle, 1814- I 848, Paris, CDU, vol. i, p. 168.

Notes

283

22 A. de Pontmartin, quoted by A. Mather, 'Rapport sur lcs vocations sacerclotales dans lcs colleges catholiques', L'Emeignement Chretien, supplement to no. of 1 November 1899, p. 14. The pun is untranslatable. 23 P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia 11ie chretienne, p. 156; B. Delpal, La 11ie chretlenne, vol. i, p. 50. 24 H. Pomme, 'La pratique religicuse clans Jcs campagncs de la Meurthc vers 1840', Amzales de /'Est, 20 (2) (1968), 137-57 (146). 25 N.-J. Chaline, 'Le rccrutcmcnt clu clerge clans le diocese de Rouen au XIX< siecle', Rev!le d'Hirt01re Economiq11e et Sociale, xlix (3) (1971), 385-405 (395-7). 26 p' Boutry, Pretres et paroisseS/111 Pa.YS du cure d'Ars, Paris, Cerf, 1986, p. 197 27 G. Cholvy, 'Le conflit entre I'Eglise et I'Etat clans lc recrutement sacerdotal dans Ic diocese de Montpcllicr (1879-1914)', Annales du Midi, 73 (1961), 45-64 (63). 28 Y. Beaudoin, LeGrand Seminalre de Marseille (et scolasticat oblat) sorts Ia direction des oblats de Marie immaculee, 1827- I 862, Ottawa, Etudes Oblates, 1966, p. 146. 29 Annttaire Statistiqtte de Ia France, 1878-1889; censuses of 1872 (for the Protestant population), 1876, 1881, and 1886. For other maps of religious vocations, see F. Boularcl, Premiers ItiniJralres en sociologic religieuse, 2nd ccln, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1966 (1954), p. 46, and J.-P. Aron, P. Dumont and E. Le Roy Lacluric, Anthropologie du conscrit fran~ats d'apres les comptes tmmeriqt~es et sommaires dtt recrtttement de l'armee (I 8I 9-1826). Presentation cartograjJhique, Paris/The Hague, Mouton, 1972, p. 74. 30 Mgr Fournier, of Nantes ( 1870- 77); sec M. Launay, Le Diocese de Nantes, vol. ii, pp. 810-23. The abbe Audierne was almost appointed Bishop of Perigueux in 1836 . 31 G. Bcssiere,]. Piquet,]. Potel, and H. Vulliez, Les Valets du jJresb,Ytere sont ouvert.r: 2000 pretre.r racontent, Paris, Dcsclee de Brouwer, 1985, ch. 4. 32 B. Del pal, La Vie chretienne, pp. 58-9 33 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orlean.r au milieu dtt XIX" siecle, Paris, Sircy, 1964, p. 256 (and pp. 256-62). 34 G. Cholvy, Religion et societe, p. 431. 35 H. Gazcau, L 'Evolution religieu.re des pa.Ys anget1ins de 18I4 a1876, thesis (d'Etat), Rcnncs, 1960, 3 vols, vol. i, p. 54. Sec also (inter alia) G. Richard, 'Lc sentiment rcligicux en Lorraine sous Ia Rcstauration ct les missions', Annales de /'Est, 5th series, 10 (1) (1959), 39-71 (46-9). 36 R. Gibson, 'Reconstruction religieuse ct anticlericalisme rural en Dorclognc au lendemain de Ia Revolution: !'abbe Vienne, cure de Saint Vincent-clcCosse'. Bulletin de Ia Societe Historiqtte et Archeologique du Perigord, ex (1983), 319-37 (330). 37 P. Boutry, Pretres etparoisse.r, p. 367. 38 See in particular R. Mag raw, 'The conflict in the villages: popular anticlericalism in the !sere (1852-70)', in Conflict.r in Frmch Societ,Y. Anticlericalism, Edt~cation and Morals in the I 9th Century, eel. T. Zeldin, London, Allen & Unwin, 1970, pp. 169-227.

284

A Social HZ:rtory ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

39 E. Baudairc, 'La formation inrcllcctucllc du clerge fran\ais au Xlxc siecle', Annale.r de Philo.rojJhie Chretienne, 3rd series, v ( = li) (Nov.-Dec. 1904), 153-69, 267-307 (154). 40 P. Huot-Pleuroux, Le Recmtement sacerdotal dan.r le diocese de Besanron, de 1801 1i 1960, Bcsan\on, 1966, p. 98. 41 G. Cholvy, Religion et societe, p. 365. 42 C. Dumoulin, Un .reminaire franr:ais au xix·· siecle. Le recmtement, Ia formation, laviede.rclerc.raBourge.r, Paris, Tequi, 1978, p. 207. 43 E. Gargan, 'The priestly culture in modern France', Catholic Hr:rtorical Review, Ivii (I) (April 1971), 1-20 (18). Sec also Memoires de Mgr jean Calvet, Editions clu Chalet, 1967, pp. 45-6. 44 P. Catrice, 'La formation theologique du clcrge au Xlxc siecle: quelques faits et reflexions', Melanges de Science.r Religieu.re.r, 25 (3-4) (1968), 171-86 (172); 26 (1) (1969). 43-51. 45 H. W. Paul, 'In quest of Kerygma: Catholic intellectual life in nineteenthcentury France', American Hr:rtorical Revrew, Jxxv (2) (Dec. 1969). 387-423 (422). 46 Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au XIX" siecle? La 11ie religreuse de.r population.r du diocese d'Arms (1840-1914), Lille. Presses Univcrsitaires de Lille, 1977, 2 vols, vol. i, p. 197. References available for Le Mans, Nantes, Belley, Perigueux. 47 H. W. Paul, 'In quest of Kerygma', 419-20; see also]. Gadille, La Pensee et /'action. pp. 36-7. 48 P. Catrice, 'La formation theologiquc', 45-7; C. Savart, Les Catholiques en France au XIX" siecle. Le temoignage dulivre religieux, Paris, Beauchesne, 1985, pp. 165-70; A. Manclouzc and]. Fouilhcron (eels), Migne et le renouveau des et11des jJatr/rtiques, Pads, Beauchesne. 49 M. Foucault, Surverller et punir: nar:r.rance de Ia pr/ron, Paris, Gallimard, 1975, pt. III; Eng. cdn, D/rcipline and Puni.rh: the Birth of the Prison, trans. A. Sheridan, London, Allen Lane, 1977. 50 Y. Beaudoin, Le Grand Seminaire, p. 70 (reglement of the Marseilles seminary). 51 G. Cholvy, Religion et .rociete, p. 438. 52 C. Dumoulin, Un seminaire franrair, p. 400; M. Launay, Le Dioce.re de Nante.r, vol. i. p. 290. 53 Archives du diocese de Perigueux, C 565. 54 G. Cholvy, Religion et .rociete, p. 373. 55 C. Dumoulin, Unseminairefranr:ais, p. 178. 56 G. Cholvy, Religion et societe, pp. 901, 942. 57 M. Launay, Le Dioce.re de Nante.r, vol. ii, p. 514; P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne, p, 331. 58 Y. Le Gallo, Pr'etre.r et pre!ats, p. 1064. 59 E. Germain, Parler du .ralut?, p. 136 (and pp. 136-43 ). 60 P. Boutry, Pretre.r et paroi.rses, p. 213. 61 J.-P. Cl1aline, Les Bourgeoir de Rauen: ttne elite urbaine au XIX" steele, Paris, FNSP, 1982, pp. 477-8. 62 G. Cholvy, 'La religion, Ia jeuncsse et Ia dansc ·, in O£rivete et loisirs dan.r les .rociete.r occidentales a11 XIX'' siecle, eel. A. Daumarcl, Amiens, Centre de

Notes

285

Recherche d'Histoire Sociale de I'Universite de Picardie, 1983, pp. 137 -47; ) . Faury, 'Lcs cures ct Ia danse au Xlxc sieclc', Actes du 102" congres national des societes satJantes, Limoges, 1977. Section d'hirtoire moderne et contemporaine, Paris. B.N., 1978, vol. i, pp. 331-49; M. R. Marrus, 'Modernization and dancing in rural France: from "Ia bourrec" to "lc fox-trot" in ]. Bcauroy, M. Bertrand, and E. T. Gargan, The Wolf and the Lat~b: Popular Culture it~ France from the Old Regime to the Twentieth Century, Saratoga, Anma Librt, 1976, pp. 141-59. 63 P. Foucault, Aspect.r de Ia vie chretienne, p. 195. 64 M. Denis, Le.r Royalistes de Ia Mayenne et le monde modeme (XIX"-XX" siecles), Paris. Klincksicck, 1977, p. 351. 65 ].-C. Martin, 'Le clerge vendcen face a !'industrialisation (fin XIX<-debut xxc)', ~tmales de Bretagne, 89 (3) (1982), 357-68 (361). 66 L: ..Velllllot, Oeuvres Completes. Paris, Lcthielleux, xxxix (=Melanges, Xlll), 1938, pp. 167-8. 67 M. Launay, Le Diocese de Nantes, vol. ii, p. 522. 68 P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne, p. 299. 69 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orlean.r, pp. 253-4; A. Corbin, Archai'sme et modemite, vol. i, p. 662. 70 AnnuaireStatistique, vol. 34, 1914and 1915, Paris, ImprimerieNationale, 1917, pp. 1s·. 19·. 71 C. Savart, Le.r Cr,ttholiques en France, pp. 318-35 (quotation from p. 325 ). 72 G. Cholvy, Reltgion et societe, p. 951. 73 Le Cure de campagne- rem/tat d'une enquete recente faite par un homme d'oeuvres, Paris, B.N. Ld' 8634, 1893, pp. 15-16. 74 ?n the congresses of 1896 and 1900, seeR. Remand, Les Deux Congres. 75 Ibid., pp. 213-14. 76 ~~ the cure d'Ars, seeP. Boutry and M. Cinquin, Deux Pelerinage.r au XIX" steele: Ars et Paray-le-Momal. Paris, Beauchesne, 1980; P. Boutry, 'Un sanctuaire et son saint: Jean-Marie-Baptiste Vianncy, cured' Ars', Annales E.S. C., 35 (2) (March-April 1980), pp. 353-79;). Genet, L'Enigme des sermons dtt cure d'Ars, Paris, Orante, 1961; F. Trochu, Le Cure d'Ars, .raint ]ean-Marie-Baptirte Vianney, Lyon, Vitte, 1926.

4

The regular clergy

1 ) . Burnichon, LaCompagnie de }estts en France. Histoire d' ttn siecle, 18141914,4 vols, Paris. Beauchesne, 1914-1922, vol. i, 1814-1830, p. 16, n. 2. 2 C. Langlois, Le Catholicisme att fiiminin. Les congregation.r franraises a

sttperieure generale au XIX" siecle, Paris, Cerf. 1984, p. 321. Also pp. 62-3. 308-10, 312-23. 522, for what follows. This important thesis is the source and inspiration for a considerable part of this chapter. See also C. Langlois, ·~es ef!e~tifs d~s congregations feminines au x1xc siecle: de I' enquete statistique a I his to Ire quantitative', Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglise de France, lx Oan.-June 1974), 39-64 (esp. pp. 56, 62-3 for this paragraph), and C. Langlois, 'Le catholicisme au feminin ·, Archive.r de Sciences Sociales des Religions, 57 (1) Uan.-March 1984), 29-53 .

286

A Social History ofFrench Cathofidrm 1789-1914

3 C. Langlois, 'Les congregations de gardes-malades et le mouvement congreganiste au XIX" siecle', in Andre Sou/as et le.r soeurs gardes-malade.r de Notre-Dame At~xtliatrice (1808-1875), ed. G. Cholvy, Montpellier, Dehan, 1982, pp. 5-13 (pp. 6-7). 4 A. Rivet, 'Des "ministres" la"iques au XIX" siede? Les Beates de Ia HauteLoire', Revue d'Hirtoire de I'Eglt:re de France, lxiv ( 1978), 27- 38; C. Langlois and P. Wagret, Stmcture.r religiet1ses et celibat feminin. Le.r tier.rordres dam le diocese de Vannes. La Congregation de Saint Martin de Bollrgue~l, Lyon, Centre d'Hisroire du Catholicisme, 1972; C. Langlois, Le Catholicirme att jeminin, pp. 68-9; C. Langlois, Le Diocese de Vmmes au XIx·· siecle, 1800-1830, Paris, Klincksicck, 1974, pp. 576-9; M. Lagree, Aspects de Ia vie religieu.re en Ille-et-Vt!aine (1815-1848), thesis (Ill" cycle), University of Hautc-Bretagne, 1974, pp. 412-14. There were also male tertiaries; see C. Langlois, 'Essai de description du ticrs-ordre franciscain en France dans Ia secondc moitie du XIX" siede', and).-M. Mayeur, 'Ticrs-ordre franciscain et catholicisme en France a Ia fin du XIX" sieclc', Revue d'I-hrtoire de I'Eglt:re de France, lxx Uan.-Junc 1984), 167-80 and 181-94. 5 P. Zinc!, Les Nouvelles Congregation.r de freres en.reignants en France de 1800 a 1830, 3 vols, Lc Monter, privately published, 1969, vol. i, pp. 469-70. 6 Stattstique de Ia France, 2nd series, vol. xiii, Resttltats generaux du denombrement de 1861 ... Recemement special des comtrmnautes religieu.res, Strasbourg, Imprimerie Berger-Lcvrault, 1864, p. ex; Annttaire Statistique, 1879. p. 72. 7 ). Burnichon, La Comj){lgnie de jestts, vol. i, pp. xxii, 508, 550, vol. ii, p. 218, vol. iv, pp. 314, 610ff; D. M. Linehan, The Socie~y ofje.ru.r in France, 1870-1880, Ph.D., University College, London, 1984, p. 79. For the statistics of Jesuit colleges in 1828, sec Burnichon, La Compagnie de }esm, vol. i, pp. 22-3,447. 8). Burnichon, La Compagnie de ]ems, vol. iv, pp. 499-516, 614-15; A. Dansctte, Histoire religiettse de Ia France contemj;oraine, Paris. Flammarion, 1951, pp. 278-80; P. Sorlin, Waldeck-Rom.reau, Paris. A. Colin, 1966. p. 430, n. 53; P.J. Harrigan, 'The social appeals of Catholic secondary education in France in the 1870s', journal of Social Hr:rtory, viii (3) (Spring 1975), 122-41 (131-2);J. W. Bush, 'Education and socml status: the Jesuit college in the early Third Republic', French Historical Studies, ix (1) (Spring 1975), 125-40 (135-9);). W. Langdon, 'New light on the influence of the Jesuit schools: the graduates of the ecole Sainte-Genevieve, Paris, 1854-1913', Third Republic!Troirieme Republique, i (Spring 1976), 132-51. 9 A. Debidour, L'Eglt:re catholique et l'etat so11s Ia Troirieme Republique (1870-1906), i, 1870-1889, Paris, F. Akan, 1906, pp. 222, 425-35 (for Bert's resume of his book); G. T. Cubitt, The Myth ofajesuit Conspiracy in France, 1814-1880, Ph.D .. Cambridge, 1984, pp. 586ff(and pp. 241-56 for Raspail). 10 C. Langlois, Le Catholicisme all feminin, ch. II (and pp. 523-4). The maps are derived from the Statist/que de Ia France. 2nd series, vol. xiii, Resultat.r,

Notes

287

generaux, pp. 84-6 '(census) and cxi-cxii (communities). They may be slightly distorted by the peculiar age structure of the Breton population. 11 M. Faugeras, 'Vocations religieuscs d'hommes dans le diocese de Nantes au XJX< siecle (1803-1914)', Bulletin de Ia Societe Archeologique et Histon.que de Nante.r, 118 ( 1982), 39-59, and 'Les vocations rcligieuses de femmes dans le diocese de Nantes au XIX" siecle (1802-1914), Enqttetes et Documents (Universite de Nante.r), vol. i (1971), 239-81; G. Cholvy, 'Le recrutement des religicux dans le diocese de Montpellier ( 1830-1956)', Revue d'Hr:rtoire de I'Eglr:re de France, xliv (141) (1958), 57-73. and 'Les vocations sacerdotalcs et religieuses du diocese de Montpellier (1801-1956)', Annales d11 Midi. lxxi (1959), 222-9; L. Perouas, 'Les religieuses dans le pays creusois du XVlJC au xxc siecle', Cahier.r d'Histoire, xxiv ( 2)( 1979), 17-43 ;). -M. Perie. 'Les vocations sacerdotales et religieuses dans le diocese de Rodez, 1850-1914'. Revue du Rouergue, 127 UulySept. 1978), 223-33, and 128 (Oct.-Dec. 1978), 325-37. I have not been able to consult Y. Pourcher, 'Les vocations sacerdotales et religieuses en Lozere', Monde Alpin et Rhodamen, 13 (2-3) (1985), 55-82. 12 M. Faugeras, 'Vocations religieuses d'hommes', 49; D. M. Linehan, Society ofjesu.r, pp. 72, 76, 106-11; H. Gazeau,L'Ez;olutionreligieusedespays angevin.r de 1814 a 1870, thesis (d'Etat), Rennes. 1960, p. 560, and 'notes and references' volume, p. 309, n. 40; Y. Beaudoin, Le Grand Seminaire de Marsetfle (et .rcolasticat oblat) sous Ia direction de.r Ob!ats de Made lmmac11lee. 1827-1862, Ottawa,Etudcs Oblates, 1966, p. 61. 13 P. Sorlin, 'La Croix' et le.r juifr (1880-1899), Paris, B. Grasser, 1967. pp. 18-19; ). Mather, 'The Assumptionist response to secularization, 1870-1900', in Modern European Social Ht:rtory, ed. R. J. Besucha, Lexi~gton, D. C. Heath, 1972, pp. 59-89 (pp. 63-4). 14 P. Zmd, Le.r Nouz;elle.r Congregations, p. 178, and p. 469 for the quotation. 15 Archives du diocese de Perigueux, D 195. 16 M. Faugeras, 'Les vocations religieuses de femmes', 274-5, and 'Les Soeurs de !'Instruction Chretienne de Saint-Gildas-des-Bois au xixc siecle (18071869)', in Les Religieuses enseignantes, xvr -XX" .riecle.r, Angers, Presses de I'Universited'Angers, 1981,pp.101-13(p.llO). 17 J. Leonard, 'Femmes, religion et medecine: les religieuses qui soignent en France au XIXc siecle', Annales E.S. C., 32 (1977), 887-907 (901); C. Langlois, Le Catholici.rme au femmin, pp. 492, 599, 623. 18 0. Arnold, Le Corps et l'ame: Ia vie des religieuses au XIX'' .riecle, Paris, Seuil, 1984, pp. 168-9. 19 C. Langlois. '"Je suis Jeanne Jugan". Dependance socialc, condition feminine et fondation religieuse'. Archives de Sciences Sociale.r de.r Religions, 52 (1) Uuly-Sept. 1981), 21-35. 20 A. Corbin, Les Frfle.r de 11oce. M£rere sexuel!e et prostitution a11 19" et 2(J" siecles, Paris, Aubier, 1978, p. 288. 21 0. Arnold, Le Corp.r et l'ame, p. 81 (and p. 324 for nuns' happiness). 22 P. Branchereau, Le.r Congregatiom religieuses en Anjou sous l'episcopat de Mgr Angebault, 1842-1869, Angers, Universite Catholique de !'Ouest, p. 81; also pp. 79-83, 164-5.

288

A Social History of French Catholicirm 1789-1914

23 0. Arnold, Le Corps et l'ame, p. 31. 24 P. Zind, Les Nouvelles Congregation.r, p. 48 (and p. 384 for what follows). 25 E. Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen. The Modernization of Rural France, 1870-1914, London, Chatto & Windus, 1977, pp. 326-9. 26 Annuaire Statr:rtique, 1914-15,partie riitrospectitJe, p. 21*; R. D. Anderson, Education in France, 1848-1870, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1975, p. 112. 27 S. A. Horvath, 'Victor Duruy and the controversy over education for girls', French Historical Studies, ix (1) (Spring 1975), 83-104. 28 B. G. Smith, Ladies of the Leisure Class: the Bourgeoises of Northern France in the 19th Century, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1981, ch. 7. 29 J. Burnichon, La Compagnie dejems, vol. i, pp. 546-7. 30 A. Prost, Histoire de l'en.reignement en France, 1800-1967, Paris, A. Colin, 1968, p. 45. There is some double counting (and miscounting) in this table, which I have tried to correct. 31 L. Secondy, 'Place et role des petits seminaires dans l'enseignement secondaire en France au xrxc siecle', Revue d'Histoire de I'EgHre de France, lxvi Ouly-Sept. 1980), 243-59 (243). 32 P.]. Harrigan, 'The social appeals', 125. 33 ]. W. Langdon, 'The Jesuits and French education: a comparative study of two schools, 1852-1913', History of Education Quarter~y, 18 (Spring 1978), 49-60 (55-6); ]. Burnichon, La Compagnie de }ems, vol. iii, pp. 388, 434-5, vol. iv, pp. 613-14; R. D. Anderson, Education in France, pp. 113-14; R. Remand and E. Poulat (eds), Emmanuel d'Aizon dam Ia societe et I'Eglise du XIxe siecle, Paris, Le Centurion, 1982, pp. 251-2. For the flavour of a Catholic school, there is nothing to beat Montherlant's La Ville dont le prince est ttn enfant. 34 Statistique de Ia France, 2nd series, vol. xv, Statistique de !'Assistance Publiqtte (1854-1861 ), Strasbourg, Berger-Levrault, 1861, p. lxxiv: Ammaire Statistiqtte (annual volumes allow the construction of a series for France and Paris, 1871-1913); R. P. Lecanuet, L'Eglise de France .rous Ia Tr01:rieme Rejmblique, ii, Pontifical de Leon XIII, 1878-1894, Paris, Poussiclgue/de Gigord, 1910, pp. 196-204. It is true that religiett.res declined as a proportion of employees in etabli.rsements hospitaliers. 35 0. Arnold, Le Corps et l'ame, pp. 224-30. 36]. Burnichon, La Compagnie de }ems, vol. ii, p. 493; R. Remand, L 'AnticlericaHrme ett France de 1815 ii nosjours, Paris, Fayard, 1976, pp. 8-10. 37 Annuaire Statistique, 1914-15, partie retro.rpectitJe, p. 21*. 38 ibid. Also gives figures for numbers of teachers, but with a less useful breakdown. 39 R. Remand, L 'Anticlbicalisme, p. 78; R. P. Lecanuet, Les Signes avantcoureulJ de Ia Separation. Les dernilfres annees de Leon XIII et l'avlfnement de Pie X (1894-1910), Paris, F. Alcan, 1930, p. 200. 40 A. Prost, Histoire de l'enseignement, pp. 158-9. 41 P.J. Harrigan, 'The social appeals', 135.

Notes

289

42 ibid., 132- 3.]. W. Langdon contests the truth of this rum our in 'New light on the tnfluence of JesUit schools: the graduates of the ecole SainteGen~vieve, Paris, 1854-1913', Th;rd Republic!Troirilfme Reprtblique, i (Spnng 1976), 132-51. 43 J. McManners, Church and State in France, 1870-1914, London, SPCK, 1972, p. 45 (Gambetta); A. Prost, Histoire de l'enseignement, p. 212 (Lockroy). 44 R. P. Lecanuet, Les Srgnes at,ant-couretllJ, p. 242. 45 R. P. Lecanuet, L'Eglise de France, p. 18. 46 L. Fontvieil,Ie, Evolution et croissance de I'Etat franr;ais, 1815-1969, Caluers de I ISMEA, serie AF, no. 13, 1976, esp. Annexe II.

5

Popular religion

G. Cholvy, 'Expressio~s et evolutions du sentiment religieux populaire dans France d~ ~rxc siecle au temps de Ia restauration catholique (18011860) , tn La Prete poptilatre de 1610 ii nos jours, Actes du 99c Congres NatiOnal des SoCietes Savantes, Section d'histoire moderne et contemporaine, vol. i .. Paris, BN, 1976, pp. 289-320 ( esp. pp. 290-1). 2 For much of this paragraph, see G. Rocal, Les Vieilles Coutumes devotieuses et magiqttes dtt Perigord, Toulouse, E. H. Guitard, 1922, and G. Rocal, Le Vie11x Perrgord, Paris, Editions Occitania, 1927. 3 C. Marcilhacy, Le Dioclf.re d' Orleam au mrlieu du XJxe .riecle, Paris, Sircy, 1964, p. 328. 4 ibid., p. 373. 5 Y.~M. Hilai~e._ Une chretiente au XIxe siecle? La vie relrgieuse des populatrons dtt dtocese d'Arras (1840-1914), 2 vols. Lille, University ofLille III, 1977, vol. I, p. 400; E. Sevnn. 'Cr~yances populaires et medecine supranaturelle en Eure-et-L01r au xrxc sJecle, Revue d'Histoire de I'Egli.re de France, xxxii (121) Ouly-Dec. 1946), 265-308 (273-4). 6 La Piete populaire, p. 280. 7 On the cult of the saints, see]. Devlin, The Superstitious Mind. French Peasants and the Supernatural in the 19th Century, New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1987, pp. 9-18. 8 P. Audin, 'Un exemple de survivance paienne: le culte des fontaines dans Ia France de I' Ouest et du Centre-Ouest, 2° partie: du Moyen Age a nos jours· Atmale.r de Bretagne, 87 (4) (1980), 679.:_96 (esp. 693). ' 9 R. P. Carles, Les Titrtlaires et le.r patrom du dioclf.rede Perigtteux et de Sarlat, Perigueux, 1884, p. 64n. 10 A. Notter, Le Culte de.r .raints en Sologne aux XIX''-xxe siecles, thesis, Ecole des Chanes, 1981, part III, ch. 1, 'Les lieux deculte'. 11 R. Luneau, 'Monde rural et christianisation: prctres et paysans fran~ais du siecle dernier', Archives de Science.r Sociale.r de.r Relrgiotts, 43 (I) Oan.March 1977), 39-52 (49). 12 M: Lagree: 'Religion populaire et populisme religieux au xrxc siecle', in Hrstotre vecue du peuple chrettetl, ed. ]. Delumeau, Toulouse Privat 1979, vol. ii, pp. 157-78 (pp. 160-1). ' '

1;

290

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

13 P. Foucault, AsjJect.r de Ia 111e chretienne dans 11n grand diocese de /'Ouest de Ia France: le diocese du Mans: 1830-1854, thesis (III" cycle), Caen, 1980, pp. 45-6, 325-6. 14 A. Corbin, Archai:rme et modermte en Limo11sin au XIX" siecle, 18451880, 2 vols, Paris, M. Riviere, 1975, vol. i, p. 677 (and ch. 5 in general). 15 Chateaubriand, Le Genie du christianirme, 1802, part 3, book 5. ch. 6. 16 L. Veuillot, Melanges, vol. ix, Paris, Lethielleux, 1937, p. 60. 17 R. Gibson, Le.r Notable.r et I'Eglire dans le diocese de Perig11eux. 18211905, thesis (JIJ<· cycle), University ofLyon III, 1979. vol. i, pp. 41-2. 18 P Boutry. Pretres et jJaroisses au pay.r du cure d'Ars, Paris, Cerf, 1986, pp. 484-5. 19 L. Pcrouas, 'Entre le XVI" et le XIX" siecles, des regards differents sur le culte des saints en Limousin', in La Religion populaire (symposium held in Paris, 17-19 October 1977), Paris, CNRS, 1979, pp. 85-94 (p. 87). 20 Y. Le Gallo, Pretres et jJrelats du diocese de Quimper de Ia fin du XVII!" siecle a1830. thesis (d'Etat), Brest, 1980, p. 123; P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia 11ie chretienne, p. 20. 21 B. Bouchez, Le Culte maria/ dam Ia protJince de Cambrai (Nord-Pas de Calair), 1850-1914, thesis (III" cycle), University of Lille III, 1984, p. 119. 22 A. Corbin, Les Ftlles de noce: misere sexuelle et pro.rtit11tion aux 19'' et 2(J' .riiJcle.r, Paris, Aubier, 1978, p. 71. 23 N.-J. Chaline, 'La religion populaire en Normandie au XIX" siecle', in La Religion populaire, pp. 171-8 (p. 176). 24 E. Sevrin, 'Croyances populaires', 272. 25 A. Notter, Le Culte de.r .raints, p. 128. 26 Archives du diocese de Pcrigueux, D 25. 27 B. Bouchcz, Le Culte maria/, p. 322. 28 P. Boutry, 'Marie, Ia grande consolatrice de Ia France au XIX" siecle', L'Ht:rtoire, 50 (Nov. 1982), 31-9 (full list on p. 38). 29 G. Cholvy, Religion et societe au XIX" siecle. Le diocese de Montpellier, Lille, Presses Universitaires de Lille, 1973, pp. 1436-40. 30 T. Ksclman, Miracles and Prophecie.r in 19th-century France, New Brunswick, NJ, Rutgers University Press, 1983, p. 119. 31 P. Boutry and M. Cinquin, Deux Pelerinage.r au XIX" siecle: Ar.r et Paray-leMonial, Paris, Beauchesne, 1980 (the second part, by Michel Cinquin, concerns Paray). 32 B. Delpal, La Vie chretienne dam le.r paroisses d11 dioce.re de Valence au milieu d11 XIX" siiJcle, thesis (Ill" cycle), University of Lyon II, 1980, part 2, ch. 4. I take it that the same material is reproduced in his article: 'Les apparitions marialcs dans lc Drome au milieu du X!Xc sicclc (1848-1849), Retme Dromoire, 85 (439) (1986), 72-83 (not consulted). 33 M. R. Marrus, 'Cultures on the move: pilgrims and pilgrimages in 19thcentury France', Stanford French Review, i (2) ( 1977), 205-20. 34 Acta et decreta conctlii provinciae Burdigalemis in civitate aginnensi anna domini MDCCLIX celebrati, Agcn, 1860, tit. 2, caput 2, de ptir peregrinationibus, pp. 36-9.

Notes

291

35 A. Gough, 'Bishop Pic's campaign against the 19th century', in Conflicts in French Society: Anticlericalt:rm, Education and Morals in the 19th Century, London, 1970, pp. 94-168 (p. 163). 36 P. Boutry, 'Les saints des catacombcs: itincraires fran~ais d 'une pictc ultramontaine ( 1800-1881 )', Melanges de /'Ecole Franyaire de Rome, Moyen Age-Temps Modernes, 91 (2) (1979), 875-930. 37 Archives du diocese de Perigueux, C 735. See Y. Le Gallo, Pretres et prelats, p. 1063, for another lovely example. 38 A. Notter, Le Culte des saints, pp. 79-80 (though M. R. Marrus, 'Cultures on the move', disagrees). 39 B. Cousin, Notre-Dame des Lumieres: troir siecles de devotion pop11/aire en Luberon, Paris, Desclce de Brouwer, 1981, pp. 36-7, 111-12. 40 T. Kselman, Miracles and Prophecies, p. 55. 41 P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne, pp. 326-8; N.-J. Chaline, Les Catholiques du diocese de Rauen de Ia fin dll XIX" siecle a 1939, thesis (d'Etat), University of Paris X, p. 177 (for a photocopy of Saint Onuphre en culotte cottrte - not included in the published version). 42 The best treatment of Saint-Sulpice art is A. Notter, Le Culte des saints, part 3, ch. 2. See also C. Savart, 'A Ia recherche de !'"art" dit de SaintSulpice', Revue d'Histoire de Ia Spin'tualite, 52 (1976), pp. 265-82; ]. Durand, Une manufacture d'art chretien: Ia 'sainterie' de Vendeuvresur-Barse, 1842-1961, privately published, 1978; S. Forestier, 'Art industriel et industrialisation de !'art: l' exemple de Ia statuaire religieuse de Vendeuvre-sur-Barse', Ethnologie Franyaise, new series, 8 (2-3) (1978), 191- 200; L 'Image de piete en France, 1814-1914, Paris, Musee-galerie de Ia Seita, 1984: Religions et traditions populaire.r, Paris, Editions de Ia Reunion des Musees Nationaux, 1979. 43 B. Cousin, Ex-voto de Provence: images de Ia religion populaire et de Ia vie d'autrefois, Paris, Desclce de Brouwer, 1981; see also his article, 'Espace et sacre sur I' ex-voto peint provenyal', Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de I'Oue.rt, 90 (2) (1983), 349-56. 44 A. Corbin, Archaisme et modernite, pp. 676-7. 685-8. 45 Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au x1xc siecle?, vol. i, p. 408.

6

Religious practice: region, gender, and age

G. Le Bras, 'Dcchristianisation: mot fallacieux', Socitll Compass, 10 (6) (1963), 445-52 (447)- cf. his Etudes de sociologie religieuse, Paris, PUF, 1955. vol. i, p. 6 (note 5), and vol. ii, pp. 639, 695; G. Cholvy, Geographie religieuse de I'Hera11lt contemporain, Paris, PUF, 1968, p. 136. 2 F. Boulard, Premiers Itineraires en sociologie religieuse, 2nd edn, Paris, Editions Ouvricres, 1966, p. 19~ 3 F. Boulard eta/.. Matenartx pour l'histoire religieuse du pertple franvais, XIX"-xxe siecles, Paris, EHESS, FNSP. CNRS, 1982 (vol. i), 1987 (vol. ii). There are two more volumes to come. This collection is now the basic source for a quantified social history of French catholicism since the Revolution. It will be referred to in subsequent notes as MateriatiX.

292

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

4 M. Le Saux, Approche d'une etude de Ia dechristianisation (Haute-Vienne rurale), memoire de maitrise, Poitiers, 1971, p. 53. 5 P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne dans 1111 grand diocese de /'Ouest de Ia France: le diocese du Mans, 1830-1854, thesis (I!Je cycle), Caen, 1980, p. 17. 6 M. Le Saux, Approche d'une etude, p. 51: see also E. Sevrin, 'Les offices religieux au diocese de Chartres sons Mgr Clause! de Montals ( 1824-1852)', Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglise de France, xxviii ( 1942), 196-216 (pp. 197 -8), and P. Boutry, Pretres et paroisses au pays du cure d'Ars, Paris, Cerf. ch. 1 ('L'csprit de clocher'). 7 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orleans so11s l'episcopat de Mgr Dupanloup, Paris, Pion, 1962, p. 171 (note 1). 8 A. Gough, Paris and Rome: the Gallican Church and the Ultramontane Campaign, 1848-1853. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1986, p. x; Archives du diocese de Perigucux, C 108 (Saint Julien de Lampon). 9 G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse de Ia France contemporaine, ii, 1880/1930, Toulouse, Privat, 1986, p. 173. 10 F. Boulard, 'La "dechristianisation" de Paris: !'evolution historique du non-conformismc', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 31 (1971), 69-98 (78).]. Lalouettc, 'Les cntcrrements civils dans les premieres decennies de Ia Troisiemc Republique'. Ethnologic Fran~aise, xiii (2) (1982/3), 111-28, gives slightly different figures for civil burials. 11 Materiaux, vol. i, pp. 234, 275, 443; vol. ii, p. 49; G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse, p. 33; L. Perouas, Refits d' tme religion, religion d'un refiiS, Paris, EHESS, p. 51. There arc also some figures for industrial communities - see next chapter. 12 M. Lc Saux, Approche d'une etude, p. 54. 13 0. Arnold, Le Corps et I'Jme: Ia vie des religieuses a11 XIX" siecle, Paris, Seuil, 1984, p. 192; B. Delpal, La Vie chretienne dans les paroisses du diocese de Valmce au milieu dtl XIX" siecle, thesis (Ill" cycle), Lyon II, 1980, p. 110. 14 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orleans, p. 244. For a more favourable picture of catechistic practice, see Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Responsablcs et agents de Ia catechesc en France au XIX 0 sieclc', in 109e Congres National des Societes Savantcs, Dijon, 1984, Section d'Histoire Moderne .et Contemporaine, Transmettre Ia foi: XVI"-XX" siecles, i, Pastorale et predication en France, Paris, CTHS, 1984, pp. 129-39. 15 P. c. Berth out, 'Le clerge fran<;ais ct le peuple a Ia fin du XIX0 siecle'' Revue du Clerge Francais, 1899. 1 March, 20-38, 15 March, 124-41 (133); F. Boulard, Problemes missionnaires de Ia France mrale, Paris, Cerf, 1945, vol. i, pp. 186-7. 16 P. Zind, L 'Emeignement religietiX dans /'instruction primaire publique en France de 1850 a 1873, Lyon, Centre d'Hisroire du Catholicismc, 1971, pp. 83-5. 17 H. Pommc, 'La pratique religicuse dans les campagncs de Ia Meurthe vers 1840', Annales de /'Est, 20 (2) (1968), 151. 18 G. Cholvy, 'Des Enfants de Marie a Ia jcunessc agricolc feminine', in Acres du 110e Congrcs National des Societes Savantes, Section d'Hisroire

Notes

293

Modcrnc et Contcmporaine, vol. ii, Histoire du Languedoc, Paris, 1985, pp. 343-51 (p. 344). 19 Maten(mx, vol. i, pp. 261, 375-6, 496, 506 (and pp. 210, 278, 432 for table 6.4); vol. ii, pp. 210-11, 436-42. For other figures, see J. Faury, Clericalisme et antic/ericalisme dans le Tam. 1848-1900, Toulouse, Privat, p. 189; L. Bovy, 'Une enquete de sociologic religieuse dans le marais breton', Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglise de France, li (148) (1965), 81-106 (91); G. Cholvy, 'Indifference religieuse et anticlericalisme a Narbonne et en Narbonnais au XIX 0 sieclc', in Narbonne: archeologie et histoire, XLVc Congres organise par Ia Federation hisroriquc du Languedoc mediterraneen et du Roussillon, Narbonne, 14-16 Dec. 1972. vol. iii. pp. 73-93 (p. 79). 20 This map has been reproduced all over the place, notably in G. Le Bras, Etudes de sociologic religieuse, between pp. 324 and 325: F. Boulard, Premiers Itineraires, annexe; Materiaux, vol. i, p. 535. This version is based on the one in Le Bras. 21 G. Le Bras, Et11des de sociologic religieuse, vol. ii, p. 403; sec also vol. i, pp. 122, 254, 259-62, and vol. ii, p. 477. 22 Maten(mx, vol. i, p. 9. 23 C. Dumoulin. 'Le revcil du recrutcment sons le Dircctoire et lc Consular, in dice de I' echec de Ia dechristianisation', in Christianisation et dechristirmisation, Angers, Presses de l'Universite d'Angers, 1986, pp. 187-206 (p. 192); F. Lebrun (cd. ), Histoire des catholiques en France du xvc siecle a nosjo11rs, Toulouse, Privat, 1980, p. 384: C. Savart, 'Pouruncsociologiede Ia fcrveur religieuse: l'archiconfrerie de Notre-Dame des Victoires', Rev11e d'Histoire Ecclesiastique, lix (3-4) (1964), pp. 823-44 (pp. 840-1); M. Vincienne and H. Courtois, 'Notes sur Ia situation rcligieuse de Ia France en 1848, d'apres I'enquetc cantonale ordonnee par le Comite de Travail', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 3 (6) Only-Dec. 1958), 104-18 (117). 24 J. Gadille, La Pensee et /'action politiques des eveques francais au debut de Ia III" Republique. 187011883, Paris, Hachette, 1967. vol. i, between pp. 152 and 153 (in colour); sec commentary on p. 198. 25 See the maps in the atlas section of Maten(mx. In some cases, it must be admitted, the correlation is non-existent, e.g. in the diocese of Orleans: correlating Easter communion rates of the 1850s with those of 1955. r = -0.02 (men) and +0.04 (women) (vol. i, pp. 253, 551). 26 Materiaux, passim; B. Peyrous, 'La pratique religieuse dans le diocese de Bordeaux au XIX0 siccle (1838-1908)', Annales du Midi, 87 (124) (1975), 443-68 (447, 460, 462); G. Cholvy, 'Unc chreticnte au x1xc siecle: Ia Lozere', Revue d11 Gevaudan. 5 (1974), 364-82 (372, 374, 375); G. Cholvy, '"Cette Brctagne du Midi" ( 1789 a nos )ours)', in Histoire d11 Rouergue, ed. H. Enjalbert, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, p. 418; G. Cholvy, 'Indifference rcligieusc'. 78; G. Cholvy, 'Le resistance a Ia legislation secularisante de I' enseignement primaire', Etudes sur /'Herault, new series, 1 (2) (1985), 17-26 (esp. pp. 18-19); C. Nasrorg, 'Aspects de Ia vie et de Ia pratique rcli~ieuse dans lc diocese de Cahors de 1910 a 1914', Bulletin.de Ia Societe des Etudes Litteraires, Scientifiques et Artistiques du Lot, xc1x (2) (Apr.-June 1978), 101-112 (104); P. Leveque, La Bourgogne de Ia

294

27 28

29 30

31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

41

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Monarchic de }ttillet au Second Empire, 5 vols, thesis (d'Etat), Paris IV, 1980, vol. v, pp. 244-6; G. Cholvy andY .-M. Hilaire, Histoire religiettse, vol. ii, p. 16; R. Gibson, Le.r Notables et I'Eglt:re dam le diocese de Pengttettx de 1821 a 1905, thesis (1/Je cycle), Lyon III, 1979, annexe A. More figures will become available in the forthcoming volumes of Mater/aux. This is the basic argument of G. Cholvy, Religion et societe au XIxe siecle. Le dioce.re de Montpellier, Lille, Presses Universitaires de Lille, 1973. G. Desert, 'Ruraux, religion et clerge dans Ie diocese de Bayeux au XIX" siecle', in Mentalitif.r religteu.re.r dans Ia France de I'Oue.rt att x1xe siecle, ed. M. Bee eta/., Caen, Cahiers des Annales de Normandie (no. 8), pp. 117-45 (p. 135). F. Boulard and]. Remy, Pratrque religiett.re urbaine et regions culturelles, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1968 - and see the discussion with E. Poulat in Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 29 (1970), pp. 97-140. Matenr111x, vol. i, pp. 265, 347-8, 353-4, 384-5, 471; vol. ii, pp. 198-9, 322-3, 505-6; P. Leveque,LaBourgogne, vol. v. pp. 244-6; R. Gibson,Les Notables, anncxe A. In some cases, I have reworked the figures to isolate the towns. See also G. Le Bras, Etudes de sociologic religieuses, vol. ii, p. 609. L. Bergeron eta/., Contn'butions al'historre dhnographique de Ia Revolution franrat:re, 3rd series, Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, 1970, esp. the maps on pp. 52, 190; A. Blum and]. Houdaille,' 12,000 Parisiens en 1793. Sondage dans lcs cartes de civisme', Population, 41 (2) (1986), 259-302 (esp. 277). C. Langlois. Un diocese breton au debut du xrxe siecle, Paris, Klincksieck, 1974. p. 89. E. Poulat, 'Catholicisme urbain et pratique religieuse', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 29 (1970), 97-116 (109). P Foucault, A.rpect.r de Ia vie chretienne, p. 174. Matenr111x. vol. i, pp. 225,263-5,315-8,325-7.390-1,432,499.51920; vol. ii, pp. 114, 528-9. Maten'rtux. vol. i. pp. 65, 198 (alsop. 201). A. Daumard, La Bourgeoisie pan'.rietme de 1815 a 1848. Paris. SEVPEN. 1963, p. 367. J.-P. Chaline, Les Bourgeoir de Roum: une elite urbaine att XIX'' siecle, Paris, FNSP, 1982, p. 270. P. Boutry and M. Cinquin, Deux Pelerinage.r au xrxe siecle: Ars et Paray-leMonial, Paris, Beauchesne. 1980, p. 109. C. Langlois, Le Catholict'.rme au fhninin. Les congregations franraises a supen'eure generale au x1xe siecle, Paris, Cerf, 1984. p. 14; also C. Langlois, 'Le Catholicisme au feminin', Archive.r de Scimce.r Sociales des Religion.r, 57 (1) Oan.-March 1984), 29-53 (30). Saint Fran~,"ois de Sales, Traite de l'amourde Dieu. 1616, book IX. ch. 13; P. Gerbet, Considerations sur le dogme generateur de Ia piete, Tournay, Casterman, 1829, p. 52;]. Genet, L 'Enigme des sermons du cure d'Ars, Paris, Editions de I'Orante, 1961, pp. 85-6; M. de Hedouville, Mgr de Segur. Sa vie. son action, 1820-1881. Paris, Nouvelles Editions Latines, 1957, pp. 290, 305 (note 163), 349; L. Bloy, Oeuvres, vol. xi, Paris, Mercure de France, 1956, p. Ill (journal, 19July, 1894).

Notes

295

42 F Charpin, Pratique religieuse et formation d'une grande ville: le geste dtt bapteme et sa signification en sociologic religiettse (Mar.reille, 1806-1958), Paris, Centurion. pp. 209-10. 43 G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse, vol. ii, pp. 104, 155-6. 44 J.-P. Chaline, Les Bourgeois de Rotten, p. 261; Materlartx, vol. ii, p. 363 (and vol. i, p. 409). 45 T. Tackett, Religion. Revolution and Regional Culture in Eighteenthcentury France: the Ecclesiastical Oath of 1791, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1986, pp. 172-7; J.-L. Ormieres, 'Politique et religion dans !'Ouest', Annales E.S.C., 40 (5) (Sept.-Oct. 1985}, 1041-66 (1056-7); 0. Hufton, 'Women in revolution, 1789-96', Past and Present, 53 ( 1971 ), 90-108 (106-8); M. Vovelle. Religion et revolution -Ia dechnstianisation de /'an II, Paris, Hachette, 1976, pp. 281-2; L. Perouas, 'Clerge et peuple creusois du xvc au xxc siecle: de !'osmose a l'agressivite', in Hisloire vecue dupeuple chretien, ed.J. Delumeau, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, vol. ii, p. 296. 46 Bonnie T. Smith, Ladies of the Leisure Class: the Bourgeoises of Northern France in the Nineteenth Century, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1981, pp. 95-6. 47 ). Stengers, 'Les pratiques anticonceptionnelles dans le mariage au XIX" siecle: problemes humains et attitudes religieuses', Revue Beige de Philologie et d'Histoire, xlix (2) (197112), 403-81 (440). This whole article is crucial for this paragraph. 48 P. Leveque. La Bourgogne, p. 752; Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Les missions interieures face a Ia dechristianisation pendant Ia seconde moitie du XIxc siecle dans Ia region du Nord'' Revue dtt Nord, 46 (180) Oan. -March 1964), 51-68 (59). 49 Materlattx, vol. ii, p. 62. 50 J.-L. Desbordes. 'Les ecrits de Mgr Dupanloup sur Ia haute education en France'. in Education et images de Ia femme chretienne en France att debut du xxe siecle, ed. F. Mayeur and]. Gadille, Lyon, Editions !'Hermes. 1980. pp. 25-46 (p. 37). 51 0. Arnold.Le Corpsetl'!ime. p. 194. 52 ). Faury, Clerlcalisme et anticlericalisme, pp. 276-7. 53 M.-C. Pierre, Les Idees politiques de Mgr Trm'naz (eveque de Tarentaise 1873-1882, eveqrte de Nancy 1882-1918), thesis (IIF cycle), University of Nancy II, 1982, p. 47 (a composite quotation from 1890 and 1899). 54 ]. Michelet,journal, Paris, NRF Gallimard, vol. i, 1959. p. 525 (20 August 1843). 55 ]. Michelet, Le Pretre, Ia femme et Ia famille, 8th edn, Paris, Chamerot, 1862. pp. 211-14. 56 ]. Faury, Clen'calr'.rme et anticlericalr'.rme, p. 271; see also L. Perouas, Refits d'rme religion, p. 189. 57 ). Delumeau. Le Peche et Ia peur. La culpabrlisation en Occident. XIWXVIW siecles, Paris. Fayard, 1983, p. 518. 58 Y. Le Gallo, Pretres ~~ prelats du diocese de Quimper de Ia fin drt XVIW siecle a1830. thesis (d'Etat), Brest, 1980, p. 138. 59). Delumeau,LePecheetlapertr, pp. 518.525- andch. 17 in general; see also (though the aut)1or is not finally convinced)]. Bossy, 'The social history

296

60

61 62 63

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

of confession in the age of the Reformation', Tram actions ofthe Royal Hrstorica/Society, 5th series, 25 (1975), 21-38. P. Boutry, 'Reflexions sur Ia confession au XIX 0 siecle; au tour d'une lettre de Socur Marie-Zoe au cure d'Ars (1858), in Pratiques de Ia confession, des peres du desert a Vatican II, cd. Groupe de Bussiere, Paris, Cerf, 1983, pp. 225-38 (p. 237). G. Cholvy, Religion et societe, p. 199. G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse, vol. i, p. 123. B. Peyrous, 'La pratique religieuse', 466-7 _

7 The Church and social class

2 3 4 5

6 7

8 9

10 11

12

N. -). Chaline, Hiet; une chretiente? Les archeveques de Rauen visite11t leur diocese, Rouen, Societe de I'Histoire de Normandie, 1978, pp. 96-7. H. Gazcau, L 'Evolution religiettse des pays angevins de 1814 a 1870, thesis (d'Etat), Rennes, 1960, vol. i, p. 198. Y. Le Gallo, Pretre.r et prelats du diocese de Quimper de Ia fin du XVIII" .riecle a 1830, thesis (d'Etat), Brest, 1980, p. 1080. G. Le Bras, Etudes de sociologic religieuse, 2 vols, Paris, PUF, 1955, vol. i, p. 283, note 2. F. Boulard et al., Materiaux pour l'htstoire religieu.re du peuple fran~ats, XIX"-XX" siecles. Paris, EHESS, FNSP, CNRS, 1982 (vol. i), 1987 (vol. ii), vol. i, p. 297 (this collection will be referred to in subsequent notes as Materiaux); E. Veuillot, Lours Vemllot, 3rd edn, Paris, V. Retaux, n.d., p. 76, and Archives du diocese de Perigueux, reports ad /imina;]. Calvet, 'Monographic religieuse d'un diocese fran~ais: le diocese de Cahors', Revue Catholique des Egli.re.r, 2 (12) (Feb. 1905), 65-87 (75-6). A. Daumard, La Bourgeoisie parrsien11e de 1815 a 1848, Paris. SEVPEN, 1963, pp. 622-3; also pp. 347-51, 366-8. See (in a meagre bibliography) E. Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen. The Modernization of Rural France, 1870-1914, London, Chatto & Windus, 1977, pp. 236-40; M. Agulhon, La Vie sociale en ProtJence interr'eure au lendemain de Ia Revolution. Paris, Societe des Etudes Robespierristes, 1970, part 4. ch. 3; R. Gibson, Les Notables et I'Eglise dam le diocese de Pertg,ttettx. 1821-1905, thesis (Ill" cycle), University of Lyon III, 1979, vol. i, pp. 139-42. Materiaux, vol. i, p. 410; see also vol. ii. pp. 104, 363-6, 374, 378. L. Perouas, 'Clerge et peuple creusois du xvc au xxc siede: de !'osmose a l'agressivitC'. inHZ:rtoire vecue dtt peuple chretim, 2 vols, ed.J. Delumeau, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, vol. ii, pp. 127-55 (pp. 143-4). B. Peyrous, 'La pratique religieuse dans le diocese de Bordeaux au XIX 0 siecle (1838-1908)', Annates du Midi, 87 (124) (1975), 443-68 (454). F. Charpin, Pratique religieuse et formation d'rme grande vrlle: le geste d11 bapteme et .ra .rignification en sociologic religieuse (Mar.reille, 1806-1958), Paris. Centurion, 1964. p. 247 (also pp. 125-6). P. Foucault, Aspect.r de Ia vie chretienne dans un grand diocese de /'Ouest de Ia France: le diocese du Mans. 1830-1854, thesis (Ill" cycle), Caen, 1980, p. 159 (and pp. 158-61 in general).

Notes

297

13 P. Droulers, Action pastorale et problemes sociaux sous Ia monarchic de juillet chez Mgr d'Astros, archeveqtte de Toulouse, Paris,]. Vrin, 1954. p. 218. 14 C. Langlois, Un diocese breton art debttt drt XIX" siecle, Paris, Klincksieck, 1974, p. 475. 15 R. P. Lecanuet, Montalembert, Paris, Poussielgue, 3 vols (1895-1902), vol. ii, p. 143 (and vol. i, pp. 26-7). 16 P. Pierrard, L 'Eglise et les ouvriers en France (1840-1940), Paris, Hachette, 1984, p. 167. 17 J.-P. Chaline, Les Bourgeois de Rauen. Une elite urbaine au XIX" siecle, Paris, FNSP, 1982, p. 268. 18 P. Droulers. 'Catholicisme et mouvement ouvrier en France au XIxc siecle: !'attitude de l'episcopat', in Christianisme et Monde Ouvrier, ed. F. Bedarida and]. Ma1tron, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1975, pp. 37-65 (p. 55, note 100). 19 A. de Falloux, Memoires d'tm royaliste, 2 vols, Paris, Perrin, 1888, vol. i, pp. 433-4 (note). 20 See A. Dansette. Histoire religiettse de Ia France contemporaine. de Ia Revolution aIa TroZ:rieme Republique, Paris, Flam marion, 1948, p. 366. 21 J.-P. Chaline, Les Bourgeois de Roue11, pp. 268, 271 - and the excellent ch. 8 in general. 22 M. Le Saux, Approche d'tme etude de Ia dechristiamsatio11 (Hattte-Vien1le mrale), memoire de ma1trise, Poitiers, 1971, p. 67. 23 C. Molette, L 'Association Catholique de lajermesse Fra11~aise, 1886-1907, Paris, A. Colin, 1968, p. 203. 24 Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Remarques sur Ia pratique religieuse dans le bassin houiller du Pas-de-Calais dans Ia deuxieme moitie du x1xc siecle', in Charbo11 et Scie11ces Humaines. ed. L. Trenard, Paris/The Hague, Mouton, 1966, pp. 265-79 (p. 271). 25 M. Montuclard, Comcie11ce religieuse et democratic. La dettxieme democratiechretrimneenFra11ce, 1891-1902, Paris, Seuil, 1965, pp. 22-3. 26 P. Droulers, 'La dechristianisation ouvriere en France dans le Nord, a Ia fin du XIXc et au debut du xxc siecles ·, in Miscellaneae Hrstoricae Ecclesiasticae, vol. iii, ed. D. Baker, Louvain, Presse Universitaire de Louvain, 1970, pp. 329-39 (p. 336). 27 R. Tal my, L 'Association Catholique des Patrons du Nord, 1884-1895, Lille, Facultes Catholiques, 1962, p. 164. 28 R. Aubert, Le Pontifical de Pie IX (1846-1878), Paris, Bloud & Gay, 1952. p. 48. 29 P. Droulers, 'Catholicisme et mouvement ouvrier', 40. 30 ]. Manceau, Mgr Marie-Dominique-Auguste Sibour. archeveque de Paris (1848-1857), Paris, Beauchesne, 1987, pp. 304-22. 31 P. Droulers. Action pastorale. p. 361. 32 ].-B. Duroselle, Les Debuts dtt catholicisme social m France (1822-1870), Paris, PUF, 1951. p. 689. 33 Quotations in this paragraph are from P. Pierrard, L 'Egltse et les ouvriers, pp.116-17, 119, 432; M. Le Saux, Approche d'tme etude, p.39; P. Droulers, Action pastorale, p. 367.

298

A Soda! History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

34 J .-B. Duroselle, Debuts dr1 catholicisme social, pp. 37-40 (for Lamennais's early attitude); P. Droulers, Action pastorale, pp. 126-7 (for his attitude at thetimeofL'Avenir, in 1830-31). 35 ).-B. Duroselle, Debuts du catholicisme social, p. 9. 36 C. Morel, 'Un journal democrate chretien en 1848-1849: "!'Ere Nouvelle"', Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglise de France, lxiii (1977), 25-55; ].-B. Duroselle, Debuts du catholicisme social, pp. 294-320. 37 R. Remond, Les Deux Congres eccliJsiastiques de Reims et de Bourges. 1896-1900, Paris, Sircy, 1964, pp. 40-42, 145-7 38 Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au XIX" siecle? La vie religieuse des population.r du diocese d'Arras (1840-1914), 2 vols, Lille, Presses Universitaires de Lille, 1977, vol. ii, p. 590. 39 D. R. Watson, Georges Clemenceau: a Political Biography, London, Eyre Methuen, 1974, pp. 22-3; ]. Maurain, La Politiqr1e Ecclesiastiqr1e dtl Second Empire de 1852 a 1869, Paris, F. Alcan, 1930, pp. 856-7, 861; G. Cholvy, 'L'univers spirituel des elites sociales au XIX" siede: monde medical et religion dans Ia societe franpise', Bulletin de Liaison de /'Association des amis du Musee de Ia Pharmacie, Montpellier, 9 ( 1984), 1-9. 40]. Estebe, Les Mint:rtres de Ia Republique, 1871-1914, Paris, FNSP, 1982, ch. 4. 41 P. Zind, L 'Emeignement religieux dans l'imtruction primaire publiqtte en France de 1850 a1873, Lyon, Centre d'Histoire du Catholicisme, esp. ch. 2; R. Gildea, Education in Provincial France, 1800-1914: a Study of Three Departments, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1983, ch. 4. 42 Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au XIX" siecle?, p. 628; Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Remarques sur la pratique religieuse·, 272. 43 G. Cholvy. 'Indifference religieuse et anticlericalisme a Narbonne et en Narbonnais au XIX" siecle ·, in Narbonne: Archeologie et H£rtoire (XLV< Congres organise par Ia Federation Historique du Languedoc Mediterraneen et du Roussillon, Narbonne, 14-16 Dec. 1972), vol. iii, Narbonne du17" au2(J' siecle, Montpellier, 1973, pp. 73-93 (p. 84). 44 Matifliaux, vol. i, p. 202. 45 Quoted by A. Gough, Paris and Rome: the Gallican Church and the Ultramontane CamjJaign, 1848-1853, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1986, p. 93. 46 This is the thesis of the incoherent but stimulating E. Poulat, Eglise contre bourge01:rie: rntroduction art devenir du catholicisme actuel, Paris, Casterman, 1977. 47 L. Veuillot, Oeuvres completes, vol. xxix. Melanges, vol. iii, Paris, Lethielleux, Paris, 1933, pp. 327-30: 'Le peuple chretien et Ia bourgeoisie incrcdule' (article of L 'Univers of 24 September 1848); for the class origin of many ofVeuillot's antagonisms, see the excellent ch. 5 in A. Gough, Paris and Rome. 48 Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au XIX" siecle?, vol. ii, p. 890. 49 ibid., p. 614 (and see pp. 626-7); see also Y.-M. Hilaire (ed.) Benoit Labre: errance et sarntete. Histoire d'un culte. 1783-1983, Paris, Cerf, 1984, and L. Veuillot, Oeuvres Completes, vol. xxxv, Melanges, vol. ix,

Notes

50 51

52 53 54

55 56 57

58 59

60

61 62 63 64

65

299

Paris, Lethielleux, pp. 311-16: 'Apologie pour les peuples sales' (article of L 'Umvers of 5 January 1868). P. Sorlin, 'La Croix' et les juifs (1880-1899), Paris, Grasser, 1967, pp.61-2. , J.-B. Duroselle, Debuts du catholicisme social, pp. 429- 30; L. Strummgher, '"A bas les prctres! A bas les couvents!" The Church and the workers in 19th-century Lyon', Journal of Social History, ii (4) (Spring 1978), 546-53. P. Pierrard, L'Eglise et les ouvriers, p. 135. G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse de Ia France cotttemporaine, ii, 188011930, Toulouse, Privat, 1986, pp. 178-85. G. Cholvy, '"Cette Bretagne du Midi" (1789 a nos jours)'. in Histoire du Rot~ergtle, ed. H. Enjalbert, Toulouse, Privat, 1979, pp. 393-424 (pp.413-14). . ., ., R. Trempe, Les Minettrs de Carmattx, 2 vols, Pans, Edmons Ouvneres, 1971, vol. ii, pp. 842-3, 847 Materia11x, vol. ii, p. 332. For the information in this paragraph on the diocese of Arras, see Y.-M. Hilaire Une chretie11te au XIX" siecle?, vol. ii, ch. 15: Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Rema;ques sur Ia pratique religieuse'; Y. -M. Hilaire, 'Les ouvriers de Ia region du Nord devant I'Egiise catholique (XIXC et ~c siecles)'_. in ~hris tianisme et Monde Ouvrier, ed. F. Bedanda and). Mattron, Pans, Edtttons Ouvrieres, 1975. pp. 223-43. Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Les ouvriers de Ia region du Nord', p. 226. p. Pierrard, La Vie Ottvriere aLrlle sous le Second Empire' Paris, Bloud & Gay, 1965; B. Peyrous, 'La pratique religieuse', 465; F. Charpin, Pratique religiettse, p. 250; Materia11x, vol. ii, pp. 15.6, 1?S-:9: G. Jacqu~met, 'Dechristianisation, structures familiales et anttclencahsme. Bellevtlle au XIX< siecle', Archi11es de Sciences Sociales des Religion.r, 57 (1) Oan.-March 1984), 69-82. E. Accampo, 'Entre Ia classe sociale et Ia cite: identite et integration chez les ouvriers de Saint-Chamond, 1815 -1880'. Mouvement Social, 118 Oan.March 1982), 39-59 (41). See in particular B. Fitzpatrick. Catholic RoyaHrm in the DejJartment ofthe Card, 1814-1852, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1983. M. Montuclard, Consciencereligieuse, p. 175. P. Pierrard,L'Eglise etles ouvriers, p. 284 (see alsop. 292). On the Oeuvre des cercles, see P. Levillain, Albert de Mttn: catholicisme franr;ais et catholicisme romain du Syllabus au Ralliement, Rome, Ecole Fran\aise de Rome, 1983; H. Roller, L 'Action sociale des catholiques en France (1871-1901), Paris, Boivin, n.d. part 1, ch. 1; P. Pierrard, L 'Eglrse et les ouvrier.r, ch. 7. On the membership and social origins of Christian Democracy, seeM. Montuclard, 'Aux origines de Ia democratic chretienne: influence du contexte socio-culturel sur les "croyances" religieuses de divers groupes catholiques entre 1893 et 1898', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 3 (6) Ouly- Dec. 1959), 47-89 (51-61 ); M. Montuclard, Conscience religieu.re., pp. 23-33: S. Wilson, 'Catholic populism at the time of the Dreyfus Affatr: the Unton

300

Notes

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Nationale' ,journal of Contemporary History, x (4) (Oct. 1975), 667-705 (673); H. Roller, L'Action sociale, vol. 1, pp. 341, 345, 397. 405, 414, 431-2. 66 R. Talmy, Le Syndicalisme chretien en France. 1871-1930, Paris, Bloud & Gay, 1966; H. Roller, L'Action sociale des catholiques en France, 1871-1914, Paris, Desclee de Brouwer, 1958, vol. ii, book iii, chs 2, 3, 4; M. Launay, 'Le Syndicat des Employes du Commerce et de l'Industrie. de 1887 a 1914'' Mouvement Social. 68 Ouly-Sept. 1969). 35-56. . 67 ]. Bruhat, 'Anticlericalisme et mouvement ouvrier en France avant 1914: esquisse d'un problematique', in Christianisme et Monde Ouvrier, ed. F. Bedarida and). Maltron, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1975, pp. 79-115 (p. 92). 68 ). Faury, Clericalisme et anticlericalt:rme dans le Tarn, 1848-1900, Toulouse, University of Toulouse-Mirail, 1980, pp. 428-31. 69 C. Peguy, Notre.Jeunesse, Paris, Gallimard, 1933. pp. 133-4. 70 P. Drouiers, 'Catholicisme et mouvement ouvrier', p. 44. 71 S. Horvath-Peterson, 'Abbe Georges Darboy's Statistique religieuse du diocese de Paris (1856)', Catholic Historical Review, lxviii (3) Ouly 1982), 401-50 (418). 72 ).-B. Durosclle. Debuts dtJ catholicisme social, pp. 457-8. I have here translated 'I' assistance· as 'public aid'. 73 J.-M. Mayeur, Un pretre democrate: /'abbe Lemire, 1853-1928, Paris, Casterman, 1968, esp. pp. 197-205. 74 Statuts du diocese de Perigueux et de Sarlat, Perigueux,). Bounet, 1876, pp. 103-4. 75 Y. Daniel, 'La Religion est perdue aParis . , , 'Lettres d'tm tltcaire parisien ason archeveqtte en date de 1849. suivies d'tm memoire adresse au meme, Paris, Editions Cana, 1978, p. 72. 76 Y. Daniel, L 'Equipement paroissial d'un diocese urbain: Paris (18021956), Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1957, p. 36; the book is the basis of this paragraph. See also M. H. Vicaire, 'Lcs ouvriers parisiens en face du catholicisme de 1830 a 1870', Schweizerische Zeitschrift fiir Geschtchte, i (1951), 226-44 (esp. 227). 77 Statt~rtique de Ia France. I. Resultats generaux d11 denombrement de 1861 . . II. Recemement special des communautes religiettses, Strasbourg, Berger-Levrault, 1864, p. cxii. 78 Y.-M. Hilaire. 'Les ouvriers de Ia region du Nord', p. 241; F. Charpin, Pratique religieuse. pp. 201-9. 79 Materiattx. vol. ii, p. 169. 80 G. Le Bras, Etudes de sociologie religieuse, pp. 480-l. 81 P. Huot-Plcuroux, Le Recrutement sacerdotal dans le diocese de Besancon de 1801 a 1960, 1966, p. 314. 82 For this paragraph, see perhaps S. S. Acquaviva, L 'Eclipse dr1 sacre dans Ia civilisation industrielle, Tours, Marne, 1967. esp. pp. 169-70. 229, 244 (a much admired book, but which I find almost incomprehensible; it is translated from the Italian, and there is an English version: The Decline of the Sacred in Industrial Society, Oxford. Blackwell, 1979).

8

3 4

5

6 7 8 9

10

11 12 13 14

15

Dechristianization and rechristianization: from a God of fear to a God of love

G. Cholvy, 'Societe, genres de vic et mentalites dans les campagnes de 1815 a 1880', Informations Historiques. 36 (4) (Sept.-Oct. 1974), 155-66 (159). J.-P.Chaline, Les Bourgeoir de Rauen: tme elite urbaine au XIX" siecle, Paris, FNSP, 1982, p. 263. G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire. Histoire religieuse de Ia France contemporaine, 1800/1880, Toulouse, Privat, 1985, p. 44. M. Lagree, Aspects de Ia vie religieuse en Ille-et-Vilaine (1815-1848), thesis (IIJe cycle), University ofHaute-Bretagne, 1974, p. 397. ]. de Viguerie, 'Quelques aspects du catholicisme des Fran~ais au XVIUC siecle', Revue Historique, 265 (2) (March-June 1981), 335-70; L. Perouas, 'Sur Ia dechristianisation: une approche de Ia pratique pascaie sous le Directoire. Le cas de Ia Creusc', Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglise de France, lxxii (1986), 295-9 - and his work on the Creuse in general (though not his work on the diocese of Ia Rochelle). A. Latreille, 'La dechristianisation en France a l'epoque moderne', Cahiers d'Histoire. xiv (1) (1969), 13-35 (18). R. P. Lecanuet, La Vie de I'Eglise sous Leon XIII, Paris, F. Alcan, 1930, p. 164. M. Le Saux. Approche d'tme etude de Ia dechristianisation (Haute-Vienne rurale), memoire de maltrise, Poitiers, 1971, p. 79. E. Sevrin, Les Missions religieuses en France sorts Ia Restauration (1815-1830), Saint-Mande, Vrin, 1948, vol. i, pp. 267-72; E. Renan, Souvenirs d'enfance et de jetmesse, Paris, Livre de Poche, p. 69; C. Savart. Les Catholiques en France atl XIxe siecle. Le temoignage d11 livre religietJX, Paris, Beauchesne, pp. 332-3 (and pp. 296-339 in general). A. Prost, Histoire de l'ensetgnement en France, 1880-1967. 2nd edn, Paris, A. Colin, 1968, pp. 106-7 (national literacy maps); R. Gibson, 'Quantification and explanation of religious practice: the diocese of Perigueux in the 19th century', in Proceedings of the Fifth George Rude Seminar in French History, ed. P. McPhee, Victoria University of Wellington Occasional Papers no. 3. 1986, pp. 107-29. References available for the dioceses of Rouen, Orleans, Le Mans, Montpellier. C. Savart, Les Catholiques en France, pp. 193-4. P. Boutry, Pretres et paroisses au pays dr1 cure d'Ars, Paris, Cerf, 1986, p. 649 and passim. L. Trenard, 'Aux origines de Ia dechristianisation: le diocese de Cambrai de 1830 a 1848', Rev11e du Nord, xlvii (1965), 399-459 (406). G. Cholvy, Religion et societe au XIxe siecle: le diocese de Montpellier, thesis (d'Etat), University of Paris I, 1973, p. 732 (see also pp. 730-1. 1249-50). J. Faury, 'La situation religieuse du Tarn en 183 5', 96" Congres National des Societes Savantes, Toulouse, 1971, Section d'Histoire Moderne, vol. ii, pp. 185-203 (p. 201). fran~aises

2

301

302

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

16 R. Remond, 'Recherche d'une methode d'analyse historique de Ia dechristianisation depuis le milieu du xrxc siecle'. Colloque d'Histoire Religieuse, Lyon, Oct. 1963, Grenoble, Impr. Allier, 1963, pp. 123-54 (p. 145). 17 P, Boutry,Pretre.retparoisses, p. 584~ 18 R. Gibson, Le.r Notables et I'Eglise dam le diocese de Periguettx, 18211905, thesis (liP cycle), University ofLyon III, 1979, vol. i, p. 160. 19 B. Peyrous, 'La pratique religieuse dans le diocese de Bordeaux au xrxc siecle ( 1833 -1908)', Annales du Midi, 87 ( 124) ( 1975 ), 443-68 (466). 20 L. Veuillot, OetttJres Completes, vol. xxxiii, Paris, Lethielleux, 1935, p. 108. 21 R. P, Lecanuet, Montalembert, vol. iii, Paris, Poussielgue, 1905, p. 417. 22 E. Germain, Parler dtt salrtt? A11x origines d' rme mentalite religiettse, Paris, Beauchesne, 1967, p. 99 23 E. Sevrin, Missions religieuses, p. 199. 24 E. Germain, Parlerdu salttt?, p. 606. 25 ]. Genet, L 'Enigme des sermons drt cure d'Ars, Paris, Editions de I'Oranre, 1961, p. 150. ' 26 R. Kieckhefer, Unqttiet Sottls: Fourteenth-century Saints and Their Religious Milieu, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press, 1984, ch. 4. 27 C. Savart, Catholiques en France, p. 619 (and pp. 676-82). 28 X. de Montclos, 'La vie spirituelle en France au xrxc siecle et !'clan missionnaire ·, in Les Revetls mrssionnaires en France drt Moyen Age ?t nos /ottrs (xw-xxe .riecles). Acte.r drt colloque de Lyon, 29-31 mai 1980, Paris, Beauchesne, 1984, pp. 321-37 (pp. 327-8). 29 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orleans so us !'episcopal de Mgr Dttpanloup. Sociologic religieu.re et mentalitifs collectives, Paris, Pion, 1962, p. 26. 30 R. Gibson, 'Hellfire and damnation in 19th-century France', Catholic Historical Review, 74 (3) Ouly 1988), 383-402; E. Germain, Parler drt .ralut?. p. 47. 31 E. Germain, 'A travers les catechismes des 150 dernieres annees', Recherche.r et Debat.r, 71 ('Elites et masses dans l'Eglise') (1971), 107-131 (115). 32 E. Germain, Parlerdrt salut?, p. 326. 33 ibid., p. 295. 34 B. Peyrous, 'La vie religieuse autour du bassin d' Arcachon durant I' cpiscopat du cardinal Don net ( 1836-1882)', in Federation Historique du Sud-Ouest, Acres du xxvrc Congres d'ctudes regionales (held at Arcachon 27 and 28 April 1974), Arcachon et le val de /'Eyre: Histoire - Art Economic, Bordeaux, 1977, pp. 117-30 (p. 127). 35 R. Gibson, 'Reconstruction religieuse et anriclericalisme rural en Dordogne au lendemain de Ia Revolution: !'abbe Vienne, cure de Saint Vincent-deCosse', Bulletin de Ia Societe Hirtorique et Archeologique du Perigord, ex (1983), 319-37 (326-9). 36 L. Perouas, Refits d'rme religion, religion d'rm refits en Limortsin mral, 1880-1940, Paris, EHESS, 1985, p. 191. 37 M. Le Saux, Approche d'rme itttde, p. 37. 38 C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orleans att mrliett du x1xe siecle, Paris, Sircy, 1964, p. 226.

Notes

303

39 E. Sevrin, Le.r Missiom religieuses, p. 184. 40 B. Del pal, La Vie chretienne dans les parors.res de Valence au milieu drt XIX'' siecle, thesis (Ill" cycle), University of Lyon II, 1980, vol. ii, p. 28. 41 ]. Genet, L 'Enigme de.r .rermons, p. 115. 42 G. Cholvy (ed.), Andre Sou/as et les Soerm Gardes-Malades de NotreDame Artxiliatrice (1808-1875), Monrpellier, Impr. Dchan, 1982, pp. 30-1. 43 R. Gibson, 'Hellfire and damnation'. 44 E. Germain, Parler du saiut?, p. 89 45 Dictionnaire de spiritualite, vol. i, Paris, Beauchesne, 1937, 'Alphonse de Liguori', cols 357-89 (col. 384). 46 B. Delpal. La Vie chretienne, vol. i, p. 65. 47 See the special issue of the Revue d'Histoire de I'Eglr:re de France, lxxii (190) Oan.-June 1987): 'La construction des lieux de culte du Moyen Age a nos jours . 48 R. Gibson, 'Missions paroissiales et rechristianisation en Dordogne au xrxc siecle'. Annales dt1 Midi, 98 ( 174) (April-June 1986), 213-36. 49 M. Ostenc, 'L' enseignement catholique pour les jeunes filles en Ardeche au debut du xxc siecle', in Education et images de Ia femme chretienne en France au debut drt xxc siecle, ed. F, Mayeur and]. Gadille, Lyon, L'Hermes, 1980, pp. 131-55 (p. 144). 50 E. Germain, 'Images de Dieu, image de l'homme dans les cantiques populaires de Ia premiere moitie du xrxc siecle', in Romantisme et Religion . Colloque . , , organise ?t Ia Faculte de Lettres de Metz le.r 20, 21, 22 oct. 1978, Paris, PUF, 1980, pp. 21-42. 51 P, Gerber, Comideratiom mrle dogme generateur de Ia piete catholique, Tournay, Casterman, 1829, p. 61. 52 G. Cholvy, '"Du dieu terrible au dieu d'amour": une evolution dans Ia sensibilite religieuse au xrxc siecle', in 109c Congres National des Societes Savantes, Dijon, 1984: Tran.rmettre Ia Poi: XVIe-xxc siecles, I. Pastorale et predication en France (Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine), vol. i, Paris, CTHS, 1984, pp. 141-54 (pp. 144-5). 53 F, Lagrange, Vie de Mgr Dupanloup, et,ifque d'Orleam, 3 vols, 6th edn, Paris, Poussielgue, 1886, vol. iii, p. 8. 54 M. de Hedouville, Monsergneur de Segur. Sa 11ie, son action, 1820-1881. Paris, Nouvelles Editions Latines, 1957, p. 353. 55 ]. Delumeau, Le Peche et Ia peur. La culpabtlisation m Occident, xmeXVIW siecles, Paris. Fayard, 1983. p. 321. 56 R. Gibson, 'Hellfire and damnation', pp. 398-9 57 Quoted by S. Michaud, Mu.re et madone. Visages de Ia femme de Ia RetJo/ution franr:aise aux apparition.r de Lourde.r, Paris, Seuil, 1985, p. 20. 58 J. Burnichon, La Compagnie de Jesus en France. Hi.rtoire d'rm .riecle. 1814-1914,4 vols, Paris, Beauchesne, 1914, vol. i, p. 288. 59 C. Savart, Catholiques en France, p. 608. 60 There appears to be some confusion about these figures. See Dktionnaire de Spiritualite, vol. ii, Paris, Beauchesne, 1953, cols 1284-5; R. Aubert, Le Pontifical de Pie IX (1846-1878), Paris, Bloud & Gay, 1952, p. 463; R. P Lecanuet, La Vie de I'Eglise, pp. 135, 381.

304

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

61 C. Savart, Catholiques en France, p. 625. 62 ). ?e ~harry, 'La ~ociete du Sacre-Coeur: institut contemplatif et apostohque , m Les Relrgreuses Ensergnantes, XVJC-XX' silfcles, Angers, Presses de I'Universite d'Angers, 1981, pp. 127-35 (p. 130). 63 P. Foucault, Aspects de Ia vie chretienne dans un grand diocese de /'Ouest de Ia France: le diocese dtt Mans, 1830-1854, thesis (JIJc cycle), University of Caen, 1980, p. 67. 64 Dictionnaire de Spiritualite, vol. xii, Paris, Beauchesne, 1986, 'PierreJulien Eymard', cols 1679-93 (col. 1686). 65 Archives du diocese de Perigueux, C 108 (paroisse de Gabillou, Thenon). 66 P. Boutry, Priitres et paroisses, p. 414. 67 R. P. Simonin, 'Chronique de Ia maison de Laus (1818-1841)', Missions de Ia Congregation des Missionnaires Oblats de M.I., 35 (1897), 59-105, 173-230, 324-79 (365). 68 E. Sevrin, Les Mis.rions religieuses, p. 245; Memo ires du chanoine Paumard, vol. i, p. 167 (Archives du diocese du Mans). 69 Archives du diocese de Perigueux. C 42, 43, 49. 218, 253. 414. 70 E. Sevrin, Les Missions religieuses, p. 261; T. M.J. Gousset.]ustificatiot1 de Ia theologie morale dtt B. A/ph. Marie de Ligan·a, Besanyon, OutheninChaiandre, 1832, p. 277. For the diffusion ofLiguorism, see]. Delumeau eta/., Alphonse de Liguori, pasteur et docteur, Paris, Beauchesne, 1987, and]. Guerber. Le Ralliement drt clerge franvais ii Ia morale liguorienne: /'abbe Gousset et ses precurseurs (1785-1832), Rome, Universita Gregoriana, 1973. · 71 P. Pierrard, L 'Eglise et les ouvriers en France (1840-1940), Paris. Hachette, p. 112. . 72 C. Rosenbaum-Dondaine, L'Image de piiite en France, 1814-1914, ?Paris. Musee-galerie de Ia Seita. 1984; P. Pierrard. L 'Eglise et les ortvners, p. 105. 73 C. Langlois, 'Le catholicisme au feminin', Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions, 57 (1) Oan.-March 1984), pp. 29-53. 74 The quotations in this paragraph are taken from G. Gaucher, Histoire d'rme vie. Therese Martin (1873-1897), 2nd edn, Paris, Cerf, 1986, pp. 184, 136, and P. Vigneron, Histoire des cn'ses dtt clerge franvat's contemporain, Paris, Tequi, 1976, pp. 63, 69.

Guide to further reading

This guide is deliberately limited to 100 titles (a fuller bibliography. of some 450 titles, can be obtained by writing to me). I have generally given preference to material available in English, though even in this respect the list is far from exhaustive.

General G. Cholvy and Y.-M. Hilaire, Histoire religieuse de IaFrance contemporaine, i. 1800/1880, ii, 188011930. Toulouse. Privat, 1985-6. The latest word, by two of the top men in the field. There is a final volume forthcoming. F. Lebrun (ed. ), Histoire des catholiques en France drt XV' siecle ii nos jours, Toulouse, Privat, 1980. Short and stimulating introductions. A. Dansette. Religious History ofModern France, i, From the Revolution to the Third Republic, ii, Under the Third Republic, Freiburg, Herder, and Edinburgh/London, Nelson, 1961. Translated from the French by). Dingle. The most recent study in English covering the period. Very well written, but much concerned with Church/State struggles and with 'the failure of the Church to come to grips with modern society'. R. Aubert, Le Pontificat de Pie IX (1846-1878), Paris, Bloud & Gay, 1952 ( = vol. xxi of L 'Histoire de I'Eglise depuis les origines jusqtt'ii nos jours. ed. A. Fliche and V. Martin). A superb book, well in advance of its time. ]. McManners, Church and State in France. 1870-1914, London. SPCK, 1972. Much of it not social history, but excellent. This book is heavily dependent on the great regional doctoral theses which have so marked the recent historiography of French catholicism in the nineteenth century. The following are the most important of those that are in print: P. Boutry, Pretres et paror's.res au pays du cure d'Ars, Paris. Cerf. 1986. Very stimulating. N.-J. Chaline, Des catholiqrtes normands sorts Ia Troisieme Republiqtte: crises, combats, renortveattx, Roanne, Horvath, 1985.

306

A Social Hist01y ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

G. Cholvy, Religion et .rocii!te au XIX" siecle. Le diocese de Montpellier, Lille, Presses U niversitaires de Lille III, 197 3. Fundamental. A. Corbin, Archai:rme et modermte en Limou.rm au XIX" .riecle, 1845-1880, Paris, M. Riviere, 1975, esp. vol. ii, part 2, ch. 5. M. Faugeras, Le Diocese de Nantes sott.r Ia Monarchic Cemitaire (1813-2249), 2 vols, Fontenay-le-Comte, Lussaud, 1964. Y.-M. Hilaire, Une chretiente au XIX" .riecle? La vie religieu.re des populatiom du diocese d'Arms (1840-1914), 2 vols, Lille, Presses Universitaires de Lille, 1977. Fundamental. M. Lagree, Mentalite.r, religion et histo ire en Haute-Bretagne art XIX" siecle: le diociJJe de Rennes, 1815-1848, Rennes, University ofi-Iaute-Bretagne, 1977. C. Langlois, Un diocese breton art debut du XIX'' siecle, Paris, Klincksieck, 1974. M. Launay, Le DiociJ.re de Nantes .rotts le Second Empire. Momeigneurjacquemet, 1849-1869, 2 vols, Nantes, CID, 1982. P. Leveque, U11e .rociete protJinciale: Ia Bortrgogne so usIa monarchic de ;ltillet, 2 vols, Paris, EHESS, 1982, esp. vol. ii, ch. 9 (+annexes). , C. Marcilhacy, Le Diocese d'Orleans sous /'episcopal de Mgr Dupanloup. Sociologic religie11.re et mentalites collectitJe.r, Paris, Pion, 1962. C. Marcilhacy, Le Dioce.re d'Orleans au mrlieu du XIX" siecle, Paris, Sircy, 1964. Pathfinding work, in some ways dated but still indispensable. C. Muller, Dieu e.rt catholique et al.racien. La vitalite du diocese de Strasbourg au XIX'' siecle (1802-1914), Societe d'Histoire de I'Eglise d' Alsace, 1987 (not used for this book).

The ancien regime ] . Qucniart, Les Hommes, I'Egkre et Dieu dan.r Ia France dr1 XVIW siecle, Paris, Hachette, 1978. Excellent survey. W.]. Callahan and D. Higgs (eels), Church and Society in Catholic Europe of the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge University Press, 1979, ch. 2 by 0. Hufton, 'The French Church'. ]. Delumeau, Catholici.rm between Luther and Voltaire, London, Burns & Oates, 1977. Translated from the French by]. Moiser. The only English source for Delumeau 's revolutionary approach. ] . Delumeau, Le Peche et Ia peur. La culpabili.ration en Occident, XIII"-XVIII'' siecle.r, Paris, Fayard, 1983. A fundamental interpretative work, which has much influenced this book. ]. Delumeau, College de France. Chaire d'hi.rtoire de.r menta!ites religieuses dan.r /'occident moderne. Ler;on inaugurate faite !e jettdi, 13 fevrier 1975, Paris, College de France, 1975. The neatest summary of his views on prerevolutionary dechristianization. M. Vovelle, Piete baroque et dechrt:rtiani.ration en Provence au XVIJJ' siec!e: les attitude.r devant h1mort d'apres le.r clause.r de.r testaments, Paris, Pion, 1973. Fundamental work. B. Groethuysen, The Bourgeois: Catho!ici.rm tJCrJIIS Capita!t:rm in Eighteenthcentury France, London, Cresset Press, 1968. Translated from the French by M. Ilford. Written in 1927, butstillveryfresh.

Guide to further reading

307

P. T. Hoffman, Church and Community in the Diocese of Lyon, 1500-1789, New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1984. A very stimulating study. ] . McManners. French Ecclesiastical Society under the Ancien Regime. A Study of Angers in the Eighteenth Century, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1960. L. Perouas, 'Contrastes regionaux au XVII" siede dans le diocese de La Rochelle', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 15 Oan.-July 1963), 113-21. An introduction to his pathfinding work on religious geography. G. Bouchard, Le Vtl!age immobrle. Sennely-en-Sologne au XVIW siecle, Paris, Pion, 1972. Based on the cure's fascinating memoirs. Parole de Dieu et Revolution. Les sermons d'un cure anget1in avant et pendant Ia grterre de Vendee, introd. F. Lebrun. Toulouse, Privat, 1979. Superb document. T. Tackett, 'The social history of the diocesan clergy in eighteenth-century France', in Church, State and Society under the Bourbon Kings of France, eel. R. M. Golden, Lawrence, KA, Coronado Press, 1982, pp. 327-79. Basic study, with a very full bibliography. T. Tackett and C. Langlois, 'Ecclesiastical strultures and clerical geography on the eve of the French Revolution', French Historical Studies, xi (3) (1980), 352-70. Important article. T. Tackett, Priest and Parish in Eighteenth-Cetltury France. A Social and Political Study ofthe Crtres in a Diocese ofDauphine, 1750-1791, Princeton, N], Princeton University Press, 1977. R. Darnton, The Bttsines.r of Enlightenment. A Publishing History of the Encyclopedic, 1775-1800, Cambridge, MA and London, Harvard University Press, 1979. R. Muchembled, Popular Culture and Elite Culture in France 1400-1750, Louisiana State University Press, 1985. Translated from the French by L. Cochrane. H. Mitchell, 'The world between the literate and the oral traditions in eighteenth-century France: ecclesiastical instructions and popular mentalities', Studies in Eighteenth-century Culture, ix ( 1979), 33-67.

The Revolution ] . McManners, The French Revolution atld the Church, London, SPCK, 1969. A. Latreille, L'Eglise catholique et Ia Revolution franr:aise, Paris, Hachette, 1946-50 (republished by Cerf in 1970), vol. i, Le Pontifical de Pie VIet Ia crise franr:aise (1775-1799), vol. ii, L'Ere napoleonienne et Ia crise europeenne (1800-1815). T. Tackett, Religion, Revolution and Regional Culture in Eighteenth-century France: the Ecclesiastical Oath of 1791, Princeton University Press, 1986. More than a specific study- an important contribution to the social history of religion during the Revolution. M. Vovelle, Religion et revolution - Ia dechristianisation de /'an II. Paris, Hachette, 1976.

308

Guide to further reading

A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

R. Cobb, The Peoples' Armies: the armees rift,olutionnaires: instmment ofthe Terror in the Departments. Apri/1793 to Florea/ Year II, Yale University Press, book 2, ch. 6. Translated from the French by M. Elliott. J.-L. Ormieres, 'Politique et religion dans !'Ouest'. Annales E.S. C., 40 (5) (Sept. -Oct. 1985 ), 1041-66. Argues that religion was the fundamental explanatory variable. T. Tackett, 'The West in France in 1789: the religious factor in the origins of counter-revolution' ,journal of Modem History, 54 (Dec. 1982), 715-45. T.J. A. Lc Goff and D. M.G. Sutherland, 'Religion and rural revolt in the French Revolution: an overview', in Religion and Rural Revolt, ed.J. M. Bak and G. Benecke, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1984, pp. 123-45. T J. A. Lc Goff and D. M. G. Sutherland, 'The social origins of counterrevolution in Western France', Past and Present, 99 (1983), 65-87.

309

0. Arnold, Le Corps et I'Jme. La vie des religieuses au XIX" siecle, Paris, Seuil, 1984. Unlike Langlois, evokes the actual experience of nuns. ]. Burnichon, La Compagttie de jesus en France. Histoire d'tm siecle. 18141914, 4 vols, Paris, Beauchesne, 1914-22. Still indispensable. G. T Cubitt, The Myth of a]eStlit Con.rpiracy in France, 1814-1880, Ph.D., Cambridge, 1984. Very stimulating. Likely to be published. ]. W. Langdon, 'Jesuit schools in French society, 1851-1908', Indiana Social Studies Quarterly, xxxvii (Winter 1984). The most comprehensive of his several articles on the subject. ]. W. Bush, 'Education and social status: the Jesuit College in the early Third Republic'. French Historical Studies, x (1) (Spring 1975), 125-40.

Popular religion La Religion populaire (symposium held in Paris, 17-19 October 1977), Paris,

The secular clergy

CNRS, 1979.

F. Boulard, Essor ou dec/in du clerge franrais? Paris, Ccrf, 1950. Still fundamental. P. Picrrard, La Vie quotidietme du pretre franc;ais au XIX' siecle, 1801-1905. Paris, Hachcttc, 1986. B. Singer, Vtllage Notables in Nineteenth-Century France: Priests, Mayors, Schoolmaster.r, Albany, SUNY Press, 1983. J. Gadillc, La Pensee et /'action politiques des eveques franrais au debut de Ia III" Republique. 187011883, 2 vols, Paris, Hachettc, 1966. Basically political history, but important material on religious geography. A. Gough, Paris and Rome. The Gallicat1 Church and the Ultramontat1e Campaign. 1848-1853, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1986. Mostly not social history (though excellent), but pp. 40-41 arc crucial for the social origins of the episcopate. H. W. Paul, 'In quest of Kerygma: Catholic intellectual life in nineteenthcentury France', American Historical Review, lxxv (2)(Dec. 1969). 387-423. P. Boutry, 'Un sanctuairc ct son saint au XIxc sieclc: Jean-Marie-Baptiste Vianncy, cured' Ars', Atmales E.S. C.. 35 (2) (March-April 1980), 353-79. R. Remond, L 'Antlclericalisme en France de 1815 t1os jours, Paris, Fayard, 1976. T. Zeldin (ed.), Co11jlicts in French Society. Anticlericalism. Education and Morals in the Nineteenth Century, London, Allen & Unwin, 1970.

a

The regular clergy C. Langlois, Le Catholicisme au feminin. Les congregations jra11raises a mperieure generate au XIX'' siecle, Paris, Cerf, 1984. Pathfinding and crucial work - if a bit hard going. C. Langlois, 'Lc catholicisme au feminin', Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions, 57 (1) Oan.- March 1984), 29-53. A summary of some of the conclusions of the preceding title.

a nos jours, Actes du 99c Congres National des Socieres Savantes, Besan~on, 1974, Section d'Histoirc Moderne et Contemporaine, vol. i, Paris, BN, 1976. T. A. Kselman, Miracles and Prophecies in Nineteenth-century France, New Brunswick, .NJ, Rutgers University Press, 1983.

La Piete populaire de 1610

]. Dev!in,The St~perstitious Mind. French Peasants and the Supernatural in the Nineteenth Century, New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1987. A. Notter, Le Culte des saints en Sologne aux XIX" -XX" siecles, thesis, Ecole des Chartes, 1981. A very stimulating study, sadly unpublished, but the British Library has a copy. P. Boutry, 'Les saints des catacombes. ltineraires fran~ais d'une piete ultramontaine (1800-1881)', Melanges de /'Ecole Franraise de Rome, Moyen Age et Temps Modemes, 91 (2) (1979), 875-930. P. Boutry, 'Marie, Ia grande consolatrice de Ia France au XIX< siecle', L 'Histoire, 50 (Nov. 1982), 31-9. C. Savart, 'A Ia recherche de I'' 'art'' dit de Saint-Sulpice', Revue d'Histoire de Ia Spiritualite, 52 (1976), 265-82. C. Rosenbaum-Dondaine, L'Image de Ia piete en France, 1814-1914, Paris, Musee-galerie de Ia Seita, 1984. A fascinating record of bad taste in iconography. B. Cousin, Ex-voto de Provence. Images de Ia religion populaire et de Ia vie d'atttrefois, Paris, Desclec de Brouwer, 1981. An equally fascinating record of the artistic expression of the religious sentiment of ordinary people. F. Boulard eta/., Materiaux pour l'histoire religiettse du peuple franrais, XIX"XX" siecles, Paris, FNSP, EHESS, CNRS, vol. i, 1982 (Region de Paris, HauteNormandie, Pays de Loire, Centre). vol. ii, 1987 (Bretagne, BasseNormandie, Nord-Pas de Calais, Picardie, Champagne, Lorraine, Alsace). Two more volumes to come. Absolutely indispensable. R. Remond, 'Recherche d'une methode d'analyse de Ia dechristianisation depuis le milieu du XIX 0 siecle', in Colloque d'Histoire Religieuse, Lyon,

310

A Social History a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

octobre 1963, Grenoble, Impr. Allier, 1963, pp. 123-54. Still a very stimulating article. Y.-M. Hilaire, 'Lcs contrastes geographiques et les phases de !'evolution rcligieuse du XJXC siecle a travers l'histoirc quantitative de Ia pratique cultuellc', in Christianisation et dechri.rtianisation. Actes de Ia neuvieme rencontre d'hirtoire religie11se tenue a Fontevraud /es 3, 4 et 5 octobre 1985, Angers, Presses de l'Universite d'Angers, 1986, pp. 199-207. The latest summary of knowledge. Supersedes his article inL 'Information Historique of 1963. G. Le Bras, 'Dechristianisation, mot fallacieux', Social Compass, x (1963), 445-52. Important article. F. Boulard, Premiers Itineraires en sociologic religieuse, 2nd edn. Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1966 (1954). G. Cholvy. 'Societe, genres de vie et mentalites dans les campagnes franpises de 1815 a 1880', L'Information Hirtoriqtte, 36 (4) (Sept.-Oct. 1974), 155-66. F. Boulard and J. Remy, Pratique religiettse urbaine et regions culturel/es, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1968. F. Boulard, 'La "dechristianisation" de Paris: !'evolution historique du nonconformisme', Archives de Sociologic des Religions, 31 (1971), 69-98. C. Savart, Les Catho/iqttes en France au XIX" siec/e. Le temoignage du livre religie11x, Paris, Beauchesne, 1985. Important study of Catholic publishing and reading. E. Sevrin, Les Mirsions religiertses en France sous Ia Restauration (1815-1830), 2 vols, Saint-Mande, Procure des prerres de Ia Misericorde and Paris,]. Vrin, 1948-59. J. Stengers, 'Les pratiques anticonceptionnelles dans le mariage au XJxc siecle: problemes humains et attitudes religieuses·, Revue Beige de Philo/ogie et d'Histoire, xlix (2) (197112), 403-81. Fundamental article. G. Cholvy, 'La religion, Ia jeunesse et Ia danse', in Oisivete et /oisirs dans /es sociiftes occidenta/es au XIX" siec/e, ed. A. Daumard, Amiens. Centre de Recherche d'Histoire Sociale de l'Universite de Picardie, 1983, pp. 137-47. The latest account of the clergy's obsession with dancing. M. R. Marrus, 'Modernization and dancing in rural France: from "Ia bourree" to '' le foxtrot'' ·, in The Wolfand the Lamb: Popular Cultttre in France from the Old Regime to the Twentieth Century, ed.]. Beauroy eta/.. Saratoga. Anma Libri, 1976, pp. 141-59. B. G. Smith, Ladies ofthe Leisure Class: the Bottrgeoises ofNorthern France in the Nineteenth Century, Princeton University Press, 1981, (esp. ch. 5). 0. Hufton, 'Women in revolution, 1789-96', Past and Present, 53 (1971), 90-108.

The Church and social class P. Pierrard, L'Eglt:re et /es ouvriers en France (1840-1940), Paris, Hachette, 1984. R. Trempe, Les Mineurs de Carmaux. 1848-1914, 2 vols, Paris, Editions Ouvrieres, 1971 (vol. ii, pp. 834-57).

Guide to further reading

311

Jacquemet, 'Dechristianisation, structures familiales et anticlericalisme. Belleville au XIxc siecle ·, Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions, 57 ( 1) Oan.-March 1984), 69-82. Y .-M. Hilaire, 'Remarques sur Ia pratique religieuse dans le bassin houiller du Pas de Calais dans Ia deuxieme moitie du XIX 0 siecle ·, in Charbon et Sciences Humaines, ed. L. Trenard. Paris/The Hague, Mouton, 1966, pp. 265-79. J.-P. Chaline, Les Bourgeois de Rauen: tme elite urbaine att XIX" siec/e, Paris, FNSP. 1982, ch. 8. A. Daumard, La Bourgeoisie parisienne de 1815 a1848, Paris, SEVPEN. 1963 (esp. pp. 347-51). ].-B. Duroselle, Les Debuts du catho/icisme social en France (1822-1870), Paris. PUF, 1951. H. Roller, L 'Action sociale des catho/iques en France. 1871-1901, vol. i, Paris, Desclee de Brouwer, 1958 (the second volume is not so useful). ].-M. Mayeur, 'Catholicisme intransigeant, catholicisme social, democratic chretienne', Annales B.S. C., 27 (2) (March-April1972), 483-99. Important interpretative article. G.

From fear to love G. Cholvy, '"Du dieu terrible au dieu d'amour": une evolution dans Ia sensibilite religieuse au XIX0 siecle', 109c Congres National des Societes Savantes, Dijon, 1984: Transmettre Ia foi: xvr-xx" siecles, i, Pastorale et predication en France, Section d'Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, Paris, CTHS, 1984, pp. 141-54. E. Germain, Parler du salut? Attx origines d'tme menta/ite religieuse. La catechese du sa!ttt dam Ia France de Ia Restauration, Paris, Beauchesne, 1967. Very important, and rather neglected. E. Germain, 'Images de Dieu, image de l'homme dans les cantiques populaires de Ia premiere moitie du x1xc siede', in Romantisme et Religion ... Colloque ... organise a Ia Faculte de Lettres de Metz les 20. 21, 22 octobre 1978. Paris, PUF, 1980. pp. 21-42. R. Gibson, 'Hellfire and damnation in nineteenth-century France', Catholic Historical Review, 74 (3) Ouly 1988), 383-402. G. Gaucher, Histoire d'tme vie. Therese Martin (1873-1897). Soeur Therese de I'Enfont}estts de Ia Sainte Face, 2nd edn, Paris, Cerf, 1986 (1982). J. Guerber, Le Ral/iement dtt clerge franvais a Ia morale ligttoriem1e. L 'abbe Gottsset et ses precursettrs (1785-1832), Rome, Universita Gregoriana, 1973. ) . Delumeau eta/., Alphonse de Liguori, pasteuret doctettr. Paris, Beauchesne, 1987. Contains two important articles on the dissemination of Liguorism in France.

Index baccalaureat 124

Index

abbes democrate.r 99, 206, 207 Action Franr;:a£re 201 adoration nocturne 256 adoration perpetuelle 256 Affre, Archbishop of Paris 81 age 11-12, 190-2 Agulhon, Maurice 7 Aisne: department 176; prefect 121 Aix, Archbishop of 37 Alacoque, Sainte Marguerite-Marie 148 Albi, diocese of 140, 174, 231, 238 Allier, department 175, 239 All Saints, feast of 162 Alps 170 Alsace 216 Alsace-Lorraine 66, 105, 148, 170 alumnats 116. 124 Alzon, Emmanuel d' 81, 116, 253, 258 Amiens 123; diocese of 186 amo111'btlite 60 Angebault, Bishop of Angers 59, 61, 120 Angers 4, 5; Bishop of 59; diocese of 120, 174, 181, 194, 230 Anjou 6, .'13 Annecy, Bishop of 61, 100 Annonay 125 Anor 215 anticlericalism 10, 45, 80, 84, 127-33, 165, 195, 197. 200, 209. 235, 238, 256

antisemitism 100, 212, 217 Ardeche, department 125 Ardennes, department 175 Argenson, d' 10 Ariege, department 45, 175 Aries, Philippe 6 Arras 144, 178; Bishop of 63, 84, 85, 255; diocese of65, 137, 142, 157, 174, 179, 207. 208, 212, 214, 215, 220, 229 Ascension, feast of the 162

Association Catholique de Ia }etmesse Franr;:aise 58-9, 201 Association Catho/iq11e des Patrons du Nord203, 215, 218 associations law (1901) 129, 132 Assumption, feast of the 162 Assumptionists81, 116,124,125, 212, 253 Astros, d', Archbishop of Toulouse 204, 205 Aube, department 176 Aubervilliers 210 Aubin 218 Aude, department 174 Augustinians 4 Aulard 44 Austria 41 Autun, diocese of 174, 179 Auxerre 10 Aveyron, department 175 Avignon 153; Archbishop of83; diocese of 174

baptism 1, 42, 163-4 Barat, Sophie 257 Barjeaud, abbe 152 Bas-Rhin, department 39, 176 Baudaire, abbe 80-1, 82 Bayeux: Bishop of 85, 205; diocese of 174, 186 beates 107 Beauce 190 Beaujolais, region 22 Bellac 160, 196 Belleville 215 Belley: Bishop of92, 261; diocese of 72, 75, 80, 230, 235, 238 Belmas, Archbishop of Cambrai 204 Bclot, Mile 182 Benedictines 4, 23, 108, 115, 116 Beranger 110, 194 Bergerac 179 Bergier 263 Bert, Paul 111 Berteaud, Bishop of Tulle 94 Berulle 56 Besan~on 62; Archbishop of81, 262; diocese of63, 69, 225 Bethune 202 Beziers 163, 164 biem nationaux 34, 35, 40, 48, 50, 52, 64, 197-8, 208, 248, 264 Billy-Montigny 214 Birot, abbe 207 Bismarck 237 Blegny-sur-Ternoise 142 Blessed Sacrament, confraternity of the 58, 168 Blois: Bishop of 144; diocese of 140, 145, 174 Blois, Comte de 195 Bloy, Leon 183 Bobigny 181 Boisgelin, Archbishop of Aix 37 Bois, Paul 50, 51 Bonnet 245 books, religious 6, 9, 12, 234 Bordeaux 10, 69, 215, 230; diocese of26, 174, 190, 196,229,239, 244; province 150

313

Borromeo, Saint Charles 19 Bossuet, 19, 23, 206 Bossy,John 24, 25 Boulard, Fernand 65, 158, 170 Boulard, 'Ia carte Boulard' 9, 170-1, 173. 177 Bourges 256; Congress of(1900) 61, 99, 100, 207; diocese of 64, 72, 163, 164, 169, 174, 181; seminary 82, 89 Bourget, Paul 130 Boutry, Philippe 72, 75, 235 Bouvier, Bishop ofLe Mans 59, 63, 70-1' 86, 94, 96, 140, 154, 197' 263 Bovary 93, 119, 123, 126 Brest 195, 208, 221, 250 Brian~on 246 Bridaine, Father 27 Brissot,Jean-Pierre 14, 41 Brittany 3. 107, 114, 170, 176-7, 178, 188, 195' 208, 225' 229 Brothers of the Christian Doctrine 108 Brugclette 109, 12 3 Brulley, Bishop of Mende 139-40 Brunswick Manifesto 41 Burgnac 140 burials 1, 163-5 Burke, Peter 19

cabaret 95, 117, 160, 189. 244 Caestre 143

cahiers de doleance 31, 32, 33, 35 Cahors 195; diocese of 174 Calais 179 Cambrai, Archbishop of 143, 204; diocese of 153, 250 Capclou, Notre-Dame de 144 capitalism 13,210-11 Capuchins 108, 186, 251 Carcassonne, diocese of 17 4 careers open to talent 84- 5 Carmaux 202, 214, 215, 220 Carmelites 106, 108, 116, 266 Carrier 52 Carthusians 36, 108 casue/31, 33, 76-8, 84

314

Index

A Social History a/French Catholicism 1789-1914

catechism 9, 23-4, 26, 44, 46, 55, 56, 70, 107, 166-7, 244 Catholic Reformation 10, 11, 15, 24, 38, 179, 180, 188, 268 Catrice, Paul 83 cercle 189 Chagot, Leonce202, 203.220 Chfdons, Bishop of85; diocese of 161, 166, 174, 178, 181, 232, 257 chambree 117, 189 Chanoinesses de Saint Augustin 121 Chaon 154 charity 13, 32,34-5,78,220-1, 225-6 Charpin, Ferdinand 224 Chartres 262, 264; diocese of 136, 144, 173, 174, 181, 230 chastity, clerical16, 75, 92-3 Chateaubriand 141, 236 Chateau-Salinis, arrondissement 23 7 Chateau-Thierry 179 Chatrousse, Bishop of Valence 236 Chaunu, Pierre 5, 6 Cher, department 174 Children of Mary 93. 168, 191 Cholet 49 Cholvy, Gerard134, 141, 158, 213, 214, 232, 246, 262 chouam 49, 50, 53, 148 Christian Brothers 108, 121 Christian Democracy 195, 206, 207, 211,217,220,236 Christmas 162 Cistercians 106 Civil Constitution of the Clergy 36-40, 50, 54, 62 Clarisses 116 Clemenceau 209 Clermont d'Excideuil138 Clermont-Ferrand: Bishop of 204; diocese of 229 Clignancourt, Notre-Dame de 222 Cobb. Richard44, 45 Coeur, abbe 187 Combes, Emile 67, 129, 184, 231, 237 commende 31, 32, 36 Commission des reguliers 4

Commune of Paris 49, 58, 125, 148, 207,215,230,233,246 Comte, Auguste 219 Concordat 47-9, 54, 60, 64, 65, 75, 104, 160, 163, 202, 249 conferences ecclesiastlques 83-4, 141-2 confession 24-5,46, 101-2, 188, 247-8,259,261,263-4 conformisme saironnier 3, 163, 167 confraternities 9. 11, 25-6, 57-8, 168 Congregation, Ia 58 constitutional church 54, 62 Constitutionnel, le 111 contemptus mundi 16, 22-3, 90-2, 94, 120, 121, 206, 242 contraception 7, 8, 135, 185-6, 245, 264 Corbin, Alain 75, 119 Corpus Christi 43, 162, 256 Corsica 250 Cote d' or, department 17 4 Cotes-du-Nord, department 175 Coulommiers, arrondissement 174 councils, provincial 83 Courbet, Gustave 84 Courier, Paul-Louis 111, 130 Cousin, Bernard 156 Coutras 196 Creuse, department 114, 174, 181, 231 Croix, Ia 212 Croizier, Bishop of Rodez 205 Cubitt, Geoffrey 111 cure d'Ars 56, 72, 94, 100-2, 103, 108, 127, 147, 151, 152, 182, 242, 247, 249, 263, 270 Cusenier 129 Dabry, abbe 207 Dames du Sacre Coeur 123 dancing 93-4, 102, 191, 244. 245 Darnton, Robert 14 Daumard, Adeline 196 David, painter 36 Deau-Sevres, department 175 Decazeville 214, 218

dechristianization, revolutionary 43-6, 184 decimes 31, 32 Delpal. Bernard 249 Delumeau,Jean 2, 18, 23, 29, 188, 266 Desert, Gabriel 177 Deshayes, abbe 117 Devie, Bishop of Belley 261, 265 Diderot 5, 36 Digne, diocese of 262 Dijon, diocese of 174, 179, 186 divorce 42-3 doctors 209 Dominicaines 119 Dominicans 108 don gratuit 31 Dordogne: department 175; prefect 64 Doucclles 140 Dreyfus Affair 110, 220 dry mass 13 5 duLac, Father Stanislas 110 Dupanloup 59, 60,62-3, 77, 81, 82, 85, 91, 161, 167, 170. 230, 243. 253, 258. 265 Duruy, Victor 123 Easter communion 1, 3, 9. 10, 39, 41, 55. 134, 159, 160-1, 162, 167, 173-6, 178, 180, 181, 195, 214, 227' 229, 230-1' 232, 236. 259 ecole des Carmes 81 ecole Sainte Genevieve 110 education 2, 96-7, 108, 109-11, 121-5, 128-9, 130-1, 233-4 elect, small number of 27-8, 253-4 Emery, Monsieur 28 emigres 42, 44, 46. 52, 53. 79-80 Encyclopedie 14. 15 Enlightenment 14, 15, 28, 31, 36, 39, 104, 130, 139, 141, 177, 180, 193, 197, 198. 218, 237 Epiphany 162 Ere Nouvelle 206 ergotism 144 Etaples 137

315

Eure-et-Loir, department 174 Evreux: Bishop of 57; diocese of 209 exams for young priests 83, 85 ex-votos 155-6 Eymard, Saint Pierre-Julien 258 Falloux law 78, 109, 123, 124, 200 Faugeres 250 Faury, Jean 238 February Revolution 80, 213 Fenelon 258, 269 Feron. Bishop of Clermont 204 Feron-Vrau 203 Ferry,Jules 98, 128, 132, 209, 234. 237 Ferry laws 202 fetepatronale 19-20,138-9. 142-3, 162 fetes supprimees 198 Filles de Ia Charite 106. 107, 125, 126 Filles de Ia Sagesse 107, 12 5 Finistere, department 17 5 first communion 1, 165-6, 181-2, 190-1 First Empire 65. 121. 229 Flanders, French 143 Flaubert 93, 119, 126 Fontpeyrine, Notre-Dame de 144 Forty Hours devotion 257 Foucault, Michel 87-8 Foucault, Pierre 180 Franciscans 4 Franco-Prussian war 148, 230, 246 freedom of teaching 123 frequent communion 168-9, 231, 257-9 Freres de !'Instruction Chretienne 116 Fribourg 63, 109, 123 Fructidor 46-7 Furet, Fran~ois 170 Gadille,Jacques 63, 75 Gambetta 130, 131, 165 Gap, diocese of 16, 17, 32, 64. 262 Gard, department 114 Garnier, abbe 207, 217 Gayraud, abbe 195, 207

316

A Social History of French Catholicism 1789-1914

gender 10-11, 153, 180-90, 218, 237, 271 Gerbet, abbe 182, 252. 253. 258 Gerle, Dom 36 Germain, Soeur Elisabeth 23, 242, 244 Ginouilhac, Bishop of Grenoble, Archbishop of Lyon 85 Giraud, Archbishop of Cambrai 204 Giron de, department 17 4 Girondins 4 i, 43 glassworkers 215 Goblet law 128 Gough, Austin 62 Gousset, Bishop of Perigueux, Archbishop ofReims 62, 86, 101, 262, 263 Gouy-sous-Bellone 209 Grande Chartreuse 129 Grasse, diocese of 19 Grave, Marie-Jeanne 146 Graveran, Bishop of Quimper 62 Graves de communi 207 Gregoire 54 Grenoble 5, 10, 12. 146; Bishop of 57. 85, 149; diocese of64 Groethuysen, Bernard 2, 13 Gueranger, Dom 108 Guiana, French 41, 46-7, 52 Guibert, Archbishop of Paris 63 Guizot 110 Guizot law 78, 96, 121 Gury. Jesuit 262 Guyon, Father 246 hailstorms 18, 19, 21, 136, 140 Harmel, Leon 203 Haute-Garonne, department 198 Haute-Loire, department 107 Haute-Vienne, department 142 Haut-Rhin, department 176 hell27, 191,246-7,253-4 Hello, Ernest 265 Herault: department 175; prefect 79, 80 Hilaire, Yves-Marie 84, 157, 211, 213, 214, 229, 232, 246, 262 Hoffman, Philip 11, 21

Homais 209 hospices 125 hospitals 125, 132 Hugo, Victor 165,221 Hugonin, Bishop ofBayeux 85 Huysmans 155 Ille-et-Vilaine, department 53, 175 illegitimacy 7. 8 Immaculate Conception 147, 255 lndre, department 174 Indre-et-Loire, department 176 t'nstt'tuteurs 78, 130-1, 166, 209 Isere, department 49 Isoard, Bishop of Annecy 100 Italian War 127, 236 Jacobins 43 Jansenism 23, 24, 28, 139. 177. 257. 260, 261 Jaures,Jean 181-2, 214 Jesuits 108, 109-11, 115, 116, 117, 123, 124, 125, 127, 128, 131, 132. 148, 194, 198. 209, 250, 251, 256. 257, 261, 262 Joigny 179 journal de Rauen 72 Jugan, Jeanne 107, 118 Julia, Dominique 17 July Monarchy 56, 62, 63, 65, 68, 75, 77. 78, 105, 119, 123. 159. 166, 196. 197. 199. 204, 213, 229-30, 231, 236, 270 June Days 199. 204, 206, 207, 213, 236 Jura 126 Keufer, printers' leader 219 Kieckhefer, Richard 242 Kselman, Thomas 147, 153 Kulturkampf 237 Laboure, Soeur Catherine 145 Labre, Saint Benoit 151, 211- 12 Lachapelle du Genet 20, 29 Lacordaire 108. 197, 206, 253 Lagree, Michel 53 Lamennais, Felicite de 206, 252, 253. 262

Index Lamennais, Jean-Marie de 108, 116 Landeronde, Vicomte de 194 Langlois, Claude 105, 179 Langres, diocese of 169 Languedoc 185 Laon 179; arrondissement 176 La Rochelle, diocese of 24, 69 La Roche sur Yonne, arrondissement 169 La Salette 146-7, 148, 149, 153, 255 L 'Atelier 213 Latreille, Andre 36 Latty, Archbishop of Avignon 83 Laval 91, 94; diocese of 174 Lavigerie 220 Lavisse, Ernest 130 lavolr 117, 189 lay action 58-9 Lazarists 4, 82, 251 League of French Women 183 Le Bras. Gabriel!, 3, 158, 160, 167. 170, 184. 224 Lebrun, Fran~ois 26 Lecanuet 231 Le Gallo, Yves 93 Legislative Assembly 41, 42 Le Heron 193 Le Mans 159, 262; Bishop of 59, 63, 65, 70-1,94, 197. 258; diocese of 19. 20, 25, 56. 65, 68, 77. 81, 143, 174. 176, 179. 230, 236 Lemire, abbe 99, 100. 207, 222 Lens 179, 202 Leo XIII 99. 100, 218, 220, 236, 258 Libre Pensee 238 Ligueux 13 7, 151 Liguori, Saint Alphonse de 101, 248, 254,256,260-5,272 Lille 69. 203, 215, 223, 258 Limoges 163, 164, 165; Bishop of 205,233, 246; dioceseof69. 75, 114, 140, 164. 165. 166, 174, 178, 179. 201' 230 Limousin97, 137.140,151,156, 159, 165, 170, 177. 178, 181, 208, 230, 231, 233, 234, 245, 271 literacy 233-4, 235

317

Little Sisters of the Poor 107, 117, 118, 125 Lime, Emile 165. 191 Loire-Atlantique, department 175 Loiret, department 175 Loir-et-Cher, department 174 Lorraine 215, 237; see also AlsaceLorraine Lot, department 174 Lough,John 14 Louis XVI 40, 43, 53 Lourdes 147, 148, 150, 151, 153, 157. 255 Loyola 19 Lu1=on, diocese of 169. 174. 230 Lumieres, Notre-Dame de 153 Luneville, arrondissement 175, 237 Lyon 58, 101, 165, 177, 213, 217, 258; Archbishop of 85, 149; diocese of 19-20 Mackau, Baron de 58 McManners,John 4 Maignen, Charles 216 Maine-et-Loire, department 174 Maisons-Aifort 210 mal des ardents 144 Malestroit seminary 262 Marat 111 Marchais, Yves-Michcl20, 22, 24, 26, 29 Marcilhacy. Christianne 79, 81, 161, 196, 234. 235 Maret, abbe 206 Marist Brothers 125 Marne, department 17 4 marriage 1, 20, 42, 48, 163-5 Marrus, Michael150 Marseilles 5, 10, 69, 163, 164, 183, 197, 215, 223, 224 Martin, Marguerite 52 Martin du Gard, Roger 165, 181, 191 Marvejols, arrondissement 174 Marx, Karl 35 masonry 12, 36, 209, 238 mass attendance 159-60. 160-2 Massif Central 170, 177

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Mauges, les 50 Maunoir, Father 188 mauvaises iecture.r 97 Maximin 146, 147, 149 Mayenne, department 174, 176 Mazamet 216 Mazcnod, Eugene de 108, 261 Meaux: arrondissement 174; diocese of 164, 174 medailie miraculeu.re 145 Mcignan. Bishop of Chalons and Arras, Archbishop of Tours 85 Melanic 146, 149 Memorial de Rauen. le 200 Menard, Michelle 23 Mende: Bishop of 139-40; diocese of 17 3, 17 4, 231 Mericourt 202 Mctz, diocese of 174, 179 Meurthe-et-Moselle, department 175 Meuse, department 176 Michelct,Jules 165, 187-8 Midi 10, 116, 117, 168, 173, 176, 189, 197. 210, 232, 250 Migne, abbe 86 migration 224-5, 233, 235 miners 202-3, 214-15, 220 missions: foreign 17 3; internal 195, 243, 246, 250-1 modernization 227, 233-5 Montalembert 198, 204, 211, 221, 241 Montceau-les-Mines 202, 220 Montfortains 9 month of Mary 255, 265 Montmartre 148 Montpellier 232; Bishop of 57, 137, 221, 228; diocese of 3, 72. 91, 115, 116, 140, 147, 162, 175, 176, 208, 230, 236; Semaine religieu.re 98; seminary 90 moralizing religion 23-5, 243-4 Moral0rder63, 219 Morbihan, department 195 Morlaix 208 Mornet, Daniel 14 Moselle, department 174

Moulins,dioceseof169, 175,181, 191, 229 Mulhouse 216 Mun, Albert de 58, 216 Nadaud. abbe 207 Nancy: arrondissement 175, 237; Bishop of 58, 186; catechism 56; diocese of 175, 181, 237 Nantes 49, 51-2, 95; diocese of 65, 68, 85, 95, 114, 115, 116, 117, 161, 173, 175, 181, 196; seminary 89 Napoleon 42,47-8, 54, 60, 62, 90, 104, 107, 123, 162, 166, 198 Napoleon III 236, 240 Narbonnais 233 Narbonne 209-10; arrondissement 173, 174 National Assembly 37, 40, 148 Necker 33 Neufchatel, arrondissement 175 Nevers, diocese of 175, 181 Nicole 23 Nimes 116, 124,216 nobility 12, 62, 68, 84, 193-5 Noeux 202 Nontron 179 Nord, department 214, 215 Normandy 177 noyade.r 51-2 oath-taking 38-40, 48, 54 Oblates of Mary Immaculate 108, 153. 250, 257. 261-2 Oeuvre de.r cercles 58, 216, 219 officiers de sante 126 Olier, Monsieur 92 Olivier, Bishop ofEvreux 57 Oratorians 4 Organic Articles 48, 60, 75, 222 Orleans 77, 91; Bishop of21, 26, 167; diocese of 61, 68, 69, 79. 81, 94, 96, 136, 140, 160, 175, 191, 196, 230, 240; Vicar-General246 o.rtemions 151 Palm Sunday 162

Index Pamiers, diocese of 175 Paray-le-Monial148, 149, 150, 153 Paris 5, 10, 12, 14,20-1,43, 45, 69, 125, 126, 127, 132, 145, 154, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 179, 181, 195-6, 197, 210, 213, 215, 221-2, 223, 225, 233; Archbishop of 63. 82, 204; catechism 56; diocese of 175 Paris basin 7, 9, 45, 170, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 232 Parisis, Bishop of Arras 63 Pas-de-Calais, department 174, 220 Pasteur, Louis 13 7 pa.rtorale de Ia peur 26-8, 241, 245-8, 252, 267. 268-9, 272 Patay 148 Patriotic League of French Women 183 Paul, Harry 83 Peguy 220 penitents 6-7, 12, 26, 57-8, 168 pemionnat.r 106, 120, 123, 182, 252 Perigord 6, 135, 141, 146, 162, 208, 239, 254 Perigueux 116, 118, 195; Bishop of 62; diocese of 65, 68, 69, 70, 77-8, 80, 89, 137, 140, 152, 175, 179, 183, 229, 230, 231, 251, 259, 262; seminary 87 Perouas, Louis 9 Perpignan: Bishop of 253; diocese of 175 Picpucians 82; Soeurs de Picpus 120 Pic, Bishop of Poi tiers 63 Picrrard, Pierre 218 pilgrimages 18, 19, 21, 137-8, 140, 141, 142, 143, 146, 147, 148, 150-1, 152-3, 157 Pius IX 162, 210, 227, 240, 257 Pius X 56, 67, 100, 165, 220 Plongeron, Bernard 4 Poi tiers: Bishop of 63, 151, 15 7; diocese of 175 Polytechnique 110, 202, 209 Pomeruc, Marquis de 193

319

Pont l'Eveque, arrondissement 174 Pontmain 149 pontom de Rochefort 52 popular religion 17-22, ch. 5 portion congrue 32, 33. 37, 103 positivism 270 propres 144 Prost, Antoine 130 protcstants 2, 3, 21, 42, 54, 114,216 Proudhon 165, 229 Provence 5, 6, 7, 10, 12, 14, 57, 156, 262 Provins, arrondissement 174 purgatory 5-6, 27-8, 254 Puy-de-Domc, department 174 Pyrenees 170 Pyrenees-Orientales, department 175 Queniart, Jean 6 Quimper: Bishop of 62, 68; diocese of65, 68, 92, 143, 175, 176, 179, 195 Quinet, Edgar 51 Quod aiiquantum 37 ralliement 99. 220, 236 Ranc, Arthur 130 Rance, abbe 23 Raspail, F. V. 111 Redcmptorists 205, 215, 251, 260 Redon-Espic, Notre-Dame de 146, 149, 255 Rcims 217; Archbishop of62, 103, 149, 262; arrondissement 175; diocese of 17, 17 5; 1896 congress 61, 99, 100, 207 Remond, Rene 238 Rcnan,Erncst85, 87,229,235,238 Renncs 140; Bishop of 228; diocese of65, 79, 140, 169, 175,230, 248, 250 Rerttm novamm 99, 203, 206, 217, 218 residence, clerical 16 Restoration, Bourbon 30, 54, 62, 63, 65, 72, 75, 119, 121, 123, 195, 198, 219, 229, 234, 236, 250, 252, 270

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Revercourt 144 Reymond, Henri 32, 33 Richer(ism) 33 Robespierre 44 Rochechouart 97 Rodez: Bishop of 205; diocese of 114, 175, 196, 214 Rogations 162 Rohan, Cardinal de 262 Roland, Madame 14, 41 Roman question 127, 162, 240 Romanticism 141 Rome 148, 152 Ronceray 5 Rosalie, Soeur 126-7,225 Rosary, confraternity 58, 168, 255 Roubaix 203, 205, 215, 223 Rouen 5, 6, 10, 12, 182, 183, 195, 201, 228; Archbishop of 193, 196; diocese of68, 140, 143, 175; seminary 88, 89, 90 Rouergue 233, 271 Rouland, Minister of Education 127 Rousseau 14, 111, 198 Rue des Postes 110 rural bourgemsie 35, 196, 208 Sables d'Olonne, les, arrondissement 169 sacred and profane 19-21, 57, 91, 138-9, 142-3, 150-1 Sacred Heart: confraternity 58, 168; devotion to 148; Sisters of the 116, 257 saints, cult of 18, 20, 21, 136-7 Saint Acheul 123, 256 Saint Affrique 124 Saint Agatha 20 Saint Angelica 151 Saint Anthony 21 Saint Barthelemy 15 5 Saint Brieuc, diocese of 164, 175 Saint Chamond 216, 224 Saint Cyr 110, 209 Saint Die, Bishop of 97, 223 Sainte Alvere 64 Sainte Barbe, college 198

Sainte Barbe, patron saint of miners 214-15 Saint Eloi 25 Saint Eustache 200 Saint Evenisse 140 Saint Fiacre 21 Saint Fran~ois de Sales 19, 26, 182-3, 269, 273 Saint Hubert 137 Saint John the Baptist, feast of 18, 19 SaintJulien 19 Saint Martin 21 Saint Onuphre 154 Saint Philomena 15 2 Saint Quentin, arrondissement 176 Saint Sebastian 141, 154 Saint Sui pice art 15 3-5, 265 Saint Sulpice des Champs, canton 178 Saint Vincent de Paul society 58, 106, 197' 243 Salle, Jean-Baptiste de Ia 108 Sangnier, Marc 59, 100, 201, 202 Sarlat 179 Sarrebourg, arrondissement 237 Sarthe, department 9, 50, 174, 179 Sauvageon, Christophle 18, 29 Savart, Claude 243, 255 Savenay 49 Scapular, confraternity 58, 168 science, clerical attitude to 94-5 scientism 270 SecondEmpire63, 75, 77, 78, 89, 130, 200, 209, 214, 215, 219, 230, 236, 23 7 See, Camille, law 128 Seez, Bishop of 58 Segur, Monseigneur de 183, 253, 258 Seine, department 175 Seine-et-Loire, department 174 Seine-et-Oise, department 176 seminaries 16,64-5, 73. 75, 79, 81-2,87,88-9, 90-1; minor91, 124 Senncley-en-Sologne 18, 21, 25, 29, 188

Index Sens 178; dioceseof162, 164,166, 169, 175, 179. 181 Separation of Church and State 49, 56-7, 59. 65, 75, 183,231 September massacres 41-2, 52 Shorter, Edward 93, 245 Sibour, Archbishop of Paris 204 Sri/on, le 59, 100, 201, 207, 220, 236 Six, Abbe 207 Smith, Bonnie 185 Soboul, Albert 45 Society ofJesus see Jesuits Soeurs de Saint Gildas 117 Soeurs de Picpus 120 Soissons, arrondissement 176 Soissons, diocese of 176, 179, 183, 229, 231 Solages, Marquis de 202, 203, 214, 220 Sologne 20, 137, 144, 151. 154 Soubirous, Bernadette 147, 149 Soulange-Bodin, Abbe 216 Soulas, Andre 248 Stanislas (college) 202 States-General 30, 33, 33-4, 35 Stendhal63, 71-2,80, 111, 197 Strasbourg, diocese of 176, 248 Sue, Eugene 111 Sulpicians 22, 82, 87, 88, 90, 92, 98-9 Sutherland, Donald 50 Syllabus of Errors 210, 216- 17, 240

321

Syndical de.r employes du commerce et de l'industrie 218

Third Republic 67, 77, 78, 97-8, 105, 115, 119, 125, 128, 130, 131, 132, 137, 163, 201, 202, 203, 209, 210,214,219.230-1,234,235, 236-7, 238, 239, 256, 258, 259, 270, 271 Tilly, Charles 50, 51 tithe 31, 34, 37 toast of Algiers 220 Tonnerre 179 Toul, arrondissement 175, 237 Toulouse, Archbishop of 204, 205 Touraine 17 Tour du Pin, de Ia 216 Tours 85 Tours, dioceseof176, 196,229,230 towns 9-10, 17, 50, 51, 69-70, 95-6, 114, 178-80 trade unions, catholic 217-18 Trappists 23, 104, 108 Trent, Council of 15, 38, 87 Tridentine Catholicism 8, 11, 15-16, 17-29,30-1,33,37, 38-9,40,45-6, 51, 53. 79, 89, 90, 91, 98, 102, 138-9, 140-1, 177, 184, 190, 206, 228, 241-2, 271 Tronson 22, 23, 24 Trouillot 132 Troyes, Bishop of 187; diocese of 176, 191 Tulle, Bishop of94 Turcoing 203, 215, 223 Turinaz, Bishop of Nancy 58

Tackett, Timothy 3, 17, 38, 39, 51 Taine, Hippolyte 60, 68, 231 Talleyrand 35, 38, 191 Tarbes, Bishop of 149 Tarn, department 174, 216. 228 Temniac, Notre-Dame de 144 tertiaries 107, 232, 258 Theresa of Avila 19 Theresa ofLisieux 232, 245, 266-7, 272 Thermidor 46 Thibault, Bishop of Montpellier 57 Thiers, Adolphe 199, 200

ultramontanism 60-1. 211, 239, 241, 261, 265-6 Union Nationale 217 Univers (newspaper) 59. 95, 210, 241 Universite 123, 124, 199, 200 Ursulines 106, 116, 117, 123, 132, 167' 186 usury 1-2, 13, 198, 263-4 Valence, Bishop of71; diocese of 59, 96, 149, 151. 166, 208, 236, 246 Valenciennes 214 Vannes 124; diocese of 6 5, 179 Var, department 39

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A Social History ofFrench Catholicism 1789-1914

Varennes 40 Vaucluse, department 114, 174 Vence, diocese of 19 Vendee 39. 43, 44, 47. 49, 50, 51; department 9, 174 Verdun, diocese of 176 VCri, Abbot of 13 Versailles, diocese of 160, 163, 169, 176, 231 Veuillot, Louis 59, 85, 95, 141, 195, 200,210,211,236,240,241,255, 272 Victoires, Notre-Dame des 145, 173 Vienne, department 175 Villefranche, Aveyron 214 Vire, arrondissement 174 Visitandines 106, 116, 117, 118, 123 Vitry-le-Fran~ois, arrondissement 176 Viviers, seminary 8, 90. 261 Vizy, Canon of Pcrigueux 89

vocations to the priesthood 3-4, 9. 10,12-13,63-76 vocations to religious orders 4-5, 105, 107-9, 111-17 Voltaire 14, 104, 111, 139, 198,218, 219, 255 Vovelle, Michcl5, 6, 10, 14,44 Waldeck-Rousseau 129, 132 Waterloo 111 Wellington 111 Wendel, Fran~ois 215 Whit 162 wills 5-6, 10, 12, 28, 81. 195-6 work 23 Yonne, department 175 Yvetot, arrondissement 175 Zola, Emile 223