FRANCE: Obituary of a Republic

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When the Republic of France died last week, four days before the 151st anniversary of Bastille Day, it was a solemn hour for lovers of freedom, especially in the U. S. Although the Declaration of Independence was written 13 years before the Bastille fell, the American and French Revolutions had the same ideological roots, and in the minds of Americans and Frenchmen alike the words Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité evoked the same ideals as Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. For a century and a quarter the U. S. and France watched those ideals spread across most of the world. For the last few terribly quick years, together they have watched them crumble.

To most U. S. citizens last week it was as if a well-loved wife had been unfaithful. The shock was no less because they had expected it. France had been cajoled, betrayed, raped, but what hurt was her final acquiescence. To some it seemed because of that final acquiescence. France, now brazenly fascist, must always have been unfaithful to democracy at heart.

Perhaps they were right. For by last week it was crystal clear that France's collapse had been preceded by a long, slow disintegration of the democratic and republican ideal, and in the process of disintegration was many a lesson for thoughtful U. S. citizens to ponder.

They could reflect that the inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness implies that good citizens will work together for the happiness of the greatest number; that in a republic the privilege of self-government imposes the obligation to select representatives who will honestly and disinterestedly govern; that the preservation of democracy requires all citizens vigilantly to exercise their democratic rights, to give generously of their time and their energy, to maintain their self-respect and respect for their chosen Government, to fight for it when necessary. For 20 years political apathy has been common to most republics.

In France realization came too late to save the Third Republic and democracy. Bewildered by what had happened to them, the French people needed time to relearn the lessons they had forgotten. For the present the most that could be salvaged was the nucleus of the French nation, and even this was in doubt. To try to save as much as they could, by whatever means they could, was the self-appointed task of the self-appointed leaders of what was left of France.

In Vichy, seat of the Government, Vice Premier Pierre Laval told the hastily summoned Chamber of Deputies: "I bring you, not the conviction, but the certainty, that if you want an honorable peace you must give Marshal Pétain what he wants."

What old Marshal Pétain wanted (on the advice of Pierre Laval) was for the Chamber and the Senate to vote themselves out of existence and empower him to write a new Constitution. This they meekly proceeded to do, with only three dissenters in the Chamber, one in the Senate. The one Senate dissenter was the Marquis Pierre de Chambrun, who holds honorary U. S. citizenship (under a Maryland law) by virtue of his direct descent from the Marquis de La Fayette, and whose nephew is Pierre Laval's son-in-law.