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josefavomjaaga · 2 years ago

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Happy Birthday, Marshal Soult!

This is probably a rather weird birthday post. Also, it has little to do with Napoleon. But as it sums up Soult’s life in a way, I do find it strangely appropriate: Soult’s letter of resignation to King Louis Philippe (quoted and translated from L. Muél, »Gouvernements, ministères et constitutions de la France«, 2nd edition, Paris 1891, and the memors of François Guizot).

Soult-Berg (Tarn), 15 September 1847.

Sire,

I was at the service of my country, sixty-three years ago, when the old monarchy was still standing, before the first glimmers of our national revolution. A soldier of the Republic and a lieutenant of the Emperor Napoleon, I took part unceasingly in this immense struggle for the independence, liberty and glory of France, and I was one of those who supported it until the last day. Your Majesty deigned to believe that my services could be useful in the new and no less patriotic struggle which God and France have called upon her to wage for the consolidation of our constitutional order; I thank Your Majesty for this. It is the honour of my life that my name thus occupies a place in all the military and civil activities which have assured the triumph of our great cause. Your Majesty's confidence supported me in the last services which I tried to render. My devotion to Your Majesty and to France is absolute; but I feel that my strength betrays this devotion. May Your Majesty allow me to devote what is left of it to recollection, having reached the end of my laborious career. I have dedicated to you, Sire, the activity of my last years; give me the respite from my old services, and allow me to deposit at the foot of Your Majesty's throne my resignation from the presidency of the Council with which Your Majesty had deigned to invest me. I shall enjoy this repose amidst the general safety which Your Majesty's firm wisdom has given to France and to all those who have served your Majesty and who love him. My gratitude for Your Majesty's kindnesses, my wishes for His prosperity and that of His august family will follow me in this rest until my last day; they will not cease to equal the unalterable devotion and the profound respect with which I am

Sire, of Your Majesty, the most humble and obedient servant,

Maréchal Duc de Dalmatie.

At the time he wrote this, Soult was 78 years old. He would live for another three years. As to Louis Philippe’s July Monarchy, it would last for another five months after Soult’s resignation – it’s almost as if everybody had just waited for him to leave. In February 1848, the monarchy was overthrown, and the Second French Republic installed - who, another four months later, would bloodily oppress the workers’ uprisings, killing 5,000 and incarcerating over 10,000, and who in December of the same year 1848 already would elect a certain Louis Napoléon Bonaparte as president, thus paving the way for the Second Empire.

Soult died six days before future Napoleon III’s coup d’état.

By the way, his letter of resignation would be commented on in a book called »Histoire de la révolution de 1848 et de la présidence de Louis-Napoléon«, Paris 1850, as follows:

[…] On September 19 the Moniteur published long awaited news: in a letter to the king, in which the courtier can be found in its entirety, Marshal Soult resigned from his functions as president of the council, justifying his decision on the grounds of his old age and his urgent need to rest in the general safety that the wisdom of Louis Philippe had given to France! This meant closing with a lie a career which had originally been glorious, but which had been seriously compromised by a passion for gain, by a restless ambition and by servile complacency.

#napoleon's marshals #not the prettiest birthday present #jean de dieu soult #letter of resignation #four eras ancien regime revolution empire july monarchy #happy birthday marshals

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eternal-echoes · 9 months ago

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“In the early twentieth century, Henry Goodell, president of what was then the Massachusetts Agricultural College, celebrated "the work of these grand old monks during a period of fifteen hundred years. They saved agriculture when nobody else could save it. They practiced it under a new life and new conditions when no one else dared undertake it." Testimony on this point is considerable. "We owe the agricultural restoration of a great part of Europe to the monks," observes another expert. "Wherever they came," adds still another, "they converted the wilderness into a cultivated country; they pursued the breeding of cattle and agriculture, labored with their own hands, drained morasses, and cleared away forests. By them Germany was rendered a fruitful country." Another historian records that "every Benedictine monastery was an agricultural college for the whole region in which it was located.”1 Even the nineteenth-century French statesman and historian François Guizot, who was not especially sympathetic to the Catholic Church, observed: "The Benedictine monks were the agriculturists of Europe; they cleared it on a large scale, associating agriculture with preaching.”2

- Thomas E. Woods Jr., Ph.D., “How the Monks Saved Civilization,” How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization

—

1. Alexander Clarence Flick, The Rise of the Medieval Church (New York: Burt Franklin, 1909), 216.

2. See John Henry Cardinal Newman, Essays and Sketches, vol. 3, Charles Frederick Harold, ed. (New York: Longmans, Green and Co., 1948), 264-65.

#Catholic #Christianity #quotes #Thomas E. Woods #Western Civilization

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beautiful-basque-country · 14 days ago

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Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s. What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

I'd love to add a little note to this great and informative post! The mechanism to kill any other language or dialect wasn't just shame the speakers, the French state imposed law after law after law attacking them.

The hostility of the State towards the Basque language was often tangible. Thus, under the July Monarchy, the law on primary education of 28 June 1833 by Protestant Minister of Education François Guizot prohibited teaching in Basque.

In 1878-1884, the Ferry laws banned again every education in any other language but French.

The government of Emile Combes fought by decree against the "abusive" use of regional languages in 1902. He authorized the prefect of Pau to prohibit the teaching of catechism in Basque. The inventories, expulsions and confiscations were experienced as incomprehensible persecutions by the majority of the Basque population.

For more than half a century, teachers of the Third Republic were asked to punish children guilty of speaking a regional language. They used all sorts of humiliations to do so, ranging from corporal punishment to exclusion from school.

The Vichy regime was conciliatory towards regional languages. The aim of the National Revolution, the official ideology of the time, was to invigorate French nationalism in children by developing their attachment to their native land. In this context, the decree of 12 December 1941 authorised the optional teaching of "local dialects" in primary schools, but these laws and decrees were repealed at the Liberation.

I'm aware that OP's article focused on the time of the Revolution, but since they hinted at how the mistreatment of the French government of regional languages and dialects went on, I thought I would add that yeah, shame played a role, but shaming non-French-speakers was a plan of the State. And not only that, as I said, many laws were passed that banned our languages.

So even if the Revolution had good intentions regarding this issue, it ended up in a very well calculated state process to erase our languages and cultures.

I feel that one of the most overlooked aspects of studying the French Revolution is that, in 18th-century France, most people did not speak French. Yes, you read that correctly.

On 26 Prairial, Year II (14 June 1794), Abbé Henri Grégoire (1) stood before the Convention and delivered a report called The Report on the Necessity and Means of Annihilating Dialects and Universalising the Use of the French Language(2). This report, the culmination of a survey initiated four years earlier, sought to assess the state of languages in France. In 1790, Grégoire sent a 43-question survey to 49 informants across the departments, asking questions like: "Is the use of the French language universal in your area?" "Are one or more dialects spoken here?" and "What would be the religious and political impact of completely eradicating this dialect?"

The results were staggering. According to Grégoire's report:

“One can state without exaggeration that at least six million French people, especially in rural areas, do not know the national language; an equal number are more or less incapable of holding a sustained conversation; and, in the final analysis, those who speak it purely do not exceed three million; likely, even fewer write it correctly.” (3)

Considering that France’s population at the time was around 27 million, Grégoire’s assertion that 12 million people could barely hold a conversation in French is astonishing. This effectively meant that about 40% of the population couldn't communicate with the remaining 60%.

Now, it’s worth noting that Grégoire’s survey was heavily biased. His 49 informants (4) were educated men—clergy, lawyers, and doctors—likely sympathetic to his political views. Plus, the survey barely covered regions where dialects were close to standard French (the langue d’oïl areas) and focused heavily on the south and peripheral areas like Brittany, Flanders, and Alsace, where linguistic diversity was high.

Still, even if the numbers were inflated, the takeaway stands: a massive portion of France did not speak Standard French. “But surely,” you might ask, “they could understand each other somewhat, right? How different could those dialects really be?” Well, let’s put it this way: if Barère and Robespierre went to lunch and spoke in their regional dialects—Gascon and Picard, respectively—it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

The linguistic make-up of France in 1790

The notion that barely anyone spoke French wasn’t new in the 1790s. The Ancien Régime had wrestled with it for centuries. The Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts, issued in 1539, mandated the use of French in legal proceedings, banning Latin and various dialects. In the 17th and 18th centuries, numerous royal edicts enforced French in newly conquered provinces. The founding of the Académie Française in 1634 furthered this control, as the Académie aimed to standardise French, cementing its status as the kingdom's official language.

Despite these efforts, Grégoire tells us that 40% of the population could barely speak a word of French. So, if they didn’t speak French, what did they speak? Let’s take a look.

In 1790, the old provinces of the Ancien Régime were disbanded, and 83 departments named after mountains and rivers took their place. These 83 departments provide a good illustration of the incredibly diverse linguistic make-up of France.

Langue d’oïl dialects dominated the north and centre, spoken in 44 out of the 83 departments (53%). These included Picard, Norman, Champenois, Burgundian, and others—dialects sharing roots in Old French. In the south, however, the Occitan language group took over, with dialects like Languedocien, Provençal, Gascon, Limousin, and Auvergnat, making up 28 departments (34%).

Beyond these main groups, three departments in Brittany spoke Breton, a Celtic language (4%), while Alsatian and German dialects were prevalent along the eastern border (another 4%). Basque was spoken in Basses-Pyrénées, Catalan in Pyrénées-Orientales, and Corsican in the Corse department.

From a government’s perspective, this was a bit of a nightmare.

Why is linguistic diversity a governmental nightmare?

In one word: communication—or the lack of it. Try running a country when half of it doesn’t know what you’re saying.

Now, in more academic terms...

Standardising a language usually serves two main purposes: functional efficiency and national identity. Functional efficiency is self-evident. Just as with the adoption of the metric system, suppressing linguistic variation was supposed to make communication easier, reducing costly misunderstandings.

That being said, the Revolution, at first, tried to embrace linguistic diversity. After all, Standard French was, frankly, “the King’s French” and thus intrinsically elitist—available only to those who had the money to learn it. In January 1790, the deputy François-Joseph Bouchette proposed that the National Assembly publish decrees in every language spoken across France. His reasoning? “Thus, everyone will be free to read and write in the language they prefer.”

A lovely idea, but it didn’t last long. While they made some headway in translating important decrees, they soon realised that translating everything into every dialect was expensive. On top of that, finding translators for obscure dialects was its own nightmare. And so, the Republic’s brief flirtation with multilingualism was shut down rather unceremoniously.

Now, on to the more fascinating reason for linguistic standardisation: national identity.

Language and Nation

One of the major shifts during the French Revolution was in the concept of nationhood. Today, there are many ideas about what a nation is (personally, I lean towards Benedict Anderson’s definition of a nation as an “imagined community”), but definitions aside, what’s clear is that the Revolution brought a seismic change in the notion of French identity. Under the Ancien Régime, the French nation was defined as a collective that owed allegiance to the king: “One faith, one law, one king.” But after 1789, a nation became something you were meant to want to belong to. That was problematic.

Now, imagine being a peasant in the newly-created department of Vendée. (Hello, Jacques!) Between tending crops and trying to avoid trouble, Jacques hasn’t spent much time pondering his national identity. Vendéen? Well, that’s just a random name some guy in Paris gave his region. French? Unlikely—he has as much in common with Gascons as he does with the English. A subject of the King? He probably couldn’t name which king.

So, what’s left? Jacques is probably thinking about what is around him: family ties and language. It's no coincidence that the ‘brigands’ in the Vendée organised around their parishes— that’s where their identity lay.

The Revolutionary Government knew this. The monarchy had understood it too and managed to use Catholicism to legitimise their rule. The Republic didn't have such a luxury. As such, the revolutionary government found itself with the impossible task of convincing Jacques he was, in fact, French.

How to do that? Step one: ensure Jacques can actually understand them. How to accomplish that? Naturally, by teaching him.

Language Education during the Revolution

Under the Ancien Régime, education varied wildly by class, and literacy rates were abysmal. Most commoners received basic literacy from parish and Jesuit schools, while the wealthy enjoyed private tutors. In 1791, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand (5) presented a report on education to the Constituent Assembly (6), remarking:

“A striking peculiarity of the state from which we have freed ourselves is undoubtedly that the national language, which daily extends its conquests beyond France’s borders, remains inaccessible to so many of its inhabitants." (7)

He then proposed a solution:

“Primary schools will end this inequality: the language of the Constitution and laws will be taught to all; this multitude of corrupt dialects, the last vestige of feudalism, will be compelled to disappear: circumstances demand it." (8)

A sensible plan in theory, and it garnered support from various Assembly members, Condorcet chief among them (which is always a good sign).

But, France went to war with most of Europe in 1792, making linguistic diversity both inconvenient and dangerous. Paranoia grew daily, and ensuring the government’s communications were understood by every citizen became essential. The reverse, ensuring they could understand every citizen, was equally pressing. Since education required time and money—two things the First Republic didn’t have—repression quickly became Plan B.

The War on Patois

This repression of regional languages was driven by more than abstract notions of nation-building; it was a matter of survival. After all, if Jacques the peasant didn’t see himself as French and wasn’t loyal to those shadowy figures in Paris, who would he turn to? The local lord, who spoke his dialect and whose land his family had worked for generations.

Faced with internal and external threats, the revolutionary government viewed linguistic unity as essential to the Republic’s survival. From 1793 onwards, language policy became increasingly repressive, targeting regional dialects as symbols of counter-revolution and federalist resistance. Bertrand Barère spearheaded this campaign, famously saying:

“Federalism and superstition speak Breton; emigration and hatred of the Republic speak German; counter-revolution speaks Italian, and fanaticism speaks Basque. Let us break these instruments of harm and error... Among a free people, the language must be one and the same for all.”

This, combined with Grégoire’s report, led to the Décret du 8 Pluviôse 1794, which mandated French-speaking teachers in every rural commune of departments where Breton, Italian, Basque, and German were the main languages.

Did it work? Hardly. The idea of linguistic standardisation through education was sound in principle, but France was broke, and schools cost money. Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s.

What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

Notes

(1) Abbe Henri Grégoire was a French Catholic priest, revolutionary, and politician who championed linguistic and social reforms, notably advocating for the eradication of regional dialects to establish French as the national language during the French Revolution.

(2) "Sur la nécessité et les moyens d’anéantir les patois et d’universaliser l’usage de la langue francaise”

(3)On peut assurer sans exagération qu’au moins six millions de Français, sur-tout dans les campagnes, ignorent la langue nationale ; qu’un nombre égal est à-peu-près incapable de soutenir une conversation suivie ; qu’en dernier résultat, le nombre de ceux qui la parlent purement n’excède pas trois millions ; & probablement le nombre de ceux qui l’écrivent correctement est encore moindre.

(4) And, as someone who has done A LOT of statistics in my lifetime, 49 is not an appropriate sample size for a population of 27 million. At a confidence level of 95% and with a margin of error of 5%, he would need a sample size of 384 people. If he wanted to lower the margin of error at 3%, he would need 1,067. In this case, his margin of error is 14%.

That being said, this is a moot point anyway because the sampled population was not reflective of France, so the confidence level of the sample is much lower than 95%, which means the margin of error is much lower because we implicitly accept that his sample does not reflect the actual population.

(5) Yes. That Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand. It’s always him. He’s everywhere. If he hadn’t died in 1838, he’d probably still be part of Macron’s cabinet. Honestly, he’s probably haunting the Élysée as we speak — clearly the man cannot stay away from politics.

(6) For those new to the French Revolution and the First Republic, we usually refer to two legislative bodies, each with unique roles. The National Assembly (1789): formed by the Third Estate to tackle immediate social and economic issues. It later became the Constituent Assembly, drafting the 1791 Constitution and establishing a constitutional monarchy.

(7) Une singularité frappante de l'état dont nous sommes affranchis est sans doute que la langue nationale, qui chaque jour étendait ses conquêtes au-delà des limites de la France, soit restée au milieu de nous inaccessible à un si grand nombre de ses habitants.

(8) Les écoles primaires mettront fin à cette étrange inégalité : la langue de la Constitution et des lois y sera enseignée à tous ; et cette foule de dialectes corrompus, dernier reste de la féodalité, sera contraint de disparaître : la force des choses le commande

(9) Le fédéralisme et la superstition parlent bas-breton; l’émigration et la haine de la République parlent allemand; la contre révolution parle italien et le fanatisme parle basque. Brisons ces instruments de dommage et d’erreur. .. . La monarchie avait des raisons de ressembler a la tour de Babel; dans la démocratie, laisser les citoyens ignorants de la langue nationale, incapables de contréler le pouvoir, cest trahir la patrie, c'est méconnaitre les bienfaits de l'imprimerie, chaque imprimeur étant un instituteur de langue et de législation. . . . Chez un peuple libre la langue doit étre une et la méme pour tous.

(10) Patois means regional dialect in French.

#euskal herria #basque country #pays basque #pais vasco #euskadi #iparralde #france #french revolution #imperialism #basque #euskera #euskara #history #politics #hatred

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rhianna · 6 months ago

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The history of France from the earliest times to 1848 / by M. Guizot amd Madame Guizot de Witt ; translated by Robert Black.

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Main AuthorGuizot, (François), M. 1787-1874.Related NamesBlack, Robert, 1830?-1915. Witt, (Henriette Elizabeth), Madame de 1829-1908. Language(s)English PublishedNew York : J. B. Alden, 1884. SubjectsFrance > France / History. NoteIncludes index in vol. 8. Physical Description8 v. : ill., plates, ports. ; 20 cm.

APA Citation

Guizot, M. (François)., Black, R., Witt, M. de (Henriette Elizabeth). (1884). The history of France from the earliest times to 1848. New York: J. B. Alden

#Hathitrust #france #history #volume 2

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gazeta24br · 1 year ago

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O surgimento da impressão em meados do século XV foi um evento de grande ruptura para o mundo ocidental. Seu impacto, extremamente amplo, prenuncia o nascimento de uma cultura impressa que ainda permanece, pois estabelece as condições para o nascimento da mídia, tem implicações na vida social, na história das línguas, das ciências, da educação, das artes gráficas, entre outros. Mas o que, de fato, sabemos sobre a invenção de Gutenberg, e por que meios, essa tecnologia foi aperfeiçoada a ponto de permitir o estabelecimento de um novo ecossistema de comunicação, produção e circulação de textos e, consequentemente, de ideias? Desta forma, o CPF Sesc promove a palestra, que abordará a extraordinária história do livro, da invenção da escrita à revolução digital. Realizada por ocasião do lançamento do livro História do Livro e da Edição, publicação em coedição pelas Edições Sesc e Ateliê Editorial. Data: 18/09/2023 Dias e Horários: Segunda, 19h30 às 21h30. Curso Presencial Inscrições a partir das 14h do dia 28/8, até o dia 18/9. Enquanto houver vagas. Local Rua Dr. Plínio Barreto, 285 - 4º andar} Bela Vista - São Paulo. Grátis Palestrantes Marisa Midori Deaecto Professora livre-docente em História do Livro na Escola de Comunicações e Artes (ECA-USP). Doutora Honoris Causa pela Universidade Eszterházy Károly, Eger (Hungria). Autora de “Império dos Livros - instituições e práticas de leituras na São Paulo oitocentista” (Edusp/Fapesp, 2011; 2019), vencedor do prêmio Jabuti da CBL (1º lugar em Comunicação) e o Prêmio Sérgio Buarque de Holanda, pela Fundação Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro na categoria melhor ensaio social. Publicou, recentemente, “História de um livro. A Democracia na França, de François Guizot” (Ateliê Editorial, 2021) e organizou a edição bilíngue de “Bibliodiversidade e preço do livro. Da Lei Lang à Lei Cortez. Experiências e expectativas em torno da regulação do mercado editorial (1981-2021)” (Ateliê Editorial, 2021). Yann Sordet Historiador do livro e curador geral de bibliotecas na França (Paris). Formou-se na École Nationale des Chartes (turma de 1997), depois na École Nationale Supérieure des Sciences de l'Information et des Libraries (ENSSIB). Foi curador do Departamento de Manuscritos e Livros Raros da Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève (1998-2009), e, desde 2011, é diretor da Biblioteca Mazarina, a biblioteca pública mais antiga da França. Desde 2021, é Diretor Geral das Bibliotecas do Institut de France. Suas pesquisas concentram--se na história das bibliotecas e da bibliofilia, nas práticas bibliográficas, nos incunábulos, na produção e distribuição de livros sobre espiritualidade nos tempos modernos, bem como em edição de música. Lecionou história da edição na Universidade de Paris XIII (1999-2006) e história das bibliotecas na École Pratique des Hautes Etudes (2007-2009). É encarregado pelos cursos de formação na área patrimonial junto à ENSSIB. É editor-chefe da revista Histoire et Civilisation du Livre. Publicou recentemente História do Livro e da Edição: Produção e Circulação, Formas e Mutações (Paris, Albin Michel, 2021, posfácio de Robert Darnton), atualmente em tradução no Brasil. (Foto: Acervo Pessoal) Sobre o CPF Sesc Com uma programação bastante diversa, o Centro de Pesquisa e Formação do Sesc São Paulo (CPF Sesc), localizado na Bela Vista, promove uma série de encontros, cursos, vivências, lançamentos de livros, ciclos, seminários e outras atividades. Muitas dessas atrações, que acontecem de forma presencial ou online, têm entrada gratuita e outras custam até R$50. As inscrições podem ser no site do CPF Sesc ou presencialmente na unidade. Serviço Centro de Pesquisa e Formação – CPF Sesc Rua Dr. Plínio Barreto, 285 – 4º andar. Tel: 3254-5600 Programação completa em https://centrodepesquisaeformacao.sescsp.org.br/

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wikipediabot · 2 years ago

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wikipedia fact

He had an unusually strong and fascinating personality -- I never met anyone even remotely coming close to what he was like. Just to give you an idea: he was all that one might associate with François Guizot, very much aloof, very intelligent, both impossible to get close to and yet very much accessible and blessed with the rhetorical powers of a Pericles. If he had decided for a political career, the recent history of my country would have been completely different from what it is now. It rarely happened, but if he really felt that this was necessary he could raise a rhetorical storm blowing away everything and everybody. Indeed, when thinking of him, I never am sure what impressed me most, his scholarship or his personality. He was a truly wonderful man.

#ernst kossmann #wikipedia #wikipediabot

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grompf3 · 2 years ago

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Encore une excellente vidéo d'Histony

youtube

"Dans les années 1840, la vie politique française semble stagner sous le ministère de François Guizot. Mais cette période ne manque pourtant pas de dynamisme, comme on va le voir dans cet épisode."

La chaîne Histony consacre une série de vidéos à la période allant de 1814 à 1848.

#histoire #vulgarisation #Youtube

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illustratus · 2 days ago

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Charlemagne anxiously observes the approach of ships carrying Norman raiders by Alphonse de Neuville

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basileestudoorientadoaulaspartic · 2 years ago

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"A música oferece à alma uma verdadeira cultura íntima e deve fazer parte da educação do povo." François Guizot Basile Estudo Orientado - Aulas Particulares 📌Apoio e suporte total para você passar de ano ou se preparar para as matérias específicas e para a REDAÇÃO da FUVEST. De janeiro a janeiro você pode contar com a Basile. 📝Vestibulares 📚Vestibulinhos 23 anos de experiência no ensinar e orientar a aprender! ��RECUPERAÇÕES 📌Aulas Particulares de todas as matérias 3022-2263 e 3022-2264 www.basileestudoorientado.com.br Novo site: www.aulasparticularesbasile.com.br Pierre Auguste Renoir Jeune filles au piano Museu D'Orsay Paris https://www.instagram.com/p/CosGzTgOXjm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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focusmonumentum · 3 years ago

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“Le Quai d’Orsay”

Le quai d'Orsay court le long de la Rive Gauche de la Seine, embrassant la totalité du 7ème arrondissement (bien avant la répartition actuelle des arrondissements de Paris, actée en 1860). De fait, les travaux de construction du quai d'Orsay débutent en 1707, lors de la présidence du Parlement de Paris par le Prévôt des Marchands de l'époque: Charles Boucher, seigneur d'Orsay, qui lui laissa son nom. Bien plus tard, deux parties du quai furent renommées, à l'ouest quai Branly en 1941, à l'est quai Anatole-France en 1947. Depuis, la première adresse officielle du quai d'Orsay devient le Palais Bourbon, siège de l'Assemblée nationale. Séparé de celui-ci par l'Hôtel de Lassay, résidence du président de l'Assemblée, se trouve un bâtiment voué à abriter les services diplomatiques et des relations extérieures de la France : l'Hôtel du ministre des Affaires étrangères.

Le ministère des Affaires étrangères trouve son origine en 1547, lors de la nomination par le roi Henri II de Claude de l'Aubespine comme secrétaire d'Etat des Affaires étrangères. Passant de ministère des Relations extérieures à celui des Affaires étrangères (aléatoirement, en fonction des changements de gouvernements), ce ministère régit la politique extérieure de la France ainsi que ses relations avec les autres États, via ses représentations diplomatiques implantées à l'étranger que sont ambassades et consulats. La construction de cet Hôtel abritant ses services fut décidée par le ministre François Guizot dès 1844, sous la Monarchie de Juillet. Retardés par la révolution de 1848, les travaux sont finalement achevés en 1856, sous le Second Empire, ce qui explique son style dit "Napoléon III", adapté par son architecte Jacques Lacornée. Destiné à accueillir souverains et diplomates étrangers, une grande attention a été apportée à sa décoration, intérieure comme extérieure, souhaitant être représentative du faste de la France. Ses salons d'apparat, au lustre (et aux lustres!) éclatant(s), accueillirent nombre de délégations, sous un Second Empire finissant puis sous 3 républiques lui succédant. En 1856, le Traité de Paris, mettant un terme à la Guerre de Crimée, fut signé dans la "galerie de la Paix". En 1938, des salles de bains royales sont créées dans le "Style paquebot" (inspiré par l'architecture de luxe des transatlantiques de l'Entre-Deux-Guerres), dernière expression -avant la Seconde Guerre Mondiale- du mouvement Art Déco, à l'occasion de la visite du roi George VI et de son épouse la reine Elizabeth. Le 9 mai 1950, Robert Schuman (alors ministre des Affaires étrangères de la IVème République), prononça au salon de l'Horloge sa fameuse déclaration éponyme, considérée depuis comme l'acte fondateur de la construction européenne. Chaque année, le 9 mai est d'ailleurs fêté comme étant la "Journée de l'Europe".

Sa façade, héritière du précédent style néoclassique (en vogue sous la Restauration monarchique puis sous Louis-Philippe), nous présente moult colonnes engagées et pilastres ioniques, soutenant un attique plat, inspiré des toits-terrasses des palais italiens. Côté jardin (bordé par la rue de l'université), sa façade s'inspire de l'architecture palladienne. Côté Seine (Quai d'Orsay, sic), quinze médaillons en marbre blanc, nus aujourd'hui, sont des témoins de l'adjonction de la construction européenne au ministère des Affaires étrangères. En effet, en 1995, l'Europe étant constituée alors de 15 états-membres, quinze bas-reliefs en marbre furent créés, représentant chacun un des pays membres de l'U.E. L'élargissement de l'Europe à d'autres États, dès 1997, rendirent caduque ce nombre de quinze; ils furent alors déposés, chacun ayant été offert à l'ambassade française correspondante sur le territoire de ces dits (quinze) États. Le ministère se nomme officiellement depuis "de l'Europe et des Affaires étrangères".

La cocarde diplomatique française, aux cercles concentriques "Bleu-Blanc-Rouge", arborant le sigle R.F. (République Française), est présente partout sur le bâtiment, ainsi que sur son portail, comme à chaque entrée d'ambassade ou de consulat français à l'étranger.

Par métonymie, le "Quai d'Orsay" est devenu l'appellation consacrée de la diplomatie française. Une célèbre bande-dessinée prit ce nom (sous-titrée Chroniques diplomatiques), co-écrite en 2010/11 par l'ancien diplomate Antoine Baudry, adaptée au cinéma par Bertrand Tavernier en 2013, avec Thierry Lhermitte dans le rôle-titre, pastiche assumé du ministre Dominique de Villepin, d'une décade antérieure.

A l'extrémité orientale de la grille de l'Hôtel se trouve un monument dédié à Aristide Briand, qui exerça (entre autres charges gouvernementales d'importance) plusieurs mandats de ministre des Affaires étrangères sous la IIIème République, notamment dans les années 20, où il déploya toute son énergie dans la réconciliation entre les nations belligérantes, au sortir de la Première Guerre Mondiale. Récipiendaire du Prix Nobel de la Paix en 1926 pour son rôle joué dans les Accords de Locarno, appliquant le concept de sécurité collective en Europe, il fut également, avec l'américain Frank Billings Kellogg, à l'origine du Pacte de Paris, signé en cet Hôtel le 27 août 1928, dans le même salon de l'Horloge qui connaîtra le déclaration Schuman en 1950. Visant à mettre la guerre "hors-la-loi", ce pacte inspira à l'Etat ce monument, orchestré par l'architecte Paul Bigot, réunissant les ciseaux de Paul Landowski pour la sculpture en ronde-bosse représentant "la Paix entre les Nations" et d'Henri Bouchard pour le bas-relief sur plaque de bronze, montrant "La procession des Nations", conduite par la France, écoutant le message de conciliation d'Aristide Briand, à droite au premier plan. Ce groupe sculpté pour la paix, inauguré en 1937, ne fut représentatif que d'une courte période d'illusion de paix, dûe à un diplomate utopiste à la construction idéaliste finalement freinée par la crise économique de 1929, puis par la montée des totalitarismes en Europe au début des années 30... Nous connaissons la suite... Mais la paix, malgré tout, fut finalement restaurée sur le territoire français dès juin 1944. Après quatre longues années d'occupation, Paris est finalement libérée le 25 août, au prix de nombreux actes de guerre héroïques, notamment lors des rudes combats pour la libération du ministère, tenu par les nazis. Cinq soldats français de la 2ème D.B. trouvèrent ici la mort dans l'explosion du char "Quimper". Le prix de la liberté...

Crédits : ALM's

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