Polish Government officials have been playing politics with the Order of the White Eagle since it’s reconstitution in resurrected Poland in February 1921. Emblematic of this is the incident the occurred with the Vatican Ambassador, the Apostolic Nuncio, in April of that same year.
At the end of the First World War, Poland regained its independence after having been partitioned by the imperial powers of Russia, Prussia, and Austria between 1772 and 1793. A Polish State had been declared independent several times by one or more of the major European powers since 1793. In November 1918, under a charismatic revolutionary, Józef Piłsudski, Poland achieved independence on its own, even before the victorious Entente could concede it. A wave of national pride ensued that sometimes exceeded the bounds of ordinary patriotism. Throughout the coming two decades, it often manifested itself as form of national chauvinism that parallelled the ethno-nationalisms which would spread across Europe and eventually engulfed Germany.
A few months prior to independence, in May 1918, the Holy See had dispatched the Prefect of the Vatican Library, Monsignor Achille Ratti, as envoy (Apostolic Visitor) to reconstruct the Catholic Church and its hierarchy which had been reduced to a sorry state under Prussia and Russia. Ratti was to recommend candidates for the largely vacant episcopal sees, take stock of the situation, and return to Rome before Christmas. His itinerary had to be modified following Polish independence. The interim government asked for Ratti to be named Apostolic Nuncio, the first papal ambassador to Poland since 1796. In the meantime, he had fallen in love with Poland and, to further good relations, chose to be consecrated a bishop in Warsaw on 19 October 1919. On the invitations, he wrote that, by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was being reborn as a Pole: Non sine Sanctissimi Patris beneplacito, cui placuit ut qua Episcopis certo quodam modo Polonus in Spiritu Sancto renascar.
Ratti had been chosen for the post because he was perceived to be neutral, and he quickly established an excellent raport with the Church hierarchy and with Piłsudski and his ministers. His popularity reached an apex in August 1920, when the Bolsheviks drove Piłsudski’s conquering army out of Ukraine all the way back to the gates of Warsaw. This highly mythologized episode is known in Polish history as “The Miracle of the Vistula.”
During the crisis, Ratti received the diplomatic corps daily at the Apostolic Nunciature to discuss the deteriorating situation. The Nuncio received orders from the Vatican to accompany the Government, as it prepared to abandon the capital. The entire diplomatic corps got on a special train to Poznań, but Ratti ordered his staff to take refuge in Vienna. As to himself, he remained in Warsaw with the last member of the Government, the Foreign Minister, Prince Eustachy Sapieha. By the time the Red Army was driven back and the city saved, the Nuncio’s prestige had been considerably strengthened. He had been the only member of the diplomatic corps to have remained.
Ratti was enamored by Polish culture and religious piety but because critical of Polish chauvinism during its conflicts with Lithuania and Western Ukraine. The old fashioned values preached by the social elites and the demonstrative piety of the simple folk stood in stark contrast with the rising ethno-nationalism preached by Roman Dmowski and his National Democratic Party (ND or Endecja). By the time the Polish borders were settled in 1921, the population was made up of two third ethnic Poles and one third ethnic minorities (mainly Ukrainians, Jews and Germans). Piłsudski sought to anchor this diverse national identity in loyalty to the Polish State, while Dmowski and the Endeks sought to assimilate the minorities. When social prejudice and legal discrimination did not work, they resorted to violence.
Neither Ratti nor the nuncios who succeeded him could do much to mitigate this intolerance. Polish chauvinism became a constant preoccupation for the nuncio and his reports, especially from the middle of 1919 onward, are full of concern for its consequences for the Catholic Church and the nation. The Holy See were worried that, through exaggeration and reprisals, Poland might create too many enemies within and without, thus endangering its very survival.
Archbishop Ratti succeeded only in mitigating the worst reprisals but endemic abuse and discrimination was destined to become more violent in the coming decade. The “hypersensitive” Poles (in Ratti and his secretary’s own words) demanded unconditional support from the Holy See and even interpreted church decisions according to political paradigms.
A wave of patriotic outrage brought an end to Achille Ratti’s mission in Poland. The occasion were plebiscites ordered by the Versailles Treaty fop territories with a mixed German and Polish population, especially Upper Silesia. An Allied Commission had been appointed to monitor the plebiscite as the situation in Upper Silesia deteriorated into warfare. The Polish Episcopate also asked the Holy See to appoint an “ecclesiastical commissioner” because the higher clergy and social elites of the region were almost all German whereas the lower clergy and general population was mostly Polish. After considering several candidates, the Vatican Secretary of State, Cardinal Pietro Gasparri, settled on the Nuncio.
Ratti was supposed to remain an impartial observer and coordinate the Church’s response with the local Archbishop, Cardinal Bertram, who was a German. Ratti’s warnings to Rome of the “gravity of the situation and the unreliability of Bertram” went unheeded. Bertram published a decree limiting the participation of the lower clergy (mostly Poles) and claimed he had done so with the blessing of the Nuncio. Outmaneuvered, Ratti returned to Warsaw and sought to save the nunciature’s credibility by issuing a clarification. From the Vatican, Gasparri refused to allow this, fearing that this would only inflame the situation.
Both Germans and Poles accused Ratti of being favourable to the opposing side and he was violently attacked in the Polish press. A motion was brought forward in Polish Parliament to expel the nuncio but was defeated. Even the Polish hierarchy privately expressed bitter disappointment, believing that Ratti had not properly informed the Holy See or impeded Bertram from acting against Polish interests.
Ratti dispatched a strongly worded letter to Gasparri, offering to act as a scape goat if it would preserve the honour of the Holy See. At the same time, he astutely sent his secretary to Rome to clarify his conduct. Gasparri accepted that Ratti had only followed instructions and accepted responsibility himself. Pope Benedict XV wrote a very personal letter to Ratti, in an intimate style that was virtually unknown between pontiffs and their underlings:
My Dear Monsignor, I heartily reciprocate your good wishes. Your letter, however, was tinged with sadness, not for personal reasons – indeed, I admired your ability to spiritualize even very earthly events – but for reasons that were almost official. Unfortunately, it’s true that your situation has become delicate and difficult. I would never have believed that the Poles had such a cavalier character as to surpass that of the French. Perhaps this is because they had become unaccustomed to governing. They appear excessively reverential yet particularly distrustful of the Holy See, which has done so much for them. I therefore understand your current sorrow, but I believe that time will dissipate the clouds, because Deus et dies [God and time] are the best comforts. In any case, even if some people show that they no longer appreciate you, you can count on Our esteem and benevolence. May the Lord bless you all.
Yours most affectionately
Benedictus PP. XV
From the Vatican, 6 January 1921
The attacks did not end there. When Gasparri’s responsibility became known, the Government asked the Catholic Episcopate to intervene. Archbishop Teodorowicz and Prince-Bishop Sapieha bitterly attacked Gasparri’s handling of the incident. Teodorowicz also attacked Ratti in the Polish Senate. A wave of anti-Vatican sentiment reached its apex, even in the Catholic press.
Despite the many voices of support, Achille Ratti’s position had become irreparably compromised. As the Polish historian, Monsignor Walerian Meysztowicz, commented: “In the summer of 1921, the great popularity that Archbishop Ratti had gained in Poland, less than a year before, was no more.” He had become a persona non grata in the eyes of Church and State, because they saw him as having failed to take the side of the nation which had accepted him as one of their own. And the future Cardinal Hlond wrote: "Notwithstanding the benevolent and most courteous appearances, Monsignor Ratti has left, neither rehabilitated in public opinion nor in the judgment of the very episcopate which owes to him its own reconstruction."
In spite of his loss of popularity in Poland, Achille Ratti’s firmess and fidelity had brought him a great deal merit in the eyes of the Pope, who intended to save him by promoting him, or promoveatur ut admoveatur as is said in Vatican circles. On 18 April 1921, the Nuncio received a telegram from the Cardinal Secretary of State announcing that Pope Benedict was appointing him Archbishop of Milan. On 17 May, another telegram informed him that the Pope intended to elevate him to the cardinalate in June. His departure on 4 June was accorded the customary formalities but with a lack of warmth or special gratitude. Noticeable was the fact that the government had not decorated him with Poland’s highest honour, the Order of the White Eagle.
A strange corollary to this episode occurred eleven months later, on the eve of the conclave that followed the death of Benedict XV in January 1922. After Ratti’s name appeared among possible candidates, the Polish Government hastily conferred the White Eagle upon him, presenting him the insignia the day before he entered the conclave. Elected as Pope Pius XI on 6 February 1922, he never forgot the lessons he learned while serving as the nuncio in Warsaw, especially the danger to Church interests posed by nationalist chauvinism.
Throughout the next 17 years, he waged a battle of wills with the statesmen and churchmen alike, in an attempt to counter the chauvinistic inclinations in Polish society. Piłsudski, who became dictator in 1926, constantly complained about the disloyalty of the Catholic episcopacy. Cardinal Hlond, the Primate of Poland's analysis of the ideological conflicts between Church and state, contained in a secret report to the Vatican in 1932, makes very interesting reading.
The relations between Poland and the Holy See deteriorated after the strongman’s death in 1935. Emblematic of this was the fact that the position of Polish Ambassador to the Holy See was left vacant during the last fourteen months of Pius XI’s pontificate. The government sent lengthy memoranda to the Vatican denouncing the Catholic clergy of both Latin and Greek Rites and began expelling foreign-born priests and religious. The unenviable situation ended only with the outbreak of the Second World War and the demise of the Second Republic, in September 1939.
Only one other Pope was destined to receive the White Eagle. John Paul II (Karol Wojtyła) became the first recipient of the Order after it was reestablished in 1993 by the post-communist Third Republic.
