[1910 - 1926] The First Portuguese Republic

On the misty morning of October 5th, 1910, the citizens of Lisbon awoke not to the familiar clang of the tram or the cries of street vendors, but to the thunder of cannon fire. The sound echoed from the Tagus river, where the cruiser *Adamastor*, its crew in mutiny, shelled the royal palace. On land, republican militias, a motley collection of carbonari secret society members, soldiers, and impassioned civilians, fought the king’s loyal troops. After two days of street battles, a massive crowd gathered in the city's central square. A new flag—a bold green and red, replacing the royal blue and white—was hoisted, and from the balcony of the Town Hall, the Portuguese Republic was proclaimed. King Manuel II, the Unfortunate, was already on a yacht, sailing into a lonely exile from which he would never return. For many, it felt like the dawn of a brilliant new age. The monarchy, for centuries the bedrock of Portuguese identity, had grown sclerotic, bankrupt, and humiliatingly subservient to British interests. The Republic promised everything the monarchy was not: progress, reason, and above all, dignity. A new national anthem, *A Portuguesa*, a fiery revolutionary song, now rang out in the streets. The architects of this new Portugal were men of fierce intellect and even fiercer conviction. At the forefront was Afonso Costa, a brilliant lawyer and the leader of the Democratic Party. To his supporters, he was a visionary; to his enemies, the devil incarnate. Costa and his fellow republicans drafted a progressive constitution in 1911, establishing a parliamentary system, granting the right to strike, and, most controversially, declaring a radical separation of church and state. This was not a gentle separation. The new government moved with breathtaking speed. Religious orders were banned, their property seized. The Jesuits were expelled. Divorce was legalized. Religious instruction was eliminated from state schools, part of a grand—and desperately needed—crusade for public education in a country where over 70% of the population was illiterate. New universities were founded in Lisbon and Porto, their stone facades simple and functional, a stark contrast to the ornate religious architecture of the old regime. Daily life in the cities began to change. Electric trams crisscrossed Lisbon’s hills, a few sputtering automobiles appeared among the horse-drawn carriages, and in the new cinemas, people could watch silent films, marveling at a world in motion. But this bright, secular vision was largely confined to Lisbon and Porto. In the vast, rural interior, where life was governed by the harvest and the church bell, the Republic was seen as an godless abomination. Priests preached against the "devils from Lisbon," and the seizure of church property felt like a personal theft from the heart of their communities. This chasm between the liberal, urban elite and the conservative, rural masses would become an unhealable wound. The Republic’s idealism soon collided with the harsh reality of governing. The republicans, so united in their opposition to the king, proved incapable of governing together. The Democratic Party splintered into factions. Political instability became the norm. Between 1910 and 1926, Portugal would see an astonishing 45 different governments. Cabinets were formed and fell with dizzying speed, sometimes lasting only a few weeks. The economy, already fragile, was battered by constant strikes and political chaos. The cost of bread and olive oil spiraled upwards, and for the average worker, the promise of a better life remained just that—a promise. Then, in 1914, Europe plunged into the Great War. Portugal, desperate to protect its African colonies from German ambitions and to secure a place at the table of great nations, joined the Allies in 1916. It was a catastrophic decision. The nation was utterly unprepared. The Portuguese Expeditionary Corps, sent to the mud and horror of the Western Front, was poorly equipped and trained. On April 9th, 1918, at the Battle of La Lys in Flanders, the Portuguese lines were shattered by a massive German offensive. In a single day, the corps suffered over 7,000 casualties—a third of its fighting force. Back home, the war effort meant food shortages, rationing, and soaring inflation. The Republic was now associated not with progress, but with hunger and death. It was in this climate of despair that a new figure emerged: Sidónio Pais. A charismatic major and former professor, Pais led a coup in December 1917, promising to restore order. He created a "New Republic," a populist, authoritarian regime that earned him the nickname "President-King." He was adored by the conservative north and tolerated by a populace exhausted by chaos. But his rule was a brief, violent flash. Just one year later, on December 14th, 1918, he was assassinated by a lone gunman at Lisbon’s Rossio train station. His death plunged Portugal into even greater chaos. A brief but bloody civil war erupted as monarchists tried to restore the throne in the north. The "Monarchy of the North" was crushed, but the Republic was mortally wounded. The final years, from 1919 to 1926, were a fever dream of violence and instability. Political assassinations became common. On one infamous "Bloody Night" in October 1921, a cabal of radicals murdered the Prime Minister and other prominent figures. The dream of 1910 was now a nightmare. The end came not with a bang, but with a weary sigh of resignation. On May 28th, 1926, General Gomes da Costa led a military coup from the city of Braga. As his troops marched on Lisbon, there was almost no resistance. The people, so full of hope sixteen years earlier, were now too tired to fight for a Republic that had brought them so much turmoil. The experiment was over. The green and red flag still flew, but the democratic freedoms it was meant to represent were extinguished, ushering in four decades of quiet, repressive dictatorship. The First Republic, born in a blaze of revolutionary fire, had burned itself out.