"I shall fear nothing even in the midst of the shadows of death." ~ The remarkable courage and fidelity of Madame de Lafayette

Portrait of Madame de Lafayette later in life. 

The town where I grew up is a small suburb of Philadelphia called Lafayette Hill. As a kid, I was only vaguely aware that the town was something of a historic site, mostly thanks to the General Lafayette Inn, an old-time watering hole perched at the curve of Germantown Pike since the 1730s. Situated a mere ten miles as the crow flies from Valley Forge, the area near the town was the site of an abortive attempt by British General Howe to bring the Continental Army to battle by cutting off a contingent sent to reconnoiter an area along the Schuylkill River where several important roads came together.

The general in command of the Continental reconnaissance column was Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de La Fayette, the dashing young French officer fighting under the command of General Washington. Lafayette had taken up a defensible position atop Barren Hill, and had stationed pickets on a somewhat lower rise to his north in an area that would latter be called Lafayette Hill. 

Lafayette's actions at Barren Hill won him praise from General Washington, but the details of that encounter are a story for another post.

Lafayette himself was a mere twenty years old when Washington gave him command of his 2,000 best troops in May of 1778. And as remarkable as he was to be given such responsibility at such a young age, he was, by that time, married to a woman who was perhaps even more remarkable than he was.

Lafayette had wed Marie Adrienne Françoise de Noailles on April 11, 1774 when he was sixteen, and she not even fifteen. After less than two years of marriage, Lafayette's imagination had been fired by stories of the goings-on in America. Against his family's wishes—and indeed, against King Louis XVI's formal decree—he left for America to join the cause of liberty, arriving in June 1777.

Adrienne remained behind, caring for an infant daughter, and pregnant with another. Sadly, her first child would pass away at age two while her husband was still en route to America. Her second daughter, Anastasie, would be born while her husband was recovering from a bullet wound in the leg he suffered at the Battle of Brandywine. 

It's hard to imagine the distress suffered by this very young wife and mother during this part of her life, but by all accounts she bore it well. Writing after her mother's death, her youngest daughter, Virginie, revealed the source of her mother's resilience:

All she felt appeared to her beyond her strength, and she placed herself under the protection of God to whom, in the midst of her disquietudes, she never ceased to look for support. [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 167]

But these early travails would prove to be a mere prelude to what she would suffer in future years. Adrienne de Lafayette had been a devout Catholic all her life. She would need every ounce of faith and divine support to endure what was coming. 

During her husband's absence, the young mother would prove a gifted student in the managing of the family estates. As a member of the high nobility of France, she mixed and mingled in circles that included members of the royal family. 

Upon her husband's successful return from his American adventure, she gave birth to two more children, both of whom were named for aspects of America that were dear to her husband's heart. The daughter would be named Virginie, and the son Georges Washington. Young Georges would be christened with General Washington as his godfather in absentia, as acknowledged by Washington himself in a letter to Lafayette on October 20, 1782:

I have just sent for Mrs. Washington, who will think herself honored by yours and Madm. La Fayette’s notice. Make a tender of my best respects to her, and offer a blessing in my name to your Son, and my God Son. [The Writings of George Washington, Vol. X (1782-1785)]

It should be kept in mind that though the Marquis de Lafayette was a baptized Catholic, he embraced enlightenment thinking and had become a Freemason. He was also rumored to be a skirt-chaser, as was common among the French nobility of the time. Adrienne, however, remained a very devout Catholic to the end of her life, and exclusively devoted to the husband she adored. 

This devotion would be proved during the French Revolution. When the initial disturbances erupted in 1789, Lafayette found himself in the uncomfortable position of being suspected by both those loyal to the king, and by the commoners as well. As a champion of liberty abroad, he attempted to play a leading role in an orderly and peaceful transition of France from a monarchy to a republic. But when the revolution turned violent, the Lafayettes, as members of the nobility, became targets for arrest by the Jacobins. Fleeing France in August of 1792, Lafayette was captured and imprisoned by the Prussians, and later transferred to the prison of Olmütz in Austria. 

While her husband was playing a great and dangerous role in the affairs of state, Madame de Lafayette was running risks every bit as great. Despite the increasingly hostile attitude of the revolutionary government toward Catholics in general, and priests and religious in particular, Adrienne broadcast her devotion to the Church without fear:

The civil constitution of the clergy was a subject of great tribulation to my mother. She considered that on account of her peculiar situation, it was her duty to testify her attachment to the Catholic cause. She was therefore present when the curé de Saint Sulpice whose parishioner she was refused from the pulpit to take the oath. She was there surrounded by those who were most known for their aristocratic tendencies. She repaired assiduously first to the churches then to the oratories where the persecuted clergy had taken refuge. Nuns who had suffered insults would come to her for protection and likewise priests who had refused to take the oaths and whom she encouraged to exercise their ministry and to demand liberty for their form of worship. [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 191]

In September of 1792, Madame de Lafayette was arrested by Jacobin soldiers along with her daughters and an elderly aunt. She would spend several months crammed into cramped prison quarters with other political prisoners before being transported to Paris where the Jacobins were sending sixty people per day to the guillotine. She spent fifty days in various prisons in Paris during the Terror, expecting at any moment to be summoned to the scaffold. During that time, her grandmother, mother and sister were all executed. While in prison, Madame de Lafayette penned a will which included the following testimony:

O Lord, Thou hast been my help and my strength in the fearful troubles which have befallen me. Thou art my God; all the events of my life are in Thy hands; come to my help do not forsake me and I shall fear nothing even in the midst of the shadows of death. 

I have always lived and hope with the grace of God to die in the bosom of the catholic apostolic and Roman Church. I declare that it is in the principles of that holy religion that I have found my support and in its practices my consolation. I have full confidence that it will bear me up at the moment of my death. I believe in Thee, O my God, in all Thou hast revealed to Thy Church. I put my hope in all that Thou hast promised and my full confidence in the merits of Jesus Christ, and in the price of His blood. My wish is to conform my life to His, to unite my sufferings to His sufferings, and my death to His death. I hope, O God, I may always love Thee beyond everything and attain by Thy grace the bliss of loving Thee eternally. I accept unreservedly the means Thy providence may choose to lead me to that blessed end. 

I pardon with all my heart my enemies if I have any, my persecutors whomsoever they may be, and even the persecutors of those I love, I pray God to grant them His blessings and to pardon them as I pardon them myself. O Lord when, by the means of Thy grace, I pray for my persecutors as sincerely as I now do, Thou wilt not reject my prayers for those whom I love, and thou wilt treat us according to the greatness of Thy mercy. Have pity on me, O my God! 

I declare that I have never ceased to be faithful to my country, that I have never shared in any political intrigue which could disturb its peace, that my most sincere wishes are for its happiness, that the principles of my attachment to it are immovable, and that no persecution can shake them from whatever side they may come. An example most dear to my heart sets me the example of these feelings. 

I give my tenderest blessing to my children, and I pray God at the price of my life, which I should have wished to devote to their happiness, that He may Himself bring about that happiness by making them worthy of Him. 

It is in the name of Jesus Christ that I pray for all these blessings. Filled with confidence in Thy loving kindness, I deliver up my dear children, I deliver up my soul into Thy hands. I know, my God, that it is to Thee I have intrusted those who were committed to my charge, and that Thou art powerful enough to restore them to me on the great day of Eternity, and to unite us all in a place where we may bless Thee for ever. In Thee and in Thee alone, I have put my trust. Have mercy on me, O God. [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 298-302]

God would hear her prayers. Adrienne was saved by the timely death of Robespierre on July 28, 1794 which ended the Terror.

Though no longer in fear of her life, Madame de Lafayette found herself yet in prison. Her release was accomplished in no small part due to the efforts of the American ambassador to France, James Monroe, and his wife, Elizabeth, whose importunate requests to their erstwhile ally became an embarrassment to the French government. Monroe's persistence was no doubt inspired by the fact that he and Lafayette had served together as young men in Washington's army at Brandywine.

Once released from prison, Madame de Lafayette learned of her husband's imprisonment in Austria. Sending her son, Georges, to the United States to reside with his godfather for safety's sake, Madame Lafayette and her two daughters made their way to Vienna, using their status as naturalized American citizens (and an assumed name) to ease a passage fraught with peril. Upon arriving there, they were granted an audience with Emperor Francis II. The emperor permitted them to visit the Marquis de Lafayette, but only on condition that they remain there in prison with him for as long as his term lasted. 

Engraving of the reunion of Lafayette with
Adrienne and daughters while in prison in Olmütz.

As it turned out, the term lasted another 23 months. The Marquis had been kept in solitary confinement for many months prior to that due to a failed escape attempt. Thus, he had no idea what was going on in the outside world, and when his wife and daughters suddenly arrived to be with him, his surprise was total. Adrienne found her husband in terrible health, despite the assurances of Francis II that he had been well fed and well treated. But the arrival of his family helped him rally his spirits and he soon began to revive. 

Life in the Austrian prison was miserable. Adrienne and her daughters saw no one except the officer assigned to deliver their meals. At no time were they given any utensils, and thus had to eat with their fingers. Worse, an open sewer ran just outside their window, filling the dank space with foul odors at all hours. Within a short period of time, these conditions played havoc with Adrienne's health. Her daughter, Virginie, wrote:

My mother's illness made rapid progress. The doctor was only allowed to see her a moment during the officer's visit. Being ignorant of the French language, he could not understand her but would express in Latin his fears to my father. She had a violent eruption first on her arms, which swelled in such a manner that she could neither make use of them nor lift them up, and afterwards on her legs. Fever scarcely ever left her. This state lasted eleven months from October 1796 till September 1797. During these eleven months, no alleviation of the prison treatment was obtained. She had not even an arm chair. Her sufferings did not in the least impair her spirits. Seeing her always serene always enjoying my father's company and the consolations she had brought with her, we were all less anxious than we ought to have been. [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 358-359]

What caused Adrienne the most dread, however, was that she and her daughters were forbidden to attend Mass, though there was a Catholic church very close by the prison. In the biography of her mother, Virginie includes letters from Adrienne to the Austrian commandant in charge of the prison politely requesting permission to attend Mass. Every request was denied. 

The Lafayettes would be released from prison in 1797 thanks in part to backchannel appeals from presidents Washington and Adams, but mostly due to demands from the victorious General Bonaparte whose defeat of Austria in his Italian campaigns had electrified France. Lafayette returned from captivity to find France much changed. Napoleon would come to view him as a potential rival, but allowed his family to live quietly unmolested in France in exchange for a promise that Lafayette would remain aloof from politics.

Adrienne's health would never completely recover from the years of misery in prison. On Christmas Night, 1807, she died surrounded by her beloved ones. The Marquis de Lafayette wrote a long description of her death and the last conversations which they had together in a letter to his friend, Marquis de Latour-Maubourg. "You never saw anything so extraordinary or so touching," Lafayette remarked regarding Adrienne banter as she drifted in and out of febrile delirium. "There was also a refinement in the way she expressed herself, a loftiness of thought which astonished every one. But what was admirable above all, was that tenderness of heart which she was incessantly showing." [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 400-401]

Adrienne was a woman sincerely attached to her Catholic faith, but who was also deeply in love with a man who had little use for it. Because of her love for him, she refused to make his apostasy an issue between them, though it clearly disturbed her. As the illness muddled her head and broke down her natural reserve, her heart's desire that her husband return to the faith seemed to become reality to her. Lafayette records the following incident in the context of her deathbed prayers:

Sometimes we could hear her praying in her bed. She made her daughters read prayers to her. There was something heavenly in the manner she twice repeated Tobit's prayers applicable to her state, the same she had recited to her daughters on seeing the steeples of Olmütz for the first time. I approached her. "It is from the book of Tobit," she said. "I sing badly that is why I recite it."

Another time she composed a most beautiful prayer which lasted full an hour. She only once or twice seemed in error about me, persuading herself that I was a fervent Christian. "You are not a Christian?" she said one day. And as I did not answer, "Oh, I know what you are: you are a Fayettiste."

"Do you think me so presumptuous," I replied. "But are you not a little Fayettiste yourself?"

"Oh yes," she exclaimed, "with all my soul, I feel I could die for that sect." 

[Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 408-409]

It is likely that she retained a hope that God would grant her husband the grace of final penitence. One of Lafayette's comments about her beliefs points to that hope, and possibly reflects a little wishful thinking on his part:

Her religion was all love and confidence the fear of hell never came near her mind. She did not believe in it for beings good, sincere, and virtuous whatever their opinions might be. "I do not know what will happen at the moment of their death," she would say, "but God will enlighten them." [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 402]

Shortly before the moment of Adrienne's death, she murmured that she was not suffering. Hearing these words, her nurse said: "No doubt she does not suffer; because she is an angel." [Lasteyrie: Life of Madame de Lafayette, p. 415-416]

Engraving of the death of Lafayette which accompanies Dr. Cloquet's account.

The Marquis de Lafayette would live on for another 27 years after Adrienne's death, passing into eternity in 1834. Among his later acts was a triumphal tour of the United States in 1824-1825 where he was celebrated as a venerable hero of American liberty. During that tour, he visited the site of the Battle of Bunker Hill, taking some soil from that hallowed ground back to France with him as a memento.

Whether Lafayette repented before breathing his last can not be known. A single sentence preserved in Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette by M. Jules Cloquet, MD, who was present at the deathbed, offers some hope:

The venerable rector of the church of the Assumption came to join in prayer with the family. [Cloquet: Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, p. 278]

The same account records that Lafayette's catafalque was taken to the church of the Assumption where a service for the dead was performed before a large crowd of mourners. The Marquis's mortal remains were then taken to Picpus Cemetery in Paris to be interred beside the body of his beloved Adrienne. This cemetery is remarkable because it is also contains the mass graves of nearly 1,500 headless bodies—victims guillotined during the Reign of Terror. Among these victims are the sixteen Carmelite nuns of Compiègne, canonized in 2024, who went singing to their deaths. Burial in proximity to such saintly martyrs can not help but be efficacious. 

Spread atop Lafayette's grave by his son, Georges Washington, was the Bunker Hill soil that he had brought back from America during his tour ten years before. 

From that time even to this day, an American flag flies over the Lafayette gravesite.

Deus Non Vult? - Pope Leo XIV, Donald Trump, Clermont, and Lepanto

Medal showing Pope St. Pius V struck in honor of the victory of the Holy League at Lepanto.

Last week's blow-up between the Roman Catholic Pontiff and the American President generated considerable heat, but not very much light. Every pundit and influencer on every side registered an opinion, and most of them were ill-informed, facile, or just plain wrong.

Does the Pope have a right to sound off on political questions, even when his opinions are directly critical of a given country's current policies and actions? Of course he does. Popes have been doing this for centuries, millennia even, sometimes at tremendous cost to themselves. Many modern critics of the Papacy have often attacked Popes in hindsight for not sounding off loudly enough or soon enough on such issues.

Should Catholics be surprised if the Holy Father receives return-fire when he wades into political issues? No, we should not, particularly in the United States. There may be many Catholics in the U.S. but the vast majority of the country is not Catholic. When the Pope steps into the political arena, no Catholic should expect meek acquiescence from non-Catholic political figures who, rightly or wrongly, feel targeted.

Were Mr. Trump's broadsides against the Holy Father appropriate? I would say "yes" but only to the extent that Mr. Trump is a non-Catholic political figure who lives in a country where freedom of speech is enshrined as a civil right. Trump takes full advantage of that freedom, having made his reputation as a blunt-talking political street-fighter. There is very little nuance in what Mr. Trump says. If you say or do things he doesn't like, he won't pretend to be polite to your face and throw ashtrays in private. He'll tell you straight out what he thinks, vulgarities included. While this kind of talk tends to make America grate again on the world stage, it's hard to deny that his style has been a political success. Compared to the duplicity of most political figures, Trumps transparency is seen as refreshing by many. 

Trump's TruthSocial post calling Leo "WEAK on crime and terrible for foreign policy," was crass, provocative, and not thoughtfully presented. But coming as it did from a non-Catholic political figure who has no particular love or respect for the Papacy as an institution, it was not inappropriate. If you asked me whether Trump's obloquy was smart or effective, my answer is an emphatic "no" on both counts. Trump's attacks on Leo generated only expressions of horror, dismay, or misguided defense from his Catholic supporters, infighting amongst Catholics more generally, and joy from the anti-Catholic political Left who were only too happy to amplify the comments to foment division within the Church. 

In short, the Pope has the right and the duty to speak publicly and forcefully on pressing political issues. At the same time, he must realize that such comments will be polarizing and may engender or exacerbate exactly the types of conflict he's hoping to ameliorate. 

With the polemics flying last week, there was one statement by the Holy Father that caused some needless confusion among Catholics. It is this: 

"God does not bless any conflict. Anyone who is a disciple of Christ, the Prince of Peace, is never on the side of those who once wielded the sword and today drop bombs. Military action will not create space for freedom or times of #Peace, which comes only from the patient promotion of coexistence and dialogue among peoples." [Pope Leo XIV, on X, April 10, 2026]

Posted as a stand-alone statement on social media, this statement seems to contradict the teachings of most of the previous Popes until very recently. By way of example, here is an excerpt from Blessed Pope Urban II's speech at Clermont in AD 1095, as recorded by Balderick of Dol:

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"If, forsooth, you wish to be mindful of your souls, either lay down the girdle of such knighthood, or advance boldly, as knights of Christ, and rush as quickly as you can to the defence of the Eastern Church. For she it is from whom the joys of your whole salvation have come forth, who poured into your mouths the milk of divine wisdom, who set before you the holy teachings of the Gospels. We say this, brethren, that you may restrain your murderous hands from the destruction of your brothers, and in behalf of your relatives in the faith oppose yourselves to the Gentiles. Under Jesus Christ, our Leader, may you struggle for your Jerusalem, in Christian battle-line, most invincible line, even more successfully than did the sons of Jacob of old — struggle, that you may assail and drive out the Turks, more execrable than the Jebusites, who are in this land, and may you deem it a beautiful thing to die for Christ in that city in which He died for us. But if it befall you to die this side of it, be sure that to have died on the way is of equal value, if Christ shall find you in His army. God pays with the same shilling, whether at the first or eleventh hour. You should shudder, brethren, you should shudder at raising a violent hand against Christians; it is less wicked to brandish your sword against Saracens. It is the only warfare that is righteous, for it is charity to risk your life for your brothers." [Krey: The First Crusade, p 35].

Later, in this same account, we see Bishop Adhemar of Puy receive the blessing of Pope Urban and undertake his commission as official Papal legate of the crusaders. 

As those present were thus clearly informed by these and other words of this kind from the apostolic lord, the eyes of some were bathed in tears; some trembled, and yet others discussed the matter. However, in the presence of all at that same council, and as we looked on, the Bishop of Puy, a man of great renown and of highest ability, went to the Pope with joyful countenance and on bended knee sought and entreated blessing and permission to go. Over and above this, he won from the Pope the command that all should obey him, and that he should hold sway over all the army in behalf of the Pope, since all knew him to be a prelate of unusual energy and industry. [Balderic of Dol's account of Urban II's speech at Clermont in Krey: The First Crusade, p. 36].

15th century miniature of Pope Urban II presiding at Clermont. Upon his call for a crusade,
the assembled cried, "Deus Vult!" ~ God wills it!

About 500 years later, Pope Saint Pius V sent this letter to Don John of Austria who had been given command over the forces of the Holy League in AD 1571: 

To our well-beloved son in Christ, health and the apostolic benediction. Almighty God, the author of all good, has been pleased that, with his divine favour, the League should be concluded, which our right dear son in Christ the Catholic King of the Spains your brother, and the Illustrious Republic of the Venetians some months ago began to negotiate against the most cruel tyrant, the lord of the Turks; which having come to so good an issue, it appeared to us right to congratulate your nobleness on the occasion, as by these letters we do, being assured that our message will be welcome and agreeable to you, on account both of your piety towards God, and of your desire for the increase of the Christian world. Greatly do we rejoice to behold you thus prosperously navigating this our sea, that together with the fleets of the other members of the League you may make a beginning of the destruction of the common enemy; and therefore do we entreat and warn you in Christ our Lord, that, imitating the virtue of the captains-general, your predecessors, you use your discretion diligently both to provide all things requisite to the success of the expedition and to avoid delay, which, in affairs of war, is so important and so praiseworthy. We would further urge this upon you with many reasons, did we not know that the business carries with it its reward in the common benefit of the Christian world, and your particular honour, and that you need no further exhortation from our zealous and fatherly love, being assured that your nobleness will never be found wanting either to the one or to the other.  Given at Rome on the 24th of May 1571 [Taken from Maxwell, Don John of Austria, Volume 1, p. 352-353]

When the Holy League's ships were ready to sail to meet their destiny at the Battle of Lepanto in October of 1571, we are told:

The Papal Nuncio, in virtue of the powers which he had brought from Rome, proclaimed a jubilee; the officers and men thronged to the churches to confess and receive the sacrament; and, with great state and ceremony, the Pope's representative, in his master's name, bestowed upon the whole armament of the Holy League — princes, generals, soldiers, sailors, slaves, and shipping — the Apostolical benediction, and announced anew the indulgences which in past times had been conceded to the conquerors of the Holy Sepulchre. [Taken from Maxwell, Don John of Austria, Volume 1, p. 383]

Any student of history can find dozens if not hundreds of additional examples of Popes summoning and blessing those who would make war for the defense of Christendom. This leaves the devout Catholic at something of a loss. Pope Leo XIV's statement is general and unequivocal in a way that appears at odds with prior Church teachings, as well as the words and actions the two Popes aforementioned, one of whom is Blessed, and the other a Saint. This is, perhaps a simplistic reading of the Pope's words, but that is the way most Catholics will read it.

I say this as someone who is not in favor of the current ill-conceived war against Iran that the United States has embarked upon. The rationale for this conflict has been haphazardly explained, and I struggle to categorize it as a just war as traditionally understood by Catholic doctrine. Politically, it seems like a foolish, short-sighted decision, appearing to be more a crusade to ensure the safety of the secular state of Israel than any kind of defense of Christendom. That said, I am happy to be proved wrong on any of these points should the miracle of an unexpected peace emerge in the chronically war-ravaged Middle East as a result of these actions. 

Lack of clarity and consistency in teaching, particularly on moral issues, was an unfortunate hallmark of the previous Papacy. One hopes and prays that Leo XIV will steer the course of thoughtful, prayerful nuance and consistency with his predecessors when offering his observations on political and foreign policy issues in the future. The last thing the world needs is a Pope who creates novel, contradictory doctrines which force Catholics into a position of having to side either with the current occupant of the See of St. Peter, or sainted Popes from history. 

As for Mr. Trump, he sees himself as an American patriot, and I do believe that his ultimate desire is for peace and prosperity among nations, even if, paradoxically, he thinks it takes B-2s and cruise missiles to accomplish the goal. He needs our prayers. I won't suggest that Mr. Trump attempt to be more nuanced in his public statements on social media—that will never happen. But perhaps Mr. Trump would do well to pray sincerely before he posts. A little humility would go a long way.

A better course of action for both the Holy Father and the American President would be to refrain from firing rhetorical fusillades at each other, and instead offer prayers that Almighty God will grant them both wisdom and charity. Based on the Holy Father's most recent statement, it seems like he wasn't intending to get into a shouting match with President Trump, and has declared that many of his statements have been misinterpreted by the media. In response, Vice President Vance has written a conciliatory post about the Holy Father, saying: "He will be in our prayers, and I hope that we'll be in his."

These are good signs. 

Leo XIV has only been Pope for about a year. He deserves an opportunity to grow into the role, and not be hammered for every diplomatic stumble. 

May Christ grant him the wisdom to be zealous and saintly Pope!

"I came out with a joyful heart and gave thanks to God." ~ Thanksgiving in luxury and in persecution

At Mass this morning, our good priest reflected in his homily on thankfulness, as is proper on this Thanksgiving Day here in the US. He specifically called out how we Americans can tend to obsess over our First World problems which can cause us to forget to give thanks for the blessings we have. He gave a general example of the millions upon millions of people on earth who wonder how they will feed their children anything at all each day. Meanwhile, we get upset if the baked potatoes get a little burnt, or if the pasta sauce is watery. 

As Catholics, we have our own version of "First World problems." Most American Catholics have easy access to the spiritual sustenance the Church provides, with multiple options for Mass and the sacraments within easy driving distance. If we don't cotton to the way a particular priest says Mass or runs his parish, we can opt for another that is more to our preference. 

Compare this to a time not so long ago, when many Catholics had vanishingly few opportunities to attend Mass or receive the sacraments—when a priest had to risk his own life just to hear a confession. Here is one such story drawn from the letters of Venerable Father Thomas Choe Yang-eop. Father Choe was the second native-born Korean Catholic priest (the first being Saint Andrew Kim Dae-geon). He was trained in seminary as a young man in Macao and after his ordination, he was smuggled back into Korea to minister to the far-flung and secret Catholic community. At that time, Christianity was outlawed by the reigning Joseon dynasty, and those suspected of following the abominable foreign religion were subject to torture and execution.

The following anecdote was recorded by Fr. Choe in a letter he wrote to his spiritual father, Fr. Pierre Louis Legrégeois in 1850. In it, he laments the travails of Korean Catholics, both poor and noble. In particular, he calls out the plight of noble Korean women who were not permitted to leave their houses or even be seen by men other than their husbands and family members. For Christian maidens living in a pagan family, the situation was almost impossible. If they tried to leave the house to visit a traveling priest like Fr. Choe or to gather with other Christians, they were subject to kidnapping and forced marriage to any man who could catch them. So many of these young women opted to remain in place, pining for the consolation of the sacraments. Father Choe records his experience with one such woman:

I also saw another woman named Anna, who came from a noble family. She had been confined to a house of strict pagans for 19 years, where she had no contact with believers, and she thus remained without the sacraments. Finally, this year the woman was able to pass her news on to a believer who was her relative. This Christian had the opportunity to listen to her and speak to her, and he came to me when I was in a Christian village 50 li from Anna’s house. He told me how eagerly Anna was longing to see me, how fervent she was, and how miserable in the totally pagan house. In a place where the whole village venerates all kinds of superstitions, she had never neglected the duties of a believer for all those years. She constantly longed to receive the sacraments, at every moment, and she prayed and begged God to send her a priest. Anna tried to comfort herself in her loneliness, and as she sometimes picked up a small piece of cloth produced in Europe and looked at it, she would think of Europe and the missionary priests. She comforted herself as she said, “As these goods have been transported from Europe, missionary priests will come from Europe someday.”

When I heard this, I was so moved that I couldn’t stand it. Although there seemed to be no possibility of getting close to this faithful sister and giving her the sacraments, I completely relied on God’s mercy and trusted Anna’s sincerity. I hoped that our Dear Lord and the Virgin Mary would at last have pity on Anna’s so desperate pleading, that they would show me how to administer Confession and Holy Communion to their maidservant who was so faithful.

So I took the believer who told me Anna’s story, together with the Eucharist, our only Consolation in this world, and rushed to the village where Anna lived. The whole village was pagan, and all her family were also pagans. In other words, there was no suitable place to use as a confessional, and there was nowhere to enshrine the Eucharist. I sat in the shade of a tree by the river and waited, as if I was tired from walking on the road and was taking a short break to rest and escape the scorching sun. Meanwhile, I sent the believer who had accompanied me to see if he could find a place where I could meet her. When the believer entered Anna’s house, all the men had gone out to the fields, and there were no adults in the house, Anna was alone with her daughter and several younger children. The believer brought me her written examination of conscience. I read it where I was and immediately went into Anna’s house, summoned her to the outer living room, quickly absolved her and she received the Sacrament, and then I immediately went away. I came out with a joyful heart and gave thanks to God. [Martyr of Blood, Martyr of Sweat, Fr. Choe, Letter 7]

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This story is drawn from a new book entitled Martyr of Blood, Martyr of Sweat: The Letters of Saint Andrew Kim Dae-geon and Venerable Father Thomas Choe Yang-eop, featuring the complete corpus of extant letters from these first two native Korean priests translated by Brother Anthony and Brother Han-yol. Reading the accounts in this book will provide a fresh perspective on our own relatively mild sufferings as compared to the truly miserable travails that the unbelievably courageous and zealous Korean Catholics of the mid-19th century endured while trying to live their faith in the midst of a persistent and brutal persecution. 

For Thanksgiving today, it is proper to give thanks for all the blessings that God has bestowed upon our Church and our nation. We should be grateful for the freedom to practice our Catholic faith without threat of imprisonment, torture, and death, that we can receive the sacraments at practically all hours of the day, and that even if the turkey is a little dry, we have more than enough to eat each day. While being grateful to Almighty God for these good things, we should also endeavor to pray for those who do not enjoy such blessings, and renew our intention to work toward a day all may enjoy the freedom from want and the liberty to worship Almighty God as Catholics.

"He has much talent, and a gentle, fine character. I am convinced that he will delight you." ~ a brief bio of Rev. Joseph Coolidge Shaw

Painting of Rev. Joseph Coolidge Shaw, uncle of Civil War hero, Col. Robert Gould Shaw.

The top spot on my rankings of Civil War movies alternates between two classics: Clint Eastwood's The Outlaw Josie Wales, and Glory, which features an all-star cast including Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, Carey Elwes and Matthew Broderick. We re-watched both within the past week.

Of the two, I think Glory is the more intriguing if only because it portrays the deeds of true Civil War heroes: Col. Robert Gould Shaw and the 54th Massachusetts Regiment. After watching it this time, I was inspired to dig a little deeper on Shaw to see what made him tick. What made a Boston brahmin, the scion of one of the wealthiest families in New England at the time, decide to take up the decidedly unglamorous post of leading the Union's first Black regiment? Particularly, I wanted to see if he had any connection at all to the Catholic Church.

As I normally do, I started with his Wikipedia entry. Upon reading it, I had a momentary thrill of discovery: the entry seemed to indicate that Shaw had converted to Catholicism during a trip to Europe! But alas, this was nothing more than imprecise wording in the Wiki entry—a sadly common occurrence that even threw off the chat-bot I asked to confirm this improbable fact. Lo and behold, after some more in-depth reading, it became clear that Robert Gould Shaw had not converted to Catholicism.

It seems that the Wiki entry was referring to Shaw's paternal uncle, Joseph Coolidge Shaw. It was Uncle Coolidge who had converted to Catholicism, not his famous nephew. But my disappointment was soon tempered after delving into the life of Joseph Coolidge Shaw and finding out what an absolutely fascinating fellow he was. 

As a member of the mid-19th century Boston elite, Coolidge Shaw (as he was known) grew up surrounded by the bright, the brilliant, and the bountiful. Born in 1821 to Robert Shaw, Sr. and Elizabeth Parkman, Coolidge was first cousin to Francis Parkman who would go on to write one of the classic histories of colonial North America, the seven volume France and England in North America. 

Coolidge was apparently very well-liked by his contemporaries, some of whom would, like his cousin Francis, go on to become quite famous. His name appears surrounded by laudatory glow in a letter from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to Julie Hepp of Heidelberg, Germany. 

Dearest Friend,

The bearer of this letter is Mr. Shaw of Boston. He will spend the winter in Heidelberg; and I know of no greater pleasure to arrange for him there than your acquaintance. He is from a very respectable family; has much talent, and a gentle, fine character. I am convinced that he will delight you. [The Letters of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, September 28, 1840]

Coolidge Shaw did go to Germany, but not to delight young women, apparently. Rather, he found himself unexpectedly delighted by that bugbear of the English-speaking world of his day—Roman Catholicism. While sojourning in Germany, Coolidge encountered Frederick William Faber, a leading light in the Oxford Movement. Though still an Anglican at the time, Faber influenced Shaw toward Catholicism. Not long afterward, Shaw was baptized a Catholic in Rome by Charles Cardinal Acton. 

It seems that converting to Catholicism met with a very negative reaction in the generally anti-Papist circles Coolidge inhabited in New England. An indication of this may be found in a letter his cousin, Francis Parkman, wrote to his mother while visiting Rome "in the midst of the fooleries of Holy Week." After making some additional snide comments about Catholic practices, Parkman writes: “You will perceive from the tenor of my remarks that the farce of Coolidge Shaw has not been reenacted in my person.” [The Letters of Francis Parkman, April 5, 1844]

It should be recalled that Coolidge's conversion happened as a time when the violently anti-Catholic Know Nothings were reaching the pinnacle of their popularity in the United States. However, it seems that neither popular opinion, nor the mocking disapproval of family and friends could discourage Coolidge. He pressed on with his newfound Faith, and with the zeal of the newly converted, attempted to convince his relations to join him in the Catholic Church. Less than two years after Parkman's letter to his mother above, we find Coolidge attempting to convince his cousin (and his uncle) of the virtues of Catholicism:

Do you think you shall stick to the Law, or cut it in a year to give yourself completely to history? I am glad you have taken this term for we want literary men, and a fair historian is a great desideratum….It was history made Hunter a Catholic; and I think if you continue it, it will make you one; …Remember me with all love to Uncle Francis…Tell him we are now studying the treatise De Trinitate [by St. Augustine of Hippo], which I think, if he read it, would convince him that our Lord is not over well pleased at being stripped of his Divinity and only honored as man when he ought to be worshiped as a God. [Sedgwick, American Men of Letters: Francis Parkman, Letter from Joseph Coolidge Shaw to Francis Parkman, from Rome, November 16, 1845].

At about the same time, we find him corresponding with another well-known New England convert, Orestes Brownson of Vermont. This letter gives a window into Coolidge Shaw's deepening Catholic conviction, along with hints as to where this conviction might be leading. We also again see his interest in not only converting his family to the faith, but in developing a strategy whereby Catholic belief could be introduced to all his New England neighbors in a persuasive way:

As you may suppose, a second year’s experience of religion, and that too in the very centre of Catholicity, has only served to ground me more firmly in the faith, and to fill me with an ever increasing longing for the time when I shall be prepared to go on His mission who alone I love, and teach others to love Him; for it seems to me that we to whom God has shown such unspeakable mercy are in a peculiar manner commissioned, like his great precursor, to go before the face of the Lord and prepare His ways….And oh, pray God for me, that I may not be unmindful of His Call.

     I do not know our people as well as I could wish, for I left home at 19, passed more than three years abroad, and spent the 10 months after my return for the most part quietly at Cambridge. I should think, however, that though they may be more ignorant of the Catholic religion than any other part of the country, and on that account may seem farthest from it, they have, nevertheless, more solidity, more sound principle, and more good will, than either the South or the West, and hence would make better and more earnest converts than those who appear at first sight to be of a more generous nature, for I am inclined to think much of the warmth at the South mere impulse and climate. But my intercourse in Boston, etc., has been chiefly with Episcopalians, Unitarians, and infidels, who are, I imagine, a much better set than the Presbyterian and Methodist part of the community. I wish you would give me some more correct information as to the different sects, and to the general spirit of the N. E. people. The Unitarians, infidels, etc., the most sensible, decidedly, are best acted upon by sound reasoning; the others, I suppose, by the Bible, and by church history. Is it not so? [Orestes Brownson's Middle Life: 1845-1855, p. 65-66, Letter from 

Coolidge Shaw to Orestes Brownson from Tivoli, Italy, October 14, 1845]

Coolidge Shaw's passion for his Catholic faith was not just a passing fancy. In 1847, he was ordained a Catholic priest. By that time, most of his family had come to terms with their eccentric relation's religious direction. Regarding the ordination, Shaw would write in his diary:

The ordination was a species of triumph for the Church in Boston, not of course as regards me personally, but from the circumstances of my family, etc. My Father and Mother who were present themselves at the three ordinations invited a great many of their friends, & especially at the last ordination the church was full of Protestants, & the papers talked a good deal of the matter. [Donovan, Joseph Coolidge Shaw: Boston yankee, Jesuit, early Boston College patron, p. 4]

His amiable nature and familiarity with New England allowed Fr. Shaw to break barriers. He was apparently the first priest to celebrate Mass in Brattleboro, Vermont in the autumn of 1848:

Mass was celebrated for the first time in Brattleboro in the early autumn of 1848, by Reverend Joseph Coolidge Shaw of Boston, under a tree on the Wood farm in the presence of fifty or sixty worshipers. Father Shaw had come to take the water-cure. [Cabot, Annals of Brattleboro, 1681-1895, p. 649].

Not long after this time, Fr. Shaw spent some time at Fordham University in New York. It was also at about this time that he was somehow able to convince his brother, Francis Shaw, to send young Robert Gould Shaw then aged 12 to boarding school at Fordham. But while Coolidge would thrive at Fordham, young Robert had a miserable time. His letters home during this time include some rather typical pre-teen angst, including the following:

"I hate it like everything."

"I'd rather do anything than stay here."

"My old teacher scolded me to-day because I didn't do something he didn't tell me to do, and I hate him."

"I wish you hadn't sent me here." [Fordham Prep Hall of Honor page]

Robert only lasted a year at Fordham, retreating at last to the bosom of his family which was about to embark on an extended European tour. He would spend the next two years at a boarding school in Switzerland. As a result, he would not be present for the denouement of his uncle's short life.

God in His providence would see fit to limit Fr. Shaw's life on this earth. Following his stint at Fordham, Fr. Shaw decided to seek admittance to the Society of Jesus. Accepted as a novice, he entered the novitiate in Frederick, Maryland in September of 1850. His time there would be short. Though always in excellent health, he became ill around Christmas of 1850. A passage in Brownson's Middle Life explains what happened next:

...[T]he Novitiate catching fire, Shaw was the first to mount the roof, and receiving buckets of water, handed up by the other novices, succeeded in extinguishing the flames. It was a cold evening and probably Shaw’s clothing was more or less wet; but he returned, as he was, to the usual exercises of the community until the regular bed-time. This exposure brought on an attack of pleurisy, from which he was delivered only by death a little later. [Orestes Brownson's Middle Life: 1845-1855, p. 63]

In the 1850s, deaths at age 30 were sadly not uncommon. Even so, and despite Fr. Shaw being the black sheep of his family, he would be sincerely and universally mourned following his passing. A sermon given by Unitarian minister Ephraim Peabody gives a beautiful illustration of the man whose virtues were recognized even by those whom he had theologically abandoned:

A few years ago, there was one among you, a youth nurtured in the same schools with yourselves, your companion and friend; having in his own heart those gifts which win the hearts of others. A few years went by, and you knew of him as one passing through dark struggles of the mind, but through them reaching repose and peace: you knew of him as making those sacrifices of his sense of duty, which to the gentle and affectionate are the true martyrdom. A few years more passed, and he was again among you, a living and saintly example of devotion to the works of mercy and love—a short season more, and his life sank peacefully away. Where lay the charm of that life? And what took from that death all that lends death terror? It is answered in a single word, and that word is fidelity. Fidelity to his own convictions of duty, fidelity to God, laboring faithfully where he felt himself called to labor. ["Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw: A Memorial Sketch" as found in Woodstock Letters, p. 449]

Coolidge Shaw's death and memory was not the end of his legacy. During his three month long illness, when it became apparent that he should not recover, Father Shaw dictated his last will to a friend. In that will, he would set aside about $4,000—a gift from his father at his ordination—along with his valuable collection of books gathered while traveling Europe—more than 1,500 volumes—for the foundation of a Jesuit University in Boston. That institution would not emerge for another twelve years when Fr. John McElroy, SJ would found Boston College. Fr. Shaw's bequest would make him BC's first benefactor.

As an alum of BC myself, this came as a surprise. It was even more of a surprise to find out that Shaw House on campus was named for him. During my tenure at BC, I never heard his name mentioned once, even though I spent a summer working in the Burns Library and archives. Sadly, that kind of muting of the history of the illustrious religious men who helped found the University was typical of my experience there. 

But if those who benefited from Fr. Shaw's bequest too soon forgot about him, his nephew, Robert Gould Shaw apparently did not. While serving in the Army of the Potomac in the opening months of the Civil War, Robert Shaw relates this charming anecdote of a visit to his uncle's gravesite in Frederick, MD:

Camp near Darnestown
September 3, 1861

Dear Father,

Yesterday, Harry and I got 24 hours leave of absence and drove over to Frederick. We went to the Seminary and saw Uncle Coolidge’s portrait & grave. He has a Jesuit’s dress & the miniature I think has a cassock with buttons down the front. They treated us very well and got permission for us to visit the convent which was very interesting. The nuns, who never go out, and the pupils too, though they cleared the way for us with precipitation, were inquisitive enough to peek out of the windows as we went along the gallery. [Duncan: Blue-Eyed Child of Fortune, p. 135]

I was able to track down an online copy of this portrait mentioned by Robert Gould Shaw above (I think) on the findagrave.com website here and have included a detail from the portrait at the top of this post. The Boston College website also includes an image of what may be the miniature. I have included this at right. The miniature image is used to promote membership in the Shaw Society which encourages alumni, parents and friends to remember the university in their estate planning. 

Given the not-especially-Catholic state of BC in particular, and Jesuit institutions more generally these days, one is forced to wonder whether such a gift is a wise investment for a faithful Catholic or whether it will be used in the spirit of Father Shaw's original bequest.

Let us pray for the repose of Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw's soul.

Let us pray for the repose of Col. Robert Gould Shaw's soul, and the souls of all the men of the 54th Massachusetts.

Let us pray for the renewal of Jesuit educational institutions, that Christ may lead them away from the crass worldliness that infects them, back to grounding young people in the Gospel, which was the founding vision of men like Father Joseph Coolidge Shaw.

Catherine Gandeaktena ~ From Savagery to Slavery to Sanctity

Catherine Gandeanktena and her husband Francis Tonsahoten,
as taken from the cover of Catherine of the Erie. 

Practically everyone has heard of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the Lily of the Mohawk nation and the first formally canonized indigenous American saint. 

Almost no one has heard of Catherine Gandeaktena. 

But a new historical novel, Catherine of the Erie by Claudio R. Salvucci aims to change that. 

Though almost unknown among Catholics today, Catherine Gandeaktena's role was an important one. Indeed, if it were not for Catherine, the world may never have known about Saint Kateri. Catherine of the Erie successfully puts this devout, humble woman and her harrowing life story on the literary map. 

Newly published!
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Here is some historical background which will help the reader appreciate Catherine Gandeaktena's story as presented in this novel.

Catherine was a woman of the Erie nation. Like most of the other Iroquoian-speaking nations—among them the Hurons, Neutrals, Susquehannocks, and the Iroquois themselves—the Eries were a confederacy of tribes organized around clan alliances and living in semi-settled long-house villages. In the traditional scheme of things prior to European contact, the Eries were every bit as powerful as their neighbors, numbering perhaps in the tens of thousands. At the peak of their strength, they could field an army of 3-4,000 warriors. 

In the 1640s when Catherine was born, the Erie nation was situated on the south shore of the Great Lake that bears their name even to this day. They were alternately known as the Nation of the Cat, as explained in the Jesuit Relation of 1655, "because of the prodigious number of Wildcats in their country, two or three times as large as our domestic Cats, but of a handsome and valuable fur." [from the Jesuit Relations as quoted in Iroquois Wars II, p. 108]

By 1650s, however, the political and military balance of power in the Eastern Woodlands began to shift rapidly. For one thing, the Iroquois, whose location in present-day central New York put them in close proximity to Dutch and English settlers, were able to acquire European weapons. With easier access to muskets and ammunition, the Iroquois soon became a terror to their neighbors. By 1649, the powerful Huron nation had been invaded, conquered, and scattered by the Iroquois. A few years later, the same fate befell the Neutrals. Over the next twenty years, the Iroquois would wear down and defeat even the powerful Susquehannocks in what is today central Pennsylvania. 

The Eries knew that they war with the Iroquois was inevitable. But they were a warlike people themselves and many of their young warriors welcomed the conflict. Describing the Cats and their fighting prowess, Fr. Le Mercier writes:

"The Cat Nation is very populous, having been reinforced by some Hurons, who scattered in all directions when their country was laid waste, and who now have stirred up this war which is filling the Iroquois with alarm. Two thousand men are reckoned upon, well skilled in war, although they have no firearms. Notwithstanding this, they fight like Frenchmen, bravely sustaining the first discharge of the Iroquois, who are armed with our muskets, and then falling upon them with a hailstorm of poisoned arrows, which they discharge eight or ten times before a musket can be reloaded." [from the Jesuit Relations as quoted in Iroquois Wars II, p. 108]

In 1653, open warfare broke out between the Iroquois and the Eries. The Cats seemed to be the aggressors in the initial encounters as described by Fr. Mercier: 

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"They [the Iroquois] informed us that a fresh war had broken out against them, and thrown them all into a state of alarm: that the Ehriehronnons [Eries] were arming against them....They informed us that a village of Sonnontoehronnon Iroquois [the Seneca—one of the original five nations of the Iroquois confederacy] had been already taken and set on fire at their first approach; that that same nation had pursued one of their own armies which was returning victorious from the direction of the great lake of the Hurons, and that an entire company of eighty picked men, which formed the rear-guard, had been completely cut to pieces; that one of their greatest Captains, Annenraes by name, had been captured and led away captive by some skirmishers of that Nation." [from the Jesuit Relations as quoted in Iroquois Wars II, p. 108]

It was the capture of this Annenraes which would ultimately bring doom upon the Eries. Reports of his torture and death lit a fire under the Iroquois confederacy who mobilized all their warriors and invaded the Erie homeland with guns blazing. The end result was the utter annihilation of the Cats. Once their fortifications were breached, the Iroquois attacked and slaughtered without mercy: 

"Their boldness so astonished the besieged that, being already at the end of their munitions of war, with which, especially with powder, they had been but poorly provided, they resolved to flee. This was their ruin. For, after most of the first fugitives had been killed, the others were surrounded by the Onnontaguehronnons [the Onnondaga—one of the original five nations of the Iroquois confederacy], who entered the fort and there wrought such carnage among the women and children, that blood was knee-deep in certain places." [from the Jesuit Relations as quoted in Iroquois Wars II, p. 127]

During this period of horrendous cruelty and demonic vice (which I have previously chronicled here, here, and here among other places), it seems almost miraculous that such a gentle creature could emerge who, by her modesty, humility, and aversion to violence, appeared almost pre-disposed to Christian holiness. 

Yet that was Catherine Gandeaktena. 

Having been raised within a simmering cauldron of rage that featured regular displays of horrific torture and cannibalism, somehow Gandeaktena managed to remain aloof from all such excesses of wickedness. When her nation fell, Gandeaktena was made a slave and brought in cruel bondage to the villages of the Iroquois. Yet even as a helpless slave, Gandeaktena was able to win over others by her natural virtues. This description of her early life was recorded by the Jesuit fathers:

"God having permitted that Gentaienton, a village of the Chat nation, should be taken and sacked by the Iroquois, Gandeaktena, which is the name of the one of whom we are speaking, was taken into slavery together with her mother and brought to Onniout [a village of the Oneida nation of the Iroquois]. There the misfortune of her country proved the blessing of our captive. And her slavery was the cause of her preparing herself to receive through baptism the liberty of the children of God. The innocency in which she had lived, even before intending to become a Christian, seemed to have prepared her to receive this grace; and it is an astonishing fact that, in the midst of the extreme corruption of the Iroquois, she was able, before being illumined by the light of the Gospel, to keep herself from participating in their debaucheries, although she was their slave." [Jesuit Relation of 1679]  

Later, Catherine Gandeaktena would become one of the founders of the Mission at La Prairie near present-day Montreal. This Mission would become a magnet attracting Christian converts among the nearby native tribes. So well-known would this haven become that the saying, "I am going to La Prairie," came to mean among the natives: "I am giving up polygamy and drunkenness." 

Catherine died a holy death surrounded by the devout prayers of her husband, Francis Tonsahoten, and friends in AD 1673. 

Four years later, in the autumn of 1677, a young Indian girl named Kateri Tekakwitha would arrive at the mission Catherine had helped to found which, by this time, had moved a short distance away and become a safe haven for converts to Christianity among the nations. It was here that Kateri's faith and devotion would grow, thrive, and achieve full flower. As told by Fr. Pierre Cholonec, her spiritual director and biographer: 

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"[W]hat edified her exceedingly was the piety of all the converts who composed this numerous mission. Above all, she was struck with seeing men become so different from what they were when they lived in their own country. She compared their exemplary life with the licentious course they had been accustomed to lead, and recognizing the hand of God in so extraordinary a change, she ceaselessly thanked Him for having conducted her into this land of blessings." [Kateri Tekakwitha: The Iroquois Saint, page 30]

If you enjoyed reading this brief article about these heroic women of the wilderness, I encourage you to check out Catherine of the Erie. The novel brilliantly captures the life of Catherine and spirit of these harsh times, and has the advantage of being written by an author who really knows his stuff. Mr. Salvucci not only appreciates and illuminates the Catholic aspects of the story, but is also well versed in the history, folk-lore and languages of the Eastern Woodland tribes. In fact, several of the quotes above come from his work as co-editor of two volumes on the Iroquois Wars. And the frequent appearance of Iroquoian words and phrases throughout the novel is the product of his work as editor of a series of early Native American vocabularies and word lists.

Catherine of the Erie is a relatively short novel (about 160 pages) and is suitable for teens. If your young reader is particularly sensitive, be aware that there are some pretty intense scenes of warfare, as well as a dream sequence which is a little scary.

St. Clair Augustin Mulholland ~ Irishman. Philadelphian. Artist. Civil War Hero. Catholic.

General St. Clair Augustin Mulholland later in life.

As Independence Day approaches each year, I make a habit of finding a patriotic movie or two to pop into the DVD player to watch with the kids. This year, we began with Gods and Generals, that beautiful but flawed epic of the first two years of the Civil War. The film contrasts the career of Confederate General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson with that Union General Joshua Chamberlain, and while focusing on these two, it introduces several other figures as bit players. 

One of these who showed up during the Battle of Fredericksburg was St. Clair Augustin Mulholland. When his name was shown on the screen, it looked familiar. Where had I seen it before? Ah, yes! He appeared prominently in a previous post: "One of the most impressive religious ceremonies I have ever witnessed" ~ Father William Corby's general absolution at Gettysburg.

Mulholland had been at Gettysburg where he witnessed Fr. Corby's general absolution. It was his account of the act that I had included in the post, taken from his book, The story of the 116th Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers in the War of the Rebellion.

But as with so many of these amazing men from the Civil War period, there is much, much more to General Mulholland's story than mere gallantry in combat—though there is plenty of that.

And he is practically forgotten today, even in his adopted hometown of Philadelphia where his earthly remains lie interned in Old Cathedral Cemetery. 

St. Clair Augustin Mulholland was born a son of the Emerald Isle in County Antrim in AD 1839. When still a boy, his family emigrated to the United States in the midst of the Potato Famine. As with many Irish youth, Mulholland gravitated toward a military career, and by the time the American Civil War erupted in 1861, he would become a colonel at the ripe age of 23. 

Mulholland in uniform
during the Civil War.

Serving throughout the war, Mulholland saw action at Fredericksburg where he was wounded leading the ill-fated charge up Marye's Heights. He would be awarded a Congressional Medal of Honor for his gallantry covering the Union retreat at Chancellorsvile. As mentioned above, he served at Gettysburg where his regiment was practically annihilated. He survived to fight and receive wounds at Wilderness. He was wounded again at Po River, and badly injured by a musketball to the groin at Topotomy Creek. 

For his outstanding courage during the the Civil War, Mulholland was given brevet rank of Major General.

But that's not where his story ends, not by a long-shot. 

Following the war, Mulholland returned to Philadelphia where he became chief of police in 1868. In that post, he was credited with bringing discipline to the department which had been in some disorder before his arrival. He is also praised for breaking up a gang known as the "Schuylkill Rangers" which had been terrorizing the city.

He served many years on the Board of Prison Inspections. According to a eulogy written at the time of Mulholland's death in 1910 in the Journal of the American Irish Historical Society:  

It was said of him that he personally helped more unfortunates to start life anew than any other man in the state. He made the subject of prison discipline and its reform a study, and it was he who formed the committee that drafted the new parole law.

General Mulholland was also a lover of American history, particularly the contributions which Irish and Catholic Americans had played in it. Perceiving that secular and Protestant historians tended to minimize or ignore completely the role played by Catholics in American history, Mulholland participated in a campaign of speeches and memorials to remind the nation of their contributions. As part of this effort, Mulholland and his fellow Irish Catholics funded and built several memorials. 

Statue of Commodore Barry in Philadelphia.

Mulholland played a key role in raising $10,500 (the equivalent of about $350,000 in today's dollars) for the creation of the prominent statue of Commodore John Barry which may be seen to this day in dramatic pose behind Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Of Commodore Barry, Mulholland would offer the following praise in a speech: 

One of the most illustrious of Ireland’s sons, a brilliant child of the wind and waves, a heroic warrior of the sea who never knew defeat, the Father and Founder of the Navy of the United States.

It was General Mulholland who first conceived the idea of raising a statue to his friend, Fr. Corby, saying that it would "be of great benefit to the Catholic Church, identifying the Church with patriotism on the battlefields of our country." [Memoirs of a Chaplain's Life, Appendix 2] As chairman of a committee of the Catholic Alumni Sodality, General Mulholland was instrumental moving the project forward. The statue of Fr. Corby was completed shortly after Mulholland's death in 1910. 

Also late in his life, Mulholland was appointed to head the commission to create the Pennsylvania memorial at Gettysburg. Though he did not survive to see the completion of the project, the Pennsylvania memorial would be built and is the grandest on the battlefield. 

While doing the research on this post, I was surprised to discover that there was another side of General Mulholland. Beneath his rough exterior hardened by years of exposure on the march and danger on the battlefield, St. Clair Mulholland retained the softer soul of an artist. Similar to Lew Wallace, who eclipsed his fame as a general during the Civil War by writing a memorable novel (Ben Hur), St. Clair Mulholland was an accomplished painter of landscapes. Following the war, he embarked on a five year tour of Europe where he painted many beautiful scenes. Some examples of his work may be seen below:

Grand Canal, Venice.

Rowing in the Marsh

Shipping of the Coast

Mulholland was also personally devout and chivalrous. In a 1928 essay, Anne Easby-Smith records the following about the general: 

Yet this richly gifted man was, in his piety, as sincere and simple as a little child. His devotion to the Blessed Virgin was touching. From the age of fifteen until his death, he recited the rosary daily. His courtesy to women is illustrated by an incident during the War. Leading a hundred men through the swamp of Chickahominy, he came to a narrow pass where there was room for only one. Two Sisters of Charity were approaching. Immediately, the young officer stepped into the muddy swamp, to be followed by the whole regiment, to the great confusion of the Sisters.

For all his accomplishments, General Mulholland seemed to remain a humble soul to the very end of his life. When he died in 1910, he was buried in Old Cathedral Cemetery in a grave without a marker. The existing plaque was added much later. In the conclusion of her essay, Anne Easby-Smith sums up General Mulholland's character in this way:  

A soldier first and last, General Mulholland had simple tastes and few personal wants. “When I die,” he had said, “wrap me in the American Flag and put me in the hole. That is all the funeral I need.” Faithful to the flag for which he had fought and bled, General St. Clair Mulholland was equally faithful to the creed of his fathers, a true Catholic layman who stood before the world proud of the dual loyalty to God and country of which his entire life was a noble illustration.

What more is there to say? General Mulholland is yet another of those incredible, multi-faceted individuals whose characters were shaped in the forge of the American Civil War and whose subsequent noble lives are an ornament to the country they loved. Given General Mulholland's devotion to God, Ireland, America, and the memory of Civil War comrades, I suspect that the depiction of the sacrifice of the 116th Pennsylvania at Fredericksburg in Gods and Generals would have met with his approval, even if his own prominent presence in the film as their heroic leader may have piqued his humility.

Here are a few other posts on the Civil War that have appeared on this blog:

• Gen. James Longstreet: "Brave soldier, gallant gentleman, consistent Christian"
• Commander of the Union Army: Giuseppe Garibaldi?
• Civil War Vets Aboard the Cruiser Olympia ~ Seamen Purdy and McCue Re-fight their Ancient Battle
• "One of the most impressive religious ceremonies I have ever witnessed" ~ Father William Corby's general absolution at Gettysburg
• Will the Left tear down Stand Watie's monument?
• The Conversion of Frederick Douglass

"Among laymen, none are superior to him in devotion and zeal for the Church." ~ A review of "Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York"

Pierre Toussaint, from a miniature painted ca. 1825 by Anthony Meucci.

I recently picked up a copy of Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York by Arthur and Elizabeth Odell Sheehan (published by the good folks at Hillside Education) of at a homeschool conference on Long Island. Truth be told, I knew next to nothing about Toussaint before I began reading, though I can honestly say I had wanted to know more about him. I especially wanted to know what heroic virtues this man possessed that has him on the path to canonization as a saint of the Catholic Church.

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Well, to start with, Venerable Pierre Toussaint's life story is anything but typical. It is a study in contrasts and paradoxes. It began in a country that was considered a paradise on earth at the time — Saint-Domingue, a French colony on the island of Hispanola in the Caribbean which is today known as the nation of Haiti. But like many European colonies in the western hemisphere, Saint-Domingue was burdened at its creation with the original sin of slavery. Pierre himself was born a slave, though perhaps atypically, he was born into a French family that did not consider its slaves as mere property but as children of God with souls who could love and be loved.

During Pierre's early life, the slave-supported paradise of Saint-Domingue would become hell on earth for the original colonizers. The ideals of the French revolution took root in the colony and encouraged former slaves like Toussaint Loverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines to consider freedom the birthright of all men. With the advent of Napoleon, a slave rebellion broke out in Saint-Domingue which quickly escalated into a war of atrocities, with the French and Haitians vying to outdo each other in brutality. Eventually, the French lost. But their cruelty toward their former slaves was not forgotten. By way of revenge, General (and later Emperor) Jean-Jacques Dessalines systematically slaughtered the 3-5,000 French who remained in the country.

Pierre Toussaint witnessed little of this, however. As the conflicts increased, Pierre's French family, the Bérards, fled Saint-Domingue in 1787 for what they believed was temporary refuge in New York City. Little did they know that they would never return to their homes again. Pierre himself would live in New York for nearly 60 years.

Over the course of those 60 years, the fortunes of the Bérard family would decline. They would have been completely ruined and destitute if not for the abilities of their indefatigable slave, Pierre. While in New York, Pierre was apprenticed to a man who was an expert hair-dresser. In an era where arranging women's hair was a complicated art form, Pierre became a master. His talents were soon in high demand among the rich ladies of New York. But Pierre was no mere mindless automaton who curled and coiffed all day long. He had other talents, among them an approachable demeanor, an ear for listening, a quiet wisdom, and a genuine care for the trials and tribulations of others. 

In a short time, Pierre became the sole support of the Bérards. Jean Bérard, the scion of the family, had returned to Haiti in 1791 an attempt to reclaim his family's property, only to die of sickness shortly after his arrival. His widow, Marie, was now destitute. During this time, Pierre supported her with his earnings as a hair-dresser. She would later marry another French refugee, only to perish in 1807. Upon her death, Marie Bérard gave Pierre his freedom.

With freedom and a marketable skill in tremendous demand, Pierre could have lived the easy life of a wealthy ne'er-do-well. He did exactly the opposite. He transformed his earnings into charitable good works. He purchased the freedom of another slave, Juliette Noel, then married her. He also displayed an almost supernatural sense of magnanimity, secretly assisting many distressed French refugees in New York. Former slave-holders found themselves beholden to a former slave. And Pierre never lorded this paradox over them. Instead, as Our Lord suggested, he kept his works of mercy discreetly quiet so that his beneficiaries could save face.

Euphemia Toussaint, Pierre's adopted
daughter, from a miniature painted ca. 1825
by Anthony Meucci.

When Pierre's sister Rosalie died, Pierre and Juliette adopted her infant daughter, Euphemia. Unable to have children of their own, Pierre and Juliette would raise Euphemia as their child. Tragically, the child would die at age 14 of tuberculosis. This incident and the pain it caused Pierre is described poignantly in Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York.

Incredibly, Pierre's devotion to the French family that held him as a slave extended decades after his freedom. Word reached Pierre that his godmother Aurora, the sister of Jean Bérard, had fallen upon hard times in France. Pierre and Juliette kept up a lively correspondence with Aurora over many years, sending her expensive presents to help alleviate her straits. In one letter, regarding some dresses and Madras handkerchiefs Pierre and Juliette had sent her, Aurora wrote: "To judge from the dearness of the articles here, I fear you may have made some sacrifice to purchase them, and this idea gives me pain." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Examples of Pierre's charity are too numerous to mention in their entirety. His hard work, intelligent money management, and scrupulous penny-pinching meant that he had resources enough for a comfortable home for Juliette and Euphemia, and largesse for both the poor and the Church. Pierre's devotion as a Catholic is the stuff of legend. Whatever rudeness Pierre endured as a black man in antebellum New York was redoubled by the fact that he was a very public Papist in an era where Catholicism was considered by many to be the moral equivalent of treason. Neither of these social handicaps thwarted Pierre. It is said that Pierre attended Mass every day of his life after his arrival in New York.

Pierre also took up the philanthropic works of the Church as his own. He donated and helped raise money for the first Catholic cathedral in New York City—Old Saint Patrick's. According to Hannah Lee, who knew Pierre and compiled a memoir of his life, Pierre endeavored to do the 19th century equivalent of "paying it forward":

"One of the methods in which Toussaint did essential good was by bringing up colored boys one after another, sending them to school, and, after they were old enough, teaching them some useful business. In all these plans of charity Juliette united." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Juliette, wife of Pierre Toussaint, 
from a miniature painted ca. 1825
by Anthony Meucci.

Pierre Toussaint: A Citizen of Old New York chronicles many of Pierre's charitable works. Written in 1950, the authors could not know that Pierre would be declared Venerable by Pope John Paul II in 1996, though doubtless they would have celebrated the announcement. It should be kept in mind that this book is not an historical novel like many of the others I review. It is more of a biography with numerous dramatized scenes sprinkled throughout. As such, it easily holds the attention of the reader and is especially well-suited for young Catholics. It is a perfect addition to a homeschool curriculum for those who "read their way through history" as it covers a somewhat obscure period of US and world history. It allows for tangential discussions of such historical events as the revolution in Haiti, the Napoleonic wars and their aftermath, slavery both in the US and abroad, numerous devastating epidemics, the free Black community in New York, the growth of Catholicism in the US during the early 19th century, and life in America cities more generally during the early years of the Republic. 

But perhaps the most important contribution made by this book is that it successfully spurs curiosity about the humble and virtuous Pierre Toussaint. Based on the research I have done on him subsequent to reading this book, there is much more that could be said about him. But that was not the object of this brief review, so I will close with a quote taken from Fr. Quin's oration subsequent to Pierre's funeral Mass which seems to exemplify the esteem in which Venerable Pierre Toussaint was held at the time of his death: 

"There were few left among the clergy superior to him in devotion and zeal for the Church and for the glory of God. Among laymen, none." [Lee: Memoir of Pierre Toussaint]

Such high praise seems to presage that Venerable Pierre Toussaint will be recognized as a saint in due course. Read Pierre Toussaint: Citizen of Old New York now so that you'll be well prepared when that happy day arrives.