"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.

"Nunc dimittis, Domine." ~ The last words of Thomas Jefferson, July 4, 1826

Detail from a portrait of an elderly Thomas Jefferson as painted by Thomas Sulley, 1821.

In a previous post, I examined some of the speculation about George Washington's death, and the curious legend that he had died having confessed himself to a Catholic priest. 

That has gone on to be the most popular post on this blog, garnering over 15,000 views to date. 

In the case of the death of Thomas Jefferson, there is considerably less cause for speculation. For one thing, Jefferson had been a Unitarian/Deist from his youth, and a consistent critic of Catholic beliefs and practices well into his years as a retired elder statesman. His correspondence indicated a disdain for the concept of the Trinity, an abhorrence for the priesthood, and belief that the early Church Fathers, including Saint Paul, had corrupted the teachings of Jesus. 

But anyone who studies Jefferson's life in detail knows that he is a deep old file: a brilliant mind, a gifted scholar, a diligent inventor, yes, but also a man whose shining parts did not extend to consistency in moral or religious beliefs. Many have noted with irony that the man who crafted the very sacred scripture of American liberty, the Declaration of Independence, was himself the master of several hundred bondsmen. The man who once described the teachings of Jesus as "the most sublime and benevolent code of morals which has ever been offered to man" was at the same time he said it very likely fathering children out of wedlock with a woman he owned. 

Jefferson had no love for the Catholic priesthood, particularly the Jesuits. Writing in 1816—two years after the Society of Jesus had had their suppression lifted by the Pope—Jefferson opined to John Adams: "I dislike, with you, their restoration; because it marks a retrograde step from light towards darkness." 

In another letter, he said the following to Horatio Spafford: 

"In every country and in every age, the priest has been hostile to liberty. He is always in alliance with the Despot abetting his abuses in return for protection to his own. It is easier to acquire wealth and power by this combination than by deserving them: and to effect this they have perverted the purest religion ever preached to man, into mystery & jargon unintelligible to all mankind & therefore the safer engine for their purposes." March 17, 1814.

Despite these condemnations, Jefferson maintained friendly relations with numerous Catholics, even bishops and priests, and was a staunch defender of their rights. While president in 1804, Jefferson wrote to a convent of Ursuline sisters in New Orleans, lately added to the United States as part of the Louisiana Purchase. Jefferson's letter, written in response to a query sent to him by the sisters, is remarkable for its deep tone of cordiality, almost humility:

I have received, holy sisters, the letter you have written me wherein you express anxiety for the property vested in your institution by the former governments of Louisiana. The principles of the constitution and government of the United States are a sure guarantee to you that it will be preserved to you sacred and inviolate, and that your institution will be permitted to govern itself according to its own voluntary rules, without interference from the civil authority....Be assured it will meet all the protection which my office can give it. I salute you, holy sisters, with friendship & respect. July 14, 1804.

Similarly, Jefferson wrote as president to the first Catholic bishop of the United States, John C. Carroll, in answer to a request made to him regarding the foundation of a Catholic Church in District of Columbia:

I have received at this place the application signed by yourself and several respectable inhabitants of Washington on the purchase of a site for a Roman Catholic church from the Commissioners. As the regulation of price rests very much with them, I have referred the paper to them, recommending to them all the favor which the object of the purchase would urge, the advantages of every kind which it would promise, and their duties permit. I shall be happy on this and on every other occasion of shewing my respect & concern for the religious society over which you preside in these states and in tendering to yourself assurances of my high esteem and consideration. September 3, 1801.

Portrait of Abbé Corrêa in Monticello.

Perhaps even more remarkable was Jefferson's relationship with fellow polymath, José Francisco Corrêa da Serra. Jefferson referred to Corrêa as his "dear friend," and their friendship spanned a number of years of Jefferson's later life. At one point, Jefferson invited Corrêa to reside at Monticello permanently—an offer that was politely declined, though to this day there is bedroom dedicated to him at Jefferson's mansion. Corrêa died in Portugal in 1823, and Jefferson would recall his friend in a letter written in April of 1826, shortly before his own death, as "a distinguished Savant of Europe...profoundly learned in several other branches of science, he was so, above all others, in that of Botany." Abbé Corrêa was an ordained Catholic priest, though perhaps not a particularly devout one. This excellent article at the American Philosophical Society website goes into greater detail about the Abbé Corrêa's life and works.

Given Jefferson's intimacy with a Catholic priest late in life, it is noteworthy to consider the last words of Mr. Jefferson, as recorded in B. L. Rayner's 1834 biography, Life of Thomas Jefferson: 

When the morning of that day came, he appeared to be thoroughly impressed that he should not live through it, and only expressed a desire that he might survive until mid-day. He seemed perfectly at ease, and ready to die. When the Doctor entered his room, he said, "Well, Doctor, you see I am here yet." 

His disorder being checked, a friend expressed a hope of amendment. His reply was, "that the powers of nature were too much exhausted to be rallied." 

To a member of his family who remarked that he was better, and that the Doctor thought so, he listened with evident impatience, and said, "Do not imagine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude as to the result." 

He then calmly gave directions for his funeral, forbidding all pomp and parade — being answered by a hope that it would be long ere the occasion would require their observance, he asked, with a smile, "Do you think I fear to die?" 

A few moments after, he called his family and friends around his bed side, and uttered distinctly the following sentence: "I have done for my country, and for all mankind, all that I could do, and I now resign my soul, without fear, to my God — my daughter to my country." 

These were the last words he articulated — his last solemn declaration to the world — his dying will and testament, bequeathing his most precious gifts, to his God and his country. All that was heard from him afterwards, was a hurried repetition, in indistinct and scarcely audible accents, of his favorite ejaculation, "Nunc Dimittas [sic], Domine — Nunc Dimittas [sic], Domine."

He sunk away imperceptibly, and breathed his last, without a struggle or a murmur, at ten minutes before one o'clock, on the great JUBILEE of American liberty — the day, and hour too, on which the Declaration of Independence received its final reading, and the day, and hour, on which he prayed to Heaven that he might be permitted to depart. [Rayner: Life of Thomas Jefferson, p. 428-429]

Why would Jefferson's last words be in Latin, lifted from the Canticle of Simeon [Luke 2:29] as found in the Vulgate of St. Jerome? And even more puzzling, this prophetic passage is specifically omitted from the famous "Jefferson Bible" which he created to expunge the miraculous accretions that he felt had corrupted the teachings of Jesus. I'm certainly not the first person to wonder at this. A somewhat later biographer from the 1850s found these words so incongruous in the mouth of the elderly Deist, that he put forward the conjecture that the phrase: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace," had been uttered in English, not in Latin. [See Randall: The Life of Thomas Jefferson, p. 547, fn 2]. 

A later account from the doctor who attended Jefferson on his deathbed, Robley Dunglison, claimed that Jefferson never uttered the phrase at all: 

...He then asked “Is it the 4th?” to which I replied “It soon will be.” These were the last words I heard him utter. In Mr. [William] Wirt’s eulogy of him, it is said that he clasped his hands and said “Nunc dimittis” [“Now lettest thou depart”]. No such expression was heard by me; and if any other person had heard it, it would certainly have been communicated to me. [Radbill: An autobiographical ana of Robley Dunglison, MD, p. 36]

Dunglison's work cited above was prepared in 1852, a full 26 years after the death of Jefferson.

The work of William Wirt, which Dunglison cites above, was produced in October 1826—four months after Jefferson's death. Wirt's short account is contained within a longer eulogy of Jefferson and John Adams entitled: A Discourse on the lives and characters of Thomas Jefferson and John Adams: who both died on the Fourth of July, 1826:

When that day came, all that he was heard to whisper, was the repeated ejaculation "Nunc; Domine dimittas [sic]," Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace! And the prayer of the patriot was heard and answered. [Wirt: A Discourse on the Lives and Characters..., p. 66]

So how likely is it that Jefferson's last words were actually a Latin phrase from the Vulgate of St. Jerome? Fairly likely, I'd wager. Dr. Dunglison's late account certainly does not preclude the possibility. Furthermore, it should be pointed out that Jefferson used the phrase with some regularity in his correspondence prior to his death. Here are some examples:

• In a letter to Judge Spencer Roane, dated September 6, 1819, discussing the foundation of the University of Virginia:

"A severe illness the last year, and another from which I am just emerged, admonish me that repetitions may be expected, against which a declining frame cannot long bear up. I am anxious, therefore, to get our University so far advanced as may encourage the public to persevere to its final accomplishment. That secured, I shall sing my nunc demittas [sic]." 

• In a letter to Joseph C. Cabell, dated January 31, 1821, also regarding the foundation of the University of Virginia:

"Nature will not give you a second life wherein to atone for the omissions of this. pray then, dear and very dear Sir, do not think of deserting us; but view the sacrifices which seem to stand in your way, as the lesser duties, and such as ought to be postponed to this, the greatest of all. Continue with us in these holy labors, until, having seen their accomplishment, we may say with old Simeon ‘nunc dimittis, Domine.’"

• In a letter to General Andrew Jackson, dated December 18, 1823, again discussing the newly-founded University of Virginia: 

"Perhaps our University which you visited in it’s unfinished state when finished & furnished with it’s scientific popln, may tempt you to make a little stay with us. This will probably be by the close of the ensuing year, when it may appear to you worthy of encouraging the youth of your quarter as well as others to seek there the finishing complement of their education. I flatter myself it will assume a standing secondary to nothing in our country. If I live to see this I shall sing with cheerfulness the song of old Simeon’s nunc dimittis Domine."

So if nothing else, it seems abundantly clear that "Nunc dimittis, Domine," was, in fact, a favored expression of Jefferson as mentioned by Rayner in his 1834 biographical account. 

Given that the 1840s and 1850s were a period of intense disapproval of anything that smacked of popery, we should not be too surprised that men during that era strove to expunge any near approach to that egregious sin from the heroes of the American Founding.

In closing, let us recall the uncontested fact, also mentioned by Mr. Wirt, that both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams did indeed pass into eternity on the same day—July 4, 1826—exactly 50 years after the release of the Declaration of Independence.

This is easily one of the strangest coincidences of all of recorded history. 

"Wherever the foot chanced to fall it rested on ashes." ~ The Great Peshtigo Fire, Adele Brice, and The Woman in the Trees

Servant of God Adele Brice surrounded by the children Our Lady called her to teach.

The National Shrine of Our Lady of Champion (originally known as Our Lady of Good Help), is the only formally approved Marian apparition site in the United States. Considering the site is near Green Bay, Wisconsin, I had at one time, in my profound ignorance, assumed that it must have something to do with the Packers various Super Bowl victories. 

But no. The site has nothing to do with Vince Lombardi, Brett Farve, or Aaron Rogers. It is much more closely associated with Our Lady, Star of the Sea, than Bart Starr. 

My general lack of knowledge about this shrine has been remedied to a reasonable degree by reading the novel The Woman in the Trees by Theoni Bell. This relatively recent work arrived among a box of books from TAN slated for our parish bookrack. I snatched it up immediately, suspecting that it would make for good Lenten reading. I was not disappointed.

Click for more info.

The Woman in the Trees sets out to tell the origin story of the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion through the eyes of a fictional immigrant girl from Belgium, Slainie Lafont. The story of the Shrine is told from an oblique angle which adds an enticing touch of mystery to the factual elements of the tale. Servant of God Adele Brice, the recipient of our Lady's apparition in 1859, is not one of the central characters of the book. Instead she flits in and out of the story like a guardian angel, arriving when she is most needed. Her impact on the main characters however, particularly Slainie and her irascible and immovably stubborn mother, is profound.

As a visionary, Adele does not follow the archetype set by the simple radiant beauty of Saint Bernadette. Nor does she appear like one of the wide-eyed innocents who received the locutions of Our Lady of Fatima. On the contrary, Adele had suffered a particularly horrible facial injury as a child which left her scarred and missing an eye. Yet despite her potentially frightening appearance, Adele persevered in the mission given to her by Our Lady to "gather the children in this wild country and teach them what they should know for salvation."

This novel is of that type of historical fiction that I enjoy the most in that it creates memorable characters and weaves them in, around, and through the history without making them a Pollyanna or secret genius without whom the defining events could not have happened. The novel entertains and informs at the same time. Best of all, it brings the history to life and makes the reader want to learn more about that newly settled woodland region of Wisconsin in the mid-19th century in general, and the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion in particular. Among the historical events that impact the story are the immigration of Walloons from Belgium to Wisconsin, the American Civil War, and most especially, the Great Peshtigo Fire of 1871.

If you've never heard of the Peshtigo Fire, you're not alone. Strangely enough, it happened on the same day—October 8, 1871—as the better remembered Great Chicago Fire. But as horrible as the Chicago fire may have been, the great Peshtigo Fire was much worse. In the space of 24 hours, the firestorm scorched an area of about 1.2 million acres of forest and farmland in eastern Wisconsin. The burn zone included several towns, and the fire moved so quickly, that thousands of people were unable to flee in time. The death toll was never fully determined. It was estimated that somewhere around 2,000 people were killed.

In the middle of the burn zone was the small shrine of Our Lady of Good Help and a few surrounding buildings. The shrine chapel itself was a small wooden structure which had been set up by the family of Servant of God Adele Brice at the spot where Our Lady had appeared to Adele as a young girl twelve years before. During the intervening years, as Adele's apostolate flourished, a convent and school building were added nearby the chapel. 

19th century engraving from Harper's Weekly showing the devastation wrought by the fire.

As the firestorm approached on October 8, many people from the surrounding farms and villages fled to the chapel. Led by Sister Adele, they prayed the Rosary, sang hymns, and processed around the chapel with the image of the Blessed Virgin before them. 

The great firestorm raged all around them. It burned the outside of the fence surrounding the shrine buildings—but proceeded no further. 

Early the next morning, a soaking downpour doused the fire.

When the smoke finally cleared, the area around the shrine was a scene of apocalyptic destruction. An eyewitness who very nearly lost his life in the fire, Father Peter Pernin, described the what he saw in Peshtigo when he returned three days after the fire:

About one o'clock in the afternoon, a car was leaving for Peshtigo, conveying thither men who went daily there for the purpose of seeking out and burying the dead. I took my place with them. The locomotives belonging to the Company, having been burned, were now replaced by horses, and we progressed thus till we came up with the track of the fire. We walked the rest of the way, a distance of half a league, and this gave me ample opportunity for examining thoroughly the devastation and ruin wrought, both by fire and by wind. Alas, as much as I had heard on the sad subject, I was still unprepared for the melancholy spectacle that met my gaze.

lt is a painful thing to have to speak of scenes which we feel convinced no pen could fully describe nor words do justice to. It was on the eleventh of October, Wednesday afternoon, that I revisited for the first time the site of what had once been the town of Peshtigo.

Of the houses, trees, fences that I had looked on three days ago nothing whatever remained save a few blackened posts still standing, as if to attest the impetuous fury of the fiery element that had thus destroyed all before it. Wherever the foot chanced to fall it rested on ashes. The iron tracks of the railroad had been twisted and curved into all sorts of shapes, whilst the wood which had supported them no longer existed. The trunks of mighty trees had been reduced to mere cinders, the blackened hearts alone remaining. All around these trunks, I perceived a number of holes running downwards deep in the earth. They were the sockets where the roots had lately been. I plunged my cane into one of them, thinking what must the violence of that fire have been, which ravaged not only the surface of the earth, but penetrated so deeply into its bosom. 

Then I turned my wondering gaze in the direction where the town had lately stood, but nothing remained to point out its site except the boilers of the two locomotives, the iron of the wagon wheels, and the brick and stonework of the factory. All the rest was a desert the desolation of which was sufficient to draw tears from the eyes of the spectator—a desert recalling a field of battle after a sanguinary conflict. Charred carcasses of horses, cows, oxen, and other animals lay scattered here and there. The bodies of the human victims—men, women, and children—had been already collected and decently interred, their number being easily ascertained by counting the rows of freshly-made graves. ("The Great Peshtigo Fire: An Eyewitness Account," Wisconsin Magazine of History, 1971)

Given the totality of the destruction, the fact that the shrine of Our Lady of Good Help survived intact has been considered by many to be a miraculous sign of God's mercy. 

The entirety of Fr. Pernin's account may be found at the link above and is well worth a read.

Also well worth reading is The Woman in the Trees. I highly recommend the novel for young readers of age 11 or 12 and older. It makes for a quick, easy, and satisfying read for adults as well—an ideal book to read aloud with your kids.

Click here to find out more about the Shrine of Our Lady of Champion.

Click here to learn about Adele Brice's cause for canonization.

"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.

"There they go again." ~ The critics hate Reagan. But they're wrong -- again.

Is anyone surprised that the critics have absolutely savaged the new film, Reagan? 

I'm not. 

As a teenager in the 1980s, I came of age during the era when the likes of Dan Rather, Sam Donaldson, and Connie Chung savaged President Reagan on TV every single night. It was then at the pre-dawn of my political awareness that I started asking myself why such a folksy, likeable, patriotic American president like Ronald Reagan was so hated by seemingly everyone on the nightly news. Why did these talking heads despise him so much, while the actual human beings in my life—my parents and other adults I respected—did not? 

It wasn't until somewhat later that I realized that President Reagan was an anomaly. In an era when everyone was supposedly anti-communist, but most American politicians were just faking it, Ronald Reagan was a true believer. He recognized the threat that militant, expansionist international communism represented. He was keenly aware that this threat possessed the ability to destroy the United States—on the military level with the thousands of Soviet nuclear ICBMs pointed at us; on the political level by infiltrating and subverting our cherished institutions; and on the spiritual level by spreading propaganda to convince Americans that God and religion were useless fictions and that Christianity was particularly pernicious.

Reagan not only recognized this threat, he was fiercely determined to fight it.

This is what made Reagan so different from his flaccid predecessor, Jimmy Carter. This is what set Reagan apart from his insincere globalist successor, George H. W. Bush. Unlike previous Republicans such as Richard Nixon, Reagan was not interested in détente—in lowering tensions through diplomacy. He realized that détente only made the US weaker, while the Soviets and other communist nations grew stronger because they never had any intention of holding up their ends of the bargain. Détente was always a one-way street which led, inevitably, to defeat for America.

And Reagan was interested in victory—in securing peace for America by standing up to thugs and bullies on the world stage. 

All of this comes through very clearly in the newly-released film, Reagan.

I entered the theater to see this film with some trepidation. Films which seek to portray unique historical figures who were alive during the living memory of the viewer can often seem contrived or become parody. But once Dennis Quaid appeared on screen in the primary role, any sense of strangeness wore off within minutes. After that, Quaid became Reagan. Indeed, by the end of the film, he almost became more Reagan than the man himself. Quaid should be congratulated for a truly stellar performance that likely would have earned him an Academy Award in the era before the entertainment industry became captive to the political hard left. 

Biopics about individuals who lived such long and eventful lives can also suffer from trying to do too much in two hours. This defect may be found in Reagan, but the pacing of the film is so good that the viewer is engaged throughout and never gets lost in the weeds.

But where the film really shines is simply conjuring the halcyon days of the 1970s and 1980s. The sets and costuming were beautifully created and highly evocative of the era. Period music such as Land of Confusion by Genesis helped enhance the drama, while a few well-placed if unexpected covers—like Bob Dylan singing Don't Fence Me In over the end credits—provided the proper atmosphere.

The other aspect of Reagan that really appealed to me—and will likely provide no end of irritation to your standard leftist reviewer—is the storytelling. The film is told in retrospect from the point of view of an elderly KGB agent, played effectively by John Voight. The agent has come to terms with the defeat of the USSR and finds himself explaining to a young, up-and-coming Russian politician how it all happened. These scenes will be triggering to our present-day friends on the left. They don't like to be reminded about how much they adored and apologized for the Russians from the 1960s through the 1980s. They also don't like to be reminded of how the Evil Empire came crashing down in the early 1990s, despite their insistence at the time that the Soviets were ascendant. And they get particularly uncomfortable when people start asking why they cozied up to the communist Russians prior to 1990, but utterly despise the post-Soviet Russians of our own time. These inconvenient questions alone suffice to explain the terrible reviews this fine film has garnered from the usual suspects. 

But even absent the political overtones (to which I admittedly have a strong predisposition) this is simply a solid, feel-good film. It's a love story between Ron and Nancy. It's a regular-guy-makes-good story. And, it's a solid history lesson. Throughout the film, I found myself leaning over to my wife, saying: "That actually happened." 

One historical incident portrayed in the film that I had to look up afterwards was the visit of Democrat House Speaker Tip O'Neill to Reagan's hospital room after the president was shot in March of 1981. In this scene, O'Neill is shown with a Rosary in his hand, praying the 23rd Psalm with the wounded Reagan. Did this actually happen? Yes, it did. You see, in those days, there were still a few Democrats who believed in God. Regarding the assassination attempt, there is also a statement from the KGB agent in the film that it wasn't their idea. Then, later in the film, it is hinted that someone in our own government may have played a role. Now that is something I had never heard of or considered, but apparently, the theory is out there. 

The historical aspects of the film were greatly enhanced by the reel at the end showing photos and video clips of the man himself. The footage of his beloved Nancy approaching his coffin may evoke a tear or two.

In sum, if you're a child of the 1980s, go see this film. I guarantee you'll get a kick out of it. If you're the child of parents who grew up in the 1980s, go see this film. It will give you some insight into why your parents behave as they do. 

And for heaven's sake, don't pay any attention to the critics. They hated Reagan in the 70s and 80s. They hate Reagan now for the exact same reasons. 

Reagan hasn't changed. 

And neither have they.

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.