"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.

Padre Pio for a new generation of young Catholics: A Review of "Wounds of Love" by Phillip Campbell

Detail from the cover of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio.

Like Jeanne d’Arc or Francesco di Bernardone, Francesco Forgione was one of those unique individuals gifted by God to the human race to assure us of His love, His understanding, and above all else, that He is not deaf to our sufferings and entreaties. But unlike these other great visionary saints, Forgione was not a streak of light which flashed across the firmament and returned quickly to heaven. 

Saint Joan’s mission lasted about two years before she was martyred at age 19. 

Saint Francis of Assisi was 45 when he passed to eternity, roughly 20 years elapsing between his call and his death.

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Saint Pio of Pietrelcina, on the other hand, spent almost the entirety of his long life as a suffering servant of Jesus Christ. Afflicted with ill-health, physical infirmities, the Stigmata, and demonic attacks which left him battered and bruised, Padre Pio was also subjected to slanderous assaults on his character, all over a period of nearly seven decades. Yet during that time, he was able to touch the lives of thousands upon thousands of people, uniting his suffering to that of Christ and translating it into God's grace to heal sinners from all over the world. And his reach was truly immense. At his shrine at San Giovanni Rotondo, there is a wall of shelves filled with thousands of letters received by Padre Pio—in a single year. 

Nearly as many people recall unforgettable personal encounters with the gruff Capuchin saint of San Giovanni Rotondo, either in the flesh, or in the spirit. It is said that he heard about five million confessions over the course of his priesthood. And there are numerous miracle stories. One such story that I heard in person is that of Philadelphia native Frank Tenaglia (1965-2019) who credited Padre Pio with healing him of a grave childhood illness—a miracle which allowed him to praise God with his amazing voice for many years. 

Though there are myriad books about Padre Pio's extraordinary life, very few of these are accessible to younger readers. This has now changed with the release of Wounds of Love: The Story of Saint Padre Pio by Phillip Campbell. I have been waiting for a book like this for years. It’s no easy task to condense the long and eventful life of someone like Padre Pio into the historical fiction format which appeals to young readers, but Phillip Campbell has done a masterful job. His focus on the early life of St. Pio is pitch-perfect. While most readers think of Padre Pio as a rather grumpy elderly man, Campbell’s presentation spends more time introducing readers to the young Francesco Forgione growing in grace and holiness in the bosom of a loving family.  

Wounds of Love includes some of the most famous anecdotes associated with Padre Pio, including the well-known incident reported by General Nathan F. Twining of a Capuchin monk appearing in the sky to thwart Allied bombing runs on San Giovanni Rotondo during World War II. Campbell also relates a few more obscure ones, including one that I had never heard before, despite having read several books on Padre Pio in the past. In Chapter 12, the novel delves into the slanders aimed at Padre Pio by those within the Church in the early 1960s. In an effort to gather evidence against him, someone apparently wiretapped his confessional. Originally, I thought that this outrageous story belonged more to the “fiction” than to the “historical” side of the narrative. But upon further research, I discovered that this inconceivably awful tale was true—and that Padre Pio actually did discover the microphone himself and cut out the wire with a penknife! 

In sum, Wounds of Love is a fantastic book and I heartily recommend it to readers of all ages. If you need additional proof of how the story draws you in, I gave it to my 17-year old son to read and he polished it off in about a week. What's more, he immediately moved on to a more in-depth biography of Padre Pio that we have on our bookshelves. 

Mission accomplished, Mr. Campbell!

Who was Veronica? Tracking down one of the most beloved figures from Christ's Passion

Christ heals the woman with a flow of blood as depicted in the
Catacombs of Marcellinus and Peter in Rome, 4th century AD.

One of the more enigmatic figures from early Christian history is Saint Veronica—the woman known to Catholics from the Sixth Station of the Cross, who is said to have wiped the face of Jesus while He carried His cross on the road to Calvary. There is a memorable and beautifully presented sequence of scenes featuring Veronica in Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ. But nowhere is the woman or the incident described mentioned in Sacred Scripture. 

To learn about Veronica, we must turn to extra-biblical sources. The first mention of a woman named Veronica associated with Our Lord may be found in an apocryphal work known alternately as the Acts of Pilate or the Gospel of Nicodemus. The scholarly consensus is that this work does not come from Apostolic times, but was written during the Patristic period sometime after the middle of the 4th century AD. Even so, it is considered a suitably ancient work and it likely includes traditions held by the community of the very early Church. The work records the names of several otherwise unnamed minor personages mentioned in the Gospels, such as the centurion at the crucifixion (Longinus) and the two thieves crucified along with Jesus (Dismas and Gesmas). Also named is the woman whom Jesus healed of a hemorrhage of blood in Matthew 9:20-22:

There was found there also a woman named Veronica [or Bernice], and she said: Twelve years I was in an issue of blood, and I only touched the edge of his garment, and directly I was cured. [Acts of Pilate, Chapter 7]

This is important because it connects Veronica with another, more reliable ancient source: The Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius. In this work, we find the following fascinating passage:

Since I have mentioned this city [Caesarea Philippi] I do not think it proper to omit an account which is worthy of record for posterity. For they say that the woman with an issue of blood, who, as we learn from the sacred Gospel, received from our Savior deliverance from her affliction, came from this place, and that her house is shown in the city, and that remarkable memorials of the kindness of the Savior to her remain there.

For there stands upon an elevated stone, by the gates of her house, a brazen image of a woman kneeling, with her hands stretched out, as if she were praying. Opposite this is another upright image of a man, made of the same material, clothed decently in a double cloak, and extending his hand toward the woman. At his feet, beside the statue itself, is a certain strange plant, which climbs up to the hem of the brazen cloak, and is a remedy for all kinds of diseases.

They say that this statue is an image of Jesus. It has remained to our day, so that we ourselves also saw it when we were staying in the city.

Nor is it strange that those of the Gentiles who, of old, were benefited by our Saviour, should have done such things, since we have learned also that the likenesses of his apostles Paul and Peter, and of Christ himself, are preserved in paintings, the ancients being accustomed, as it is likely, according to a habit of the Gentiles, to pay this kind of honor indiscriminately to those regarded by them as deliverers. [Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Pamphilus, Book VI, Chapter 18]

Recall that Eusebius was writing in the early 4th century AD. There is so much packed into the above passage that it will probably require a post of its own at some point.

The Chronicle of John Malalas (written in the late 6th century), elaborates on this episode, relating that Veronica petitioned Herod (probably Phillip the Tetrarch also known as Herod Phillip II) for permission to raise a statue to Jesus. Incredibly, Herod not only agreed but ordered her to set up a larger statue than she had first proposed:

King Herod, hearing this prayer of hers, was surprised at the marvel. And fearing the mysterious healing, he said: “this healing, O woman, is worth a larger statue. Go then and set up whatever statue you wish, praising with zeal him who had healed you.” And straightway Veronica, who was formerly bleeding, set up in the midst of her city Paneas a bronze statue to the Lord our God Jesus Christ, of hammered bronze mixed with a small portion of gold and silver. That image stands to this day in the city of Paneas, having been carried many years ago from the place where it had stood in the midst of the town to a holy church. I found in that city of Paneas a memorandum about it by a certain Bassus, a former Jew become a Christian, with the life of all the former reigning kings in the territory of Judaea. [Chronicle of John Malalas, 10.239]

Malalas's notice here is important for two reasons. First, he connects Veronica's name with the woman healed of a flow of blood in the late 6th century, demonstrating that he was familiar with the Acts of Pilate or another ancient source with the same information. Second, he's writing in the Greek east, not the Latin west where Veronica's name and role would become more legendary in the Middle Ages.

While it is not impossible that this Veronica also wiped the face of Our Lord during his passion, I was unable to locate any early records corroborating this event. The earliest sources mentioning it seem to be from the high Middle Ages. It is interesting to note, however, that the name of Veronica is associated with one of the earliest recorded images of Christ, apparently commissioned by a saintly woman who saw Our Lord in the flesh.

As for the mysterious artifact known as the Veil of Veronica, that will have to be the subject of a future post.

Goodreads Giveaway ~ Phillip Campbell's Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia

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One of the books cited frequently on this blog is The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia. Written in the style of Campbell's Story of Civilization curriculum for Catholic students, The Story of the Philippines is a readable capsule summary of the long and complex history of the Filipino people, complete with poignant and amusing vignettes written in Campbell's appealing style.

Well, through Thursday, April 13, 2023, you can enter to win a free copy of this book on Goodreads. Details may be found by clicking the link below:

The Story of the Philippines ~ Giveaway on Goodreads.

Five gratis copies of the book are available. 

As it is meant for young readers, the book includes several really nice illustrations by artist Lori Kauffmann who, as it turns out, also did the cover art for all of my Belisarius books.

Here are a few examples of here illustrations that accompany and enhance The Story of the Philippines:

Chinese Traders visit the Kingdom of Tondo.

MacArthur and Osmeña return to the Philippines, October 1944. 

Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos.

Regular readers of this blog know that that the Philippines, the Spanish-American War, and the Battle of Manila Bay are regular topics. Here are links to several related articles:

• The First Mass in the Philippines, March 31, AD 1521 ~ An eyewitness account by Antonio Pigafetta
• "For many a year they will remember the two stout galleons of Manila." ~ The victory of the Spanish over the Dutch at the Battle of Naval de Manila, AD 1646
• The Destruction of Fort Drum, the Famous Concrete Battleship of Manila Bay
• "Open with all guns." The Battle of Manila Bay, May 1, 1898
• Telling the Story of the Philippines ~ Eastern History for the Catholic Student

The First Mass in the Philippines, March 31, AD 1521 ~ An eyewitness account by Antonio Pigafetta

The first Mass in the Philippines at Limasawa by Lori Kauffmann. This image
appears on the cover of The Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia 
by Philip Campbell.

In the year of our Lord 1521, on Easter Sunday, March 31, the first Mass on what would later be known as the Philippine archipelago was said on a small island known as Limasawa. Little did those attending that Mass realize that the seed planted that day would blossom into a brilliant faith that, 500 years later, would make the Philippines one of the most devoutly Catholic nations in the world.

An account of that epochal event exists, written by Antonio Pigafetta, a Venetian accompanying Ferdinand Magellan on his voyage of circumnavigation, who kept a detailed journal of events: Here is Pigafetta's account, along with some extra details of what happened next:  

On Sunday, the last day of March, and feast of Easter, the captain sent the chaplain ashore early to say Mass, and the interpreter went with him to tell the king that they were not coming on shore to dine with him, but only to hear the mass. The king hearing that sent two dead pigs. 

When it was time for saying Mass the captain went ashore with fifty men, not with their arms, but only with their swords, and dressed as well as each one was able to dress, and before the boats reached the shore our ships fired six cannon shots as a sign of peace. At our landing the two kings were there, and received our captain in a friendly manner, and placed him between them, and then we went to the place prepared for saying Mass, which was not far from the shore. Before the mass began the captain threw a quantity of musk rosewater on those two kings, and when the offertory of the Mass came, the two kings went to kiss the cross like us, but they offered nothing, and at the elevation of the body of our Lord they were kneeling like us, and adored Our Lord with joined hands. The ships fired all their artillery at the elevation of the body of our Lord. 

After Mass had been said each one did the duty of a Christian, receiving our Lord. After that the captain had some sword-play by his people, which gave great pleasure to the kings. Then he had a cross brought, with the nails and crown, to which the kings made reverence, and the captain had them told that these things which he showed them were the sign of the emperor his lord and master, from whom he had charge and commandment to place it in all places where he might go or pass by. He told them that he wished to place it in their country for their profit, because if there came afterwards any ships from Spain to those islands, on seeing this cross, they would know that we had been there, and therefore they would not cause them any displeasure to their persons nor their goods; and if they took any of their people, on showing them this sign, they would at once let them go. Besides this, the captain told them that it was necessary that this cross should be placed on the summit of the highest mountain in their country, so that seeing it every day they might adore it, and that if they did thus, neither thunder, lightning, nor the tempest could do them hurt. 

The kings thanked the captain, and said they would do it willingly. Then he asked whether they were Moors or Gentiles, and in what they believed. They answered that they did not perform any other adoration, but only joined their hands, looking up to heaven, and that they called their God, Aba. Hearing this, the captain was very joyful, on seeing that, the first king raised his hands to the sky and said that he wished it were possible for him to be able to show the affection which he felt towards him. 

The interpreter asked him for what reason there was so little to eat in that place, to which the king replied that he did not reside in that place except when he came to hunt and to see his brother, but that he lived in another island where he had all his family. Then the captain asked him if he had any enemies who made war upon him, and that if he had any he would go and defeat them with his men and ships, to put them under his obedience. The king thanked him, and answered that there were two islands the inhabitants of which were his enemies; however, that for the present it was not the time to attack them. The captain therefore said to him that if God permitted him to return another time to this country, he would bring so many men that he would put them by force under his obedience.

As it worked out, Magellan did make an attack—an ill-advised assault on Lapu Lapu and his warriors at the Battle of Mactan about a month later. The Spaniards were repulsed with heavy losses, among them Ferdinand Magellan himself who was struck by poison arrows, stabbed, and eventually hacked to pieces. A nice vignette-account of this battle and Magellan's end may be found in Philip Campbell's Story of the Philippines: God's Rampart in Asia.

As for Antonio Pigafetta, he witnessed the battle but was able to escape when the Spanish withdrew. He would eventually make it back to Spain with the few survivors of the voyage. A few years thereafter, he managed to get his journal published. It has survived to this day, and is one of the key primary sources of the Age of Exploration. 

Pigafetta would later join the Knights of Rhodes who had recently been expelled from their island fortress by the Turks. It is at this point that Pigafetta disappears from history. What few details remain of his life may be found in this bio-bibliographical note. 

"He weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest." ~ Belisarius and the lead-up to the Great Siege of Rome

Given the month, I am mindful of a February nearly 1,500 years ago when Belisarius, newly arrived in Rome after the withdrawal of the Gothic garrison, found his situation far from secure. The Roman citizens, who had welcomed his arrival with glad tidings, now began to suspect that their savior was not intent on pushing on to face the Goths in a decisive battle. Worse, the army of Belisarius that had liberated Rome was not some overwhelming force—far from it. An optimistic observer might have counted their number at 5,000. 

Such an army could not be expected to inflict an open-field defeat upon the vast Gothic hosts of Vitiges, the self-styled King of the Goths and Italians. Worse, it was not even sufficient to guard the 12-mile long circuit walls of Rome in the event of Gothic attack.

With these facts clear to even the most obtuse citizen, the Senate of Rome, still largely intact despite over sixty years of Gothic rule, watched with trepidation as Belisarius and his men began repairing the crumbling fortifications of Rome. The great walls which surrounded the city had been constructed 250 years before by the emperor Aurelian. Though imposing, these fortifications were ruinous and vulnerable in many locations, and Belisarius assiduously set about restoring them. Some of his innovations—such as adding a merlon to each battlement to protect the backs of the defenders—left the Romans impressed. Yet they remained deeply troubled by what these preparations presaged. As Procopius relates:

The Romans applauded the forethought of the general and especially the experience displayed in the matter of the battlement; but they marveled greatly and were vexed that he should have thought it possible for him to enter Rome if he had any idea that he would be besieged, for [Rome] can not possibly be supplied with provisions since it is not on the sea, is enclosed by a wall of so large a circumference, and above all, lying as it does on a level plain, is naturally exceedingly easy of access for its assailants. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book V, Chapter XIV]

Procopius goes on to say that Belisarius heard all the criticisms of his strategy but redoubled his efforts, even compelling the indignant Romans to bring in all their provisions from the countryside.

In his novel, Count Belisarius, Robert Graves puts the discontent of the Roman citizens over the strategy of Belisarius into the mouth of Pope Silverius. In this, he plants the seed of the conflict that would later emerge between the Pope and the household of Belisarius. Given Graves's rather negative view of the Catholic Church which is evident throughout Count Belisarius, I have always disliked this approach.

In my third book, Belisarius: Rome the Eternal, I have opted to expand this discontent into a scene in which the Roman senators and clergy confront Belisarius at the Lateran Palace, taking the opportunity to work in some history lessons. Rather than using the scene to create conflict between the spiritual and temporal powers in Rome, I have attempted to show how Belisarius turned the situation to his favor, enhancing the loyalty of the doubtful Roman senators who were pretty clearly having second-thoughts at this time immediately before the commencement of the siege. 

Here is part of the scene. I have added a few notes in red, if for no other reason than to remind myself of why the individuals named are present. See what you think:

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...“Forgive the interruption, O General,” Fidelius said, bowing slightly. “All are now present. And here is Honorius, prefect of the city. Allow me to present him first.”

“At your service,” mumbled Honorius bowing.

“Ah, here is a man I am anxious to meet,” said Belisarius, raising the prefect up by his hand. “I am told you have a crew at your disposal whose purpose it is to repair public monuments and buildings. Is that correct?”

“Certainly. Three hundred men, no less,” Honorius bellowed in response. “Granted, some are slaves, but all have strong backs and are skilled in metalcraft and stonework. For the past months, they have been restoring the great bronze elephants along the Via Sacra, for this was our final order from Theodatus the tyrant.” [This is taken directly from the Variae of Cassiodorus, Book X, Letter 30]

“Laudable as that work may be, I must conscript all of your men starting tomorrow morning. Restoring the fortifications must take immediate precedence over all other construction work in the city,” Belisarius explained. “Let them know that they will be well paid for their labors.”

“Yes, that is something that puzzles us, Magister, if I may,” senator Gennadius Orestes spoke up with a slight chuckle. “Perhaps it is my fatalistic nature getting the better of me, but it almost seems as if you are preparing Rome for a siege.” [Gennadius Orestes was a Roman Senator who was Consul in AD 530]

“But we know that cannot be,” the elderly senator Anicius Basilius added. “Anyone who has studied the history of Rome knows that the city cannot be defended effectively without a great army, several legions at least. The walls are too long, the supply lines impossible to protect, the civilian population too huge. And your men, regrettably, are too few.” [Anicius Basilius was a Roman senator who would later be named consul by Justinian in AD 541]

“That brings us to another question, Magister,” senator Cethegus boomed in his pompous oratorical voice. “Where is your army? Surely, the skeleton crew that marched into the city with you is but the advance guard. When should we expect to see the rest?” [Nicomachus Cethegus was consul in Rome under the Gothic king, Theodoric the Great, in AD 504. He would later flee to Constantinople and play a role in the discord between Justinian and Pope Vigilius.]

Belisarius scowled slightly and scanned the faces gathered about him. It was time to deliver some hard truths to these men, many of whom had grown used to security and prosperity under the long reign of Theodoric. He wasn’t sure how they’d stomach what he had to offer them—the gloomy trio of hardship, want, and a desperate struggle.

“Noble senators, the rest of my army is scattered throughout Sicily and southern Italy. Just as I have brought the core of my forces here to guard Rome, so the remainder secure Neapolis, Cumae, Beneventum, Rhegium, Syracuse, Panormus and a score of other cities. Yes, it is my intention to hold Rome in safety against all attacks by the Goths. If that means enduring a siege, then endure it we must.”

An outcry immediately erupted from the assembled politicians.

“Your men are five thousand at most!” tall Cethegus cried. “You cannot hold the city with so few. It is impossible!”

“Do you not realize, O Magister, that this Vitiges whom the Goths call king, can muster an army of myriads upon myriads?” Orestes shouted. “If you attempt to defend Rome against the full power of the Goths, you will bring upon us destruction that will make the sacks of Alaric and Gaiseric seem like the Saturnalia. Olympius could not defend Rome from the Visigoths despite his lofty name. Petronius Maximus failed utterly to thwart the Vandals despite the greatest blessings of holy Peter. What hope have you, then, to repulse such a force when these others have failed with more resources at their disposal?”

“Peace, senators, peace!” Pope Silverius commanded in a loud voice, but few took heed even among the clergy who had joined the tumult.

Belisarius said nothing, but let the assembled men grumble, rant and vent their frustration. Wearing on his face a look of stoic dispassion, he weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest.

Minutes more of clamorous outrage passed during which the expression on the face of Belisarius softened not at all but grew only harder, and it suddenly dawned upon the senators that he would not engage in debate with them. Soon they grew quiet, looking upon him in astonishment, wondering whether their outburst would ultimately elicit a reaction of anger or capitulation from the Magister Militum of Roman Empire, the right hand of the emperor Justinian.

“What say you, O General?” Honorius the prefect ventured, now feeling empowered by the near unanimity of the nobles. “Will you not—ahem—reveal to us your plans for defending Rome and defeating—uh—our enemies?”

Leaping up onto a low platform surrounding a fountain in the middle of the courtyard so that he could better be seen and heard, Belisarius began:

“It is not for you to know my plans, O Senators, for what fool of a general announces his intentions to the wide world? But I will say this: if you compare me with Olympius or Petronius Maximus you do me a great wrong. As you well know, Olympius of ill fame, took the administration of Rome after plotting the disgraceful murder of Stilicho, the greatest warrior of his age, who fearlessly defended the Empire. [Stilicho was the Master of Soldiers and principal support of the Western Emperor Honorius, assassinated in AD 408. Rome would be sacked by Alaric two years later.]

"In the same way, Petronius Maximus proved himself only the greatest of traitors, seeking ascendancy for himself by the assassination of Aetius, a general of such excellence that even the hordes of Attila quailed before him. [Aetius was the Master of Soldiers under the Western Emperor Valentinian III. He defeated Attila at the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains in Gaul in AD 451, but was assassinated following a court intrigue three years later. Soon after, Rome would be sacked again by Gaiseric.]

"Both Aetius and Stilicho feared not death and indeed preferred it to surrender to the enemies of the Empire. Both were ultimately undone not by lack of military prowess, but by short-sighted politicians bent on amassing power and fortune.

“Let us recall these events of a century ago with shame, for we have five-score years of gloomy hindsight to remind us where they led—defeat and fear, sack and slaughter, domination and ruin. But now this will change. I come before you not as a politician or as a bureaucrat, but as a soldier and servant of Justinian Augustus, most happy and victorious emperor of the Romans. I hereby pledge my life to your safety. If during the coming storm you suffer, know that I will suffer before you. If you are injured, know that the enemy will have to knock me down to get at you. If you are in peril of death, know that I will share that peril every day until the peril is gone. As Stilicho and Aetius, I do not fear my own destruction, but I will put everything I have on the line to protect Rome from our enemies.”

In stunned silence, the assembled nobles and clergy listened, amazed that this man whom they considered an unlettered Thracian was more knowledgeable in their own history than most of them. A smile brightened the wrinkled face of Anicius Basilius, and Orestes’s cynical scowl turned to a look of delighted stupefaction.

“You see that my army is small,” Belisarius continued, “but what you do not see is that it is filled with men of the greatest courage. I have, furthermore, requested reinforcements from the thrice-blessed Justinian Augustus, and these he will supply after no little time. But, noble senators and holy fathers, no strategy designed by a man can succeed without trust and ultimately obedience. I have no concerns in this regard when it comes to my soldiers. I know that they are loyal and will, when called upon, sacrifice their lives for the safety of Rome. Thus, the success or failure of this enterprise depends ultimately on the Will of God and on you, the inhabitants of this city. If you will support my efforts, trust my decisions, and obey my commands, there is no question in my mind that we will attain victory.

"If, however, you doubt, despair, demur and disobey, there can be only one result: death for me, defeat for the cause, and destruction for Rome.

“Friends, one year ago, no one believed that Justinian Augustus could liberate Rome. And yet, here I stand before you having accomplished the deed. Will you support me now in preserving the victory? Will you trust me?”

“Magister, please,” Basilius said quietly. “Please step down.” Belisarius stepped from the platform onto the flagstones of the courtyard. Now at eye-level, Basilius grasped Belisarius’s hand and fell to one knee, his aged frame tottering slightly. “You have my trust.”

“I will trust you as well, O Magister,” Orestes said solemnly, repeating the gesture of the older man.

“And I,” Cethegus said humbly.

“As for me, my life already belongs to Justinian Augustus,” Fidelius said with a smile.

The rest of the nobles crowded around to show similar obeisance. Belisarius accepted it, knowing well the sacrifices he would soon demand of these men.

“Command us,” Honorius the prefect said. “Whatever you would have us do, it will be done.”

“I shall confer with my commanders,” Belisarius replied. “Come to the Pincian at first light tomorrow morning.”

“And what of the clergy, Magister?” Pope Silverius asked. “How would you have us serve the people of Rome to aid this endeavor?”

“Far be it from me to advise your Holiness on how best to provide for your flock,” Belisarius replied. “Only do not disrupt the normal cycle of liturgies, feasts and processions in the city. And keep me informed as to the wants of the poor. I will do my utmost to ameliorate their travails.”

Rome the Eternal is deep in the edits, so feel free to hit me with criticisms of this scene if you feel the urge.  My expectation is that edits and some incidental interior art will complete in March, and this book will finally make it into print after over a decade of work. 

"Never give up." ~ A review of Pelayo: King of Asturias by James Fitzhenry

Detail from a 19th century engraving of Pelayo, king of Asturias.

Almost exactly 15 years ago, I received a book in the mail entitled El Cid: God's Own Champion. When first flipping through this book, I remember thinking to myself, "This probably won't be very good." After all, it was a work by an unknown author, meant for young readers, and self-published to boot. But as it turned out, I loved it. My kids have read it—even the one with dyslexia read and enjoyed it. Since I wrote the above-linked review in 2008, I have recommended El Cid to hundreds of people.

A few years later, Mr. Fitzhenry published another equally admirable book—Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ. Much like his first book, Fitzhenry's second endeavor delved into the epic life of a Spanish hero that almost no one knows about today. Again, I found myself enchanted with the book and have recommended it numerous times. 

Shortly thereafter followed Defenders of Christendom, offering a collection of excellent capsule biographies of forgotten Catholic heroes from the crusading period. 

Click for more info.

By this time, I have come to have very high expectations for Mr. Fitzhenry's work, so when I received a copy of Pelayo: King of Asturias, I was ready to tear into it straight away. 

And Pelayo did not disappoint. 

Much like Fitzhenry's previous books, Pelayo tells an ancient story that is rarely heard today. It is the sobering tale of the end of Visigothic Spain—a state whose leaders had become corrupt, corpulent and cowardly. They had largely abandoned their Christian ethic and had little remaining loyalty to God or man. When confronted with a zealous, powerful enemy who wished to impose an alien culture upon them, their internal dissensions proved stronger than their desire to preserve their heritage.

Fitzhenry does a brilliant job setting the stage for Pelayo's heroism. Starting with the collapse of Visigothic Spain under the beleaguered King Roderick, Fitzhenry emphasizes the treason of those closest to the king as a contrast to the steadfast loyalty of Pelayo. At the Battle of Guadalete, the Visigoths are catastrophically defeated when part of their army commanded by renegade nobles and an apostate bishop turn on their own Christian countrymen. Following the battle, the Muslim emir, Tariq, overruns the whole kingdom. Pelayo and a remnant of loyal Visigoths retreat into the mountains of northern Spain. There, he begins his exploits—escaping from an assassination attempt, rescuing his kidnapped sister, and building up the solid core of a Christian army to resist Islam.

After finishing Pelayo: King of Asturias, I immediately began searching for the ancient sources underpinning Fitzhenry's inspiring biography. I quickly discovered that Pelayo is the hispanicized version of the name Pelagius. He is considered a Visigothic noble, but given that Pelagius is not a typical Gothic name, he likely had a Greco-Roman strain somewhere in his lineage. This makes sense given that the Spanish Visigothic kingdom was built upon the foundation of the Roman provinces of Hispania. My search eventually led to a 10th century source called The Chronicle of Alfonso III. While reading it, I discovered that Fitzhenry stayed true to the history. His description of the events surrounding the history-changing Battle of Covadonga was drawn faithfully from this ancient historical work. 

Fitzhenry's Pelayo joins El Cid and Saint Fernando III among the growing list of exceptional historical books meant to educate young Catholic men about their heritage. Angels in Iron and Crown of the World are two other examples of this counter-cultural trend—portraying distinctly Catholic heroes as what the world desperately needs. I hope that my own books about the late Roman general Belisarius are serving a similar function. 

Toward the end of the book, the author lays out the message of Pelayo's life for those of us today: 

"Never give up. Even if it seems that you struggle in complete isolation, know that you are not alone....Follow closely in the footsteps of Christ. There are many who have trod the narrow path before you, and for those who do not give up the fight, eternal glory awaits in a kingdom that is not of this world!"

During a time when many Catholic institutions have failed and our leaders seem content to bury their talents in the ground, such a message is badly needed.

"This pontificate is a disaster..." The final testament of George Cardinal Pell (d. January 10, 2023)

George Cardinal Pell prays before the body of Pope Benedict XVI lying in state, January 2023.

George Cardinal Pell is dead. 

As a man, Cardinal Pell stood accused of grievous sins before several earthly tribunals. He was convicted of some of those crimes in secular courts, and as a result, spent over a year in prison—much of it in solitary confinement. He was later acquitted and released when the High Court of Australia unanimously overturned his convictions saying that the jury likely made its decision based on faulty evidence, and that there was a significant possibility that an innocent person had been convicted. 

Was Cardinal Pell guilty of the crimes he was accused of? Or was he targeted for destruction by enemies who would stoop even so low as to manufacture false sins? In this world, we will never know. 

But now, Cardinal Pell has taken his stand before the Just Judge from whom nothing can be hidden. Whether his sins warranted mercy or damnation is in the hands of Christ, and all the faithful can do is pray that our gracious Lord will have mercy on him. 

What is clear is that George Cardinal Pell did not go out with a whimper, but with a resounding bang.

Less than a week before he died, Cardinal Pell wrote an article in the UK Spectator that is nothing less than a clarion call. The title of the article says it all: The Catholic Church Must Free Itself from this "Toxic Nightmare."

What toxic nightmare is he referring to? That would be the so-called Synod on Synodality—that useless and wasteful meeting of bishops that seems to be the very embodiment of the unofficial motto of the current pontificate: "¡Hagan lío!" or "make a mess!" Regarding the 45-page document put out by the Vatican explaining the "listening" stage of the synod, Pell calls it: "one of the most incoherent documents ever sent out from Rome."

After offering a point-by-point deconstruction of the document, Pell is left scratching his head:

What is one to make of this potpourri, this outpouring of New Age good will? It is not a summary of Catholic faith or New Testament teaching. It is incomplete, hostile in significant ways to the apostolic tradition and nowhere acknowledges the New Testament as the Word of God, normative for all teaching on faith and morals. The Old Testament is ignored, patriarchy rejected and the Mosaic Law, including the Ten Commandments, is not acknowledged.

This is a pretty harsh condemnation that should be taken very seriously by all serious Catholics.

But it gets better. 

In the spring of 2022, an anonymous letter was said to be circulating among the Cardinals signed by someone called "Demos" or the Greek word for "the common people." It was a sober reflection upon and harsh criticism of the numerous scandals which have proliferated over the past 10 years within the Church, with an unusually pointed critique of the Francis papacy. The opening sentence gives the reader a sense of what follows:

Commentators at every school, though for different reasons, with the possible exception of Father Spadaro SJ, agree that this pontificate is a disaster in many or more respects, a catastrophe.

It was revealed today that the author of this letter was none other than George Cardinal Pell.

This letter is not merely a litany of the failures of Pope Francis. It is a road map for his successor. Indeed, the second half of the letter reads more like avuncular advice from an experienced elder churchman to a man who will be faced with cleaning up a gigantic mess not of his doing. 

The entire letter is well worth reading, but the following point seems to be the most important of all, encapsulating what has gone wrong and the attitude necessary to fix it:

The new pope must understand that the secret of Christian and Catholic vitality comes from fidelity to Christ's teachings and Catholic practices. It doesn't come from adapting to the world or money.

This point is followed immediately by another that lays out the steps necessary to return from the present chaos:

The first tasks of the new pope will be the restoration of normality, the restoration of doctrinal clarity in faith and morals, the restoration of just respect for the law, and the guarantee that the first criterion for the appointment of bishops is acceptance of apostolic tradition. Theological competence and culture are an advantage, not an obstacle for all bishops and especially for archbishops. These are necessary foundations for living and preaching the Gospel.

More than anything else, the faithful need doctrinal clarity. Indeed, we thirst for it, as one can not drink the muddy slurry churned up by "¡Hagan lío!"

Pell's "Demos" letter reads like an encyclical letter written by one of the Church Fathers when faced with an ecclesiastical crisis.

Thank you, Cardinal Pell, for speaking like a believing Catholic, reminding us of our patrimony, and for standing up for the devout who have spent the past nine years taking abuse from those tasked to nurture them in faith and teach them the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

With men like Benedict XVI and Cardinal Pell passing into eternity, ordinary devout Catholics pray that Christ will raise up other bishops and cardinals with the fortitude to keep the current mess from spreading and leading even more souls to perdition. 

May the Holy Spirit, in His good time, bestow upon us a new pope who will come armed the charism of Saint Francis of Assisi who was commanded by God to "restore my Church which is falling down."

"Attila shouted that he would have crucified him and given him as food to the birds." ~ Priscus and the Roman Embassy to the Huns of AD 448

The Roman Embassy to Attila by Cecila Lawrence, as it appears on the cover of
Given's Fragmentary History of Priscus. 

Much of our detailed knowledge of Attila and the Huns comes from one relatively obscure source, the late 5th century History of Priscus. It’s probable that you’ve never heard of Priscus because his history was considered lost after about the 10th century AD. All that survives of it are fragments that later historians have recovered from other ancient and medieval sources that incorporated or paraphrased certain passages of interest. Excerpts from Priscus may be found embedded within works such as the Gothic History of Jordanes, the Histories of Procopius, the works of Constantine Porphyrogenitus, the Suda, the History of John of Antioch, and several others.

Priscus possessed such in depth knowledge about the Huns because he had a personal encounter with Attila himself. In AD 448 or 449, Priscus was part of an embassy to the Huns sent by the Emperor Theodosius II and his right-hand eunuch, Chrysaphius. At that time, Attila was threatening both the Eastern and Western Roman Empires, and both halves were making every possible attempt to pacify the barbarian and his pillaging horde. In fact, Chrysaphius and Theodosius had made a secret pact with one of Attila’s leading advisors, Edekon by name, to make sure that Attila rested in peace—for good. Unbeknownst to them, however, Edekon had revealed everything to Attila, and the King of the Huns was well prepared to deal with the potentially treacherous Roman embassy when it arrived.

Priscus has left a fascinating account of his visit to the Huns and his initial meeting with Attila. Following is an excerpt from the Fragmentary History of Priscus as translated by John Given, detailing the opening phase of what must have been a very frightening encounter:

You may also listen to the excerpt at the video above. 

FRAGMENT 8: From the Excerpts on Romans’ Embassies to Foreigners of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos

After the eunuch Chrysaphius urged Edekon to kill Attila, Emperor Theodosius and the magister Martialios decided, as they discussed the events, to dispatch as ambassadors to Attila not only Bigilas but also Maximinos. They also decided that Bigilas, as a pretense, should keep occupying the translator’s post and should do whatever Edekon thought best, and Maximinos, since he knew nothing of their plans, should deliver the emperor’s letter....

With earnest entreaty, Maximinos persuaded me to accompany him on this embassy. And so, closely following the road alongside the barbarians, we reached Serdica, a thirteen days’ journey from Constantinople for a lightly armed man. There, as we settled into our quarters, we thought it would be a good idea to invite Edekon and his barbarian companions to a feast. We bought sheep and cows from the locals, slaughtered them and made our meal. At the height of the banquet, when the barbarians were extolling Attila and we the emperor, Bigilas said it was not right to juxtapose a god and a man—meaning by “man” Attila and by “god” Theodosius. The Huns were agitated and, their temperatures rising little by little, grew angry. We turned the conversation to other topics and appeased their anger with friendliness...

Arriving at Naissos, we found the city bereft of people because it had been overturned by the enemy, though there were some people in the sacred lodgings who were suffering from diseases. We camped a little bit upriver in a clearing, since the bank was everywhere covered with the bones of war casualties...

After passing the night, we traveled from the region of Naissos to the Istros River....After we crossed the Istros and traveled about seventy stades with the barbarians, we were forced to wait on a plain so that Edekon’s men could inform Attila of our arrival. The barbarians stayed with us and acted as our guides. As we were taking our dinner in the late afternoon we heard the rumble of horses coming toward us. Two Scythian men arrived and ordered us to go to Attila. First, though, we asked them to join us for dinner. They dismounted and we sumptuously entertained them. On the next day they led us along the road. Around the ninth hour of the day we reached Attila’s tents (and there were many tents there). We wanted to pitch ours on the crest of a hill, but the barbarians who met us prevented it, since Attila’s tent was on lower ground.

Click for more info.

Once we settled down where the Scythians wanted, Edekon, Orestes, Skottas and some other select men came and asked what our embassy was eager to procure. We expressed our confusion at the senseless question and kept looking at one another, but they continued to trouble us for an answer. When we said that the emperor bade us to speak to Attila and to no one else, Skottas replied angrily that their order was from their leader; they would not have come to us out of their own desire to meddle. We said that it was not customary for ambassadors to be questioned by intermediaries about why they had come without their meeting nor even seeing the parties to whom they had been sent. This, we said, was not unknown even to the Scythians, who often sent ambassadors to the emperor. It was necessary that we receive identical treatment; otherwise we would not disclose the embassy’s purpose. So we spoke, and they withdrew to Attila.

Again they returned, though without Edekon, repeated to us all the reasons for which we had come on the embassy, and ordered us to go away by the quickest route possible unless we could name anything else. We were still more mystified by these words since it was not easy to see how decisions made by the emperor in secret had become clearly known. We believed that it was to our benefit to answer nothing further about the embassy unless we gained access to Attila. So we said it was their leader who asked whether we came to negotiate the things listed by the Scythians or other matters too; we would not discuss it with anyone other than him. They immediately ordered us to leave....

At this point, Priscus goes off on a slight tangent, explaining that Bigilas was insistent on meeting with Attila, boasting that if he would be able to meet with him, he would easily persuade him to make peace. It is not clear that Priscus or anyone else among the Romans knew at this point that the true purpose of the embassy was to arrange the assassination of Attila. Priscus explains, however, that unbeknownst to Bigilas, the plot had already been revealed to Attila by Edekon.

Priscus continues:

We had already loaded our baggage onto the pack animals and were attempting—out of necessity, at nighttime—to begin our journey, when some of the barbarians came and said Attila told us to remain because of the late hour. To the place from which we were getting ready to set out, some men brought us a cow and some river-caught fish sent by Attila. Then, after dining, we turned to sleep. When day came, we thought that the barbarian would reveal some kind, pleasant news.  Once again, however, he sent the same men, advising us to go away unless we had something to say beyond what they already knew. We said no and began preparing for the journey, although Bigilas vehemently argued we should say that we had more to say.

Seeing Maximinos very dejected, I went out with Roustikios since he knew the barbarians’ language fluently. (He had come with us to Scythia not on the embassy, but for some business with Constantius, Attila’s Italian secretary, whom Aetius, the Western Roman general, had sent.) I came to Skottas—Onegesios was not present at the time— and, addressing him through the translator Roustikios, I said that he would receive numerous gifts from Maximinos if he helped him get access to Attila. The embassy, I said, would benefit not only the Romans and the Huns but also Onegesios, since the emperor wanted him to come and mediate the nations’ differences, and he would receive magnificent gifts when he went. Since Onegesios was away, I said, he needed to support us, and more his brother, in pursuit of this good business. I said we knew Attila followed his guidance too, but we would not firmly believe the reports about him unless we came to know his power through experience. He replied that no one any longer doubted Attila deemed his words and deeds equal to his brother’s. And he immediately mounted his horse and rode to Attila’s tent.

I returned to Maximinos, who with Bigilas was perplexed and at a loss regarding the recent events. I repeated what I said to Skottas and what I heard from him, and said that we needed to prepare the gifts for the barbarian and to calculate what we would say to him. Both of them leapt up (they happened to be lying in the grass), praised my actions and called back those who had already departed with the pack animals. They considered how to address Attila and how to give him the emperor’s gifts as well as what Maximinos had brought for him. As we were worrying about these things, Attila summoned us through Skottas. And so at last we came to Attila’s tent, which was guarded by a barbarian multitude arrayed in a circle.

When we reached the entrance, we found Attila seated on a wooden chair. Maximinos approached, as the rest of us stood a short distance from the seat, and he greeted the barbarian. Giving him the emperor’s letter, he said that the emperor prayed that he and those around him were safe. Attila replied that the Romans would have what they desired for him. He turned his attention straight to Bigilas, called him a shameless beast and asked why he wanted to come to him, considering that he knew his and Anatolios’s peacetime agreement that no ambassadors should come to him until all fugitives had been surrendered to the barbarians. Bigilas said that there was not a single Scythian fugitive among the Romans; those who had been there had been surrendered. Growing angrier and reviling him all the more, Attila shouted that he would have crucified him and given him as food to the birds, if he did not think inflicting this penalty on his shamelessness and on the effrontery of his words would violate sacred diplomatic law. There were, he said, fugitives of their race among the Romans—many of them—whose names, which had been recorded on papyrus, he ordered the secretaries to read out.

When they had gone through <all the> absent men, he ordered Bigilas to depart without a moment’s delay. He would send Eslas with him too, he said, to tell the Romans they should send him all the barbarian fugitives, from the time of Karpileon (the son of Aetius, the Western Roman general), who had lived as a hostage at his court. He would not allow his own subjects to fight against him, although they were incapable of helping anyone who trusted them to protect his land. What city, he asked, or what fortress had they saved, once he himself had begun a siege? He told us to return again after we had repeated his demands about the fugitives and to say whether the Romans wanted to surrender them or undertake war on their behalf. He had earlier told Maximinos to stay, so that he might reply to the emperor’s letter through him, and so he permitted us to present the gifts Maximinos was carrying and to withdraw.

We presented the gifts and retired into our tent, where we reviewed what had been said. Bigilas was amazed how Attila angrily reviled him, even though he seemed gentle and kind to him on his previous embassy. I expressed the fear that some of the barbarians who had feasted with us in Serdica had made Attila hostile to him by reporting that he called the Roman emperor a god but Attila a man. Maximinos thought that was right, since he was <not> a partner in the eunuch’s conspiracy against the barbarian. Bigilas was doubtful and seemed to me at a loss to explain why Attila had reviled him. He thought, as he later told us, that neither the events in Serdica nor the details of the plot had been reported to Attila, because, on the one hand, no one else from the group, he thought, was bold enough to speak with Attila due to the fear that governed them all; on the other hand Edekon, he thought, would keep his silence completely because of his oaths and the uncertainty of the deed, in fear that he himself too, since he was a participant in such plans, would lose his favored status and suffer death as punishment. [Given, Fragmentary History of Priscus, pages 47-55]

What happens next is perhaps even more intriguing. Later, Priscus would meet a former Roman citizen who had been taken captive by the Huns. This man would claim that life as a prisoner among the Huns was superior to life as a Roman. His debate with Priscus on this topic is perhaps the most famous of the surviving fragments of Priscus’s History and well worth reading. I have discussed this debate in a previous post: "Romans are easily killed in war because they rely on others for safety" ~ Priscus and the notion of Romans voluntarily becoming Huns.

Book Review: Matron of Paris by Phillip Campbell

Saint Germain bestows his blessing upon the girl Genevieve, from a 19th century triptych, 
The Pastoral Life of Saint Genevieve by Pierre-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes

Unbeknownst to many outside of the homeschooling community, there is something of a literary renaissance going on in Catholic circles, particularly with regard to historical novels for younger readers. At the moment, there are enough of these high-quality novels on the market to keep even the most avid young reader going for a very long time. 

One of the eras that has attracted particular attention from writers of Catholic historical novels is the fall of the Western Roman Empire. The most recent entry in this category is Matron of Paris, a lively work by Phillip Campbell about the eventful life and miraculous works of St. Genevieve of Nanterre. Some readers may recall my previous post about this patroness of France: Saint Genevieve and Barbarism: From Attila to the Republic.

A Gallo-Roman woman, Genevieve (or Genovefa as she is called in Latin) was born toward the end of the reign of the weak Western Roman Emperor Honorius, circa AD 422. With Roman power in eclipse, barbarian tribes breached the frontier with increasing ease, carving out their own petty principalities in Roman Gaul and oppressing the inhabitants. This was the chaotic and dangerous era into which the girl Genevieve was born. 

Click for more info.

In Matron of Paris: The Story of Saint Genevieve, Phillip Campbell tells the story of this great saint in his usual engaging style, leading the reader from the simple life of a Gallo-Roman peasant girl into the brutal and complicated world of Late Roman / early Merovingian warfare and politics. While following the tale, readers will be introduced to numerous historical characters: from Saint Germanus, bishop of Auxerre, who first recognized Genevieve's sanctity, to Clovis, king of the Franks, whose story would ultimately become intertwined with that of Genevieve. Others who were Genevieve's rough contemporaries are also mentioned — from Aetius, the Roman magister militum who defeated Attila at the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains, to a mysterious saintly presbyter named Patricius who serves briefly at Nanterre before moving on to greener pastures. 

The core of the book, however, follows Genevieve as a mature woman. She becomes the heart and soul of Paris whose prayers and entreaties would hearten the beleaguered city during Atilla's invasion of Gaul. Later in life, her occasionally miraculous interventions would help the Franks and Gallo-Romans become one people. It is during this part of the novel that two other saints enter the story: Saint Clotilde, the Burgundian wife of Clovis, and Saint Remigius of Reims who would baptize the Frankish king. Campbell does a wonderful job weaving the story of Genevieve together with that of Clovis and Clotilde.

I highly recommend Matron of Paris and think it makes a fantastic addition to the literature of late Rome and the early Middle Ages, ideal for readers ages 12 and up. It fits together beautifully with another novel of the same time period, Centurion's Daughter by Justin Swanton. Considering St. Genevieve's feast day is coming up on January 3, the Christmas season is a particularly appropriate time to purchase this book.

For students who want to do a deep study of this period, here is a quick reading list of available resources in rough chronological order, (including my own books):

• Between the Forest and the Hills by Ann Lawrence (5th century AD)
• Matron of Paris: The Story of Saint Genevieve by Phillip Campbell (5th and 6th century AD)
• Centurion's Daughter by Justin Swanton (late 5th century AD)
• Saint Clothilde: The First Christian Queen of France Tells Her Story by Blandine Malé (5th and 6th century AD)
• Belisarius series by Paolo Belzoni (6th century AD)
• Citadel of God: A Novel about Saint Benedict by Louis de Wohl (6th century AD)

Old Hickory and Our Lady of Prompt Succor

Mosaic of the three times Our Lady of Prompt Succor saved New Orleans. General Jackson
and his men may be seen in the bottom right. I took this photo of the mosaic at the
Ursuline Convent in New Orleans in 2019. 

Andrew Jackson was a study in contrasts. By most accounts, he was hot tempered and had a tendency to violence. In his youth, he engaged in most of the vices common to young men of that time: drinking, carousing, and engaging in every form of gambling known to man. He apparently had a passion for cock-fighting. He got into brawls without number and fought duels, killing at least one man—though admittedly, that man had shot him first, hitting Jackson square in the chest. The bullet lodged too close to his heart to be extracted, and Jackson would carry it inside him for the rest of his life.

Jackson was a slave owner and an Indian fighter. He is perhaps most infamous today for his policy while president of removing tribes from the eastern states to Indian Territory in the present-day state of Oklahoma. This policy's most noteworthy and awful result was the removal of the Cherokee from Georgia along the Trail of Tears. At the same time, Jackson was compassionate, taking in an orphaned Creek boy named Lyncoya after the Battle of Tallushatchee in 1813. He would adopt Lyncoya as his son, and later took in two other Creek orphans, Theodore and Charley.   

If you read about Jackson in any of the earlier biographies, you get a sense that Old Hickory's contemporaries—whether friend or foe—struggled to pigeon-hole the man. Later in his life, Jackson apparently became quite religious, even helping to found Hermitage Presbyterian Church on land donated from his estate in Nashville, Tennessee. Indeed, even in Jackson's dissipated youth, it seemed that there was a latent tendency toward Christian piety to be found buried deep within him. Biographers struggled to reconcile these conflicting tendencies, resulting in awkward passages like this one from Cyrus Townsend Brady:

General Jackson was a thoroughly religious man during the greater part of his life…Now, when I say he was a religious man I do not mean that his religion was at first of the active, personal sort. On the contrary, it was originally intermixed with worldliness to an excessive degree. [The True Andrew Jackson (1906), p. 366]

Writing in 1888, another biographer, James Parton, recorded the following anecdote that exemplifies Jackson’s internal paradox in a concrete way:

After his wife had joined the [Presbyterian] church, the general, in deference to her wishes, was accustomed to ask a blessing before meals. The company had sat down at the table one day, when the general was telling a warlike story with great animation, interlarding the discourse, as was then his custom, with a profusion of expletives most heterodox and profane. In the full tide of this narration, the lady of the house interrupted her lord, “Mr Jackson, will you ask a blessing?” Mr. Jackson stopped short in the midst of one of his most soldier-like sentences, performed the duty required of him, and then instantly resumed his narrative in the same tone and language as before. [Life of Andrew Jackson, Volume 2 (1888), p. 655]

Many of us have known men similar to this. They are often individuals who have lived a harsh early life (Jackson was orphaned at 14) and find it nearly impossible to make that final conversion of heart to Christ, crying out with the young Augustine of Hippo, "Lord make me pure—but not yet!" 

I, for one, think Jackson's religious tendencies were sincere, even if he often consciously chose the course of worldliness and sin. Let's look at an incident during the Battle of New Orleans as an example. 

In January of 1815, at the age of 47, Jackson was placed in command of a rag-tag collection of regular army units, local militia, a squad of gunners from Jean Lafitte's crew of privateers, and even a detachment of Choctaws. Jackson's force numbered about 5,000 all told. 

These men were meant to defend New Orleans against an army of 10,000 British regulars under the command of General Edward Pakenham. Many of these men were veterans of the Napoleonic War in Europe and both officers and men had every expectation that they would brush aside Jackson's disorderly mob with little effort and capture New Orleans. 

Gambler that he was, Jackson must have known that the odds of survival were long, and the odds of victory even longer still. As Pakenham's redcoats advanced, Jackson came face-to-face with that old adage: there are no atheists in foxholes. Some accounts of activities prior to the battle include mention of Jackson visiting Abbe William DuBourg to request public prayers for the success of American arms. 

In New Orleans, that city of contrasts nearly as striking as those affecting Jackson, the 18,000 inhabitants were in a state of near panic. The mood at the Ursuline Convent, however, was markedly different. Writing in The Story of the Battle of New Orleans (1915) Stanley Clisby Arthur offers the following account of what went on among the nuns on that fateful eve of battle:

From the windows of the Convent, the Ursulines could see the smoke rising from the battle-field on the plains of Chalmette. The night of January 7th had been spent in prayer before their Blessed Sacrament. Everything seemed hopeless for the Americans; and Jackson himself had sworn that, should he be vanquished, the enemy would find New Orleans a heap of ruins.

The wooden statue of Our Lady of
Prompt Succor that was placed on the
altar during the Battle of New Orleans 

In order to assist in averting this imminent peril — for all was in consternation on the morning of January 8th — the Chapel was continually thronged with pious ladies and poor negresses, all weeping and praying at the foot of the statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor, which had been placed on the main altar; and the Community, through the Superioress, Mother Ste Marie (in the world, Marie Francoise Victoire Olivier de Vezin), made a vow to have a solemn Mass of thanksgiving sung every year, should the Americans gain the victory.

That morning, January 8, 1815, Very Reverend William DuBourg, the Vicar Apostolic (afterwards Bishop of New Orleans), offered up the holy sacrifice of the Mass before the statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor.

At the moment of communion, a courier entered the chapel to announce the glad tidings of the enemy’s defeat.

After Mass, the Abbe DuBourg entoned Te Deum, which was taken up and sung with accents of such lively gratitude that it seemed as though the very vaults of the chapel would open to allow this touching thanksgiving to ascend more freely to the throne of God. [The Battle of New Orleans (1915), p. 239). 

It is said that the battle itself was over within half-an-hour. The badly mauled British were forced to retreat and Jackson's riff-raff were left in possession of the field. Operating from a hastily fortified position, Jackson's troops inflicted over 2,000 casualties on the British. By contrast, the Americans had suffered only 13 killed in action, and 39 wounded. 

The latter group, along with the sick, were lodged in the schoolrooms of the convent and nursed by the gentle hands of the Ursuline sisters who had prayed so fervently for them. Shortly after returning to New Orleans, Jackson would visit the Ursulines. In a lecture read before the Louisiana Historical Society in 1901, Henry Renshaw described the scene:

In the period of the city's dread anxiety and peril, the Ursulines invoked Divine assistance that victory might be won by the soldiery of the Republic. Andrew Jackson, in the flush of brilliant triumph, visited the convent and thanked these pious women for their prayers for his success. What a scene was this — the victorious warrior expressing gratitude to these nuns for the petitions which they had offered for celestial aid in his behalf. What a subject to be represented in stone or in metal, or upon the painted canvas. 

And not alone by fervent supplication did the Ursulines evince their sympathetic patriotism. The sick and wounded soldiers were received at the convent and lodged in the class rooms of the day scholars where, for three months they were cared for by the nuns. ["The Louisiana Ursulines," Publications of the Louisiana Historical Society, Volume 2, Issues 3-4].

An even earlier historical record confirms the good offices of the Ursuline sisters:

The Ursuline nuns are also entitled to a particular notice. They gave admittance within the walls of their monastery to as many of the sick as could be conveniently lodged therein, and afforded them every aid, comformably to the dictates of true charity. [Historical Memoir of the War in West Florida and Louisiana (1816) Appendix, p. cxxviii]

Jackson also chose to express his gratitude publicly at the very center of Catholicism in the city:

In the old cathedral, burnished up for the occasion, a solemn service of thanksgiving was held at Jackson's request. [Crawford, Romantic Days in the Early Republic (1912) p. 383]

This was not merely a momentary episode of piety on the part of Jackson. Thirteen years later, during the bruising election campaign of 1828, Jackson would have occasion to visit New Orleans again. Though a man embroiled in the bare-knuckles brawl of a very contentious political battle for the nation's highest office, Jackson made time to visit the humble sisters who had prayed so fervently for him at the crisis of his life:

In 1824, the Ursulines removed to their present convent near the lower limits of the city. There, also, Andrew Jackson visited the nuns. This was in 1828. The political campaign which eventuated in his election to the presidency had opened. Jackson had come to New Orleans upon the invitation of the Louisiana legislature to participate in the thirteenth anniversary of the victory at Chalmette. He was accompanied to the convent by several of his staff and by some of the most distinguished men and women of the city. The convent’s cloistered precincts were opened to the renowned guest and to those who were with him. It may that among these surroundings the chieftains thoughts were diverted from the presidential contest, that the suggestions of ambition receded before the grateful reminiscence of the nuns who, thirteen years before, had prayed for victory to his battalions. ["The Louisiana Ursulines," Publications of the Louisiana Historical Society, Volume 2, Issues 3-4].

Here we find yet another example of how God Almighty uses very imperfect men as the instruments of His holy Will. 

Statue of Andrew Jackson in Jackson Square, New Orleans, with the Cathedral-Basilica of
Saint Louis in the background. I took this photo during a visit in 2016.