THE CATHOLIC
HISTORICAL REVIEW
VOL. 100

SUMMER, 2014

NO. 3

Popes and Livonia in the First Half of the
Thirteenth Century:
Means and Chances to Shape the Periphery*
ANTI SELART
Papal impact on peripheral areas in the Middle Ages depended on the
means of and possibilities for communication. This case study of the
Livonian crusade and mission in the first half of the thirteenth century
demonstrates the difficulties of implementing a central leadership in an
area that lacked established communication patterns with the papal
curia. Traveling was expensive and depended completely on the seasonal rhythm of navigation. To receive a papal letter presupposed personal attendance at the curia; in addition, the papal legates in the
Baltic did not establish a regular system for exchange of information.
Another important reason leading to this situation was the absence of
personal networks that could connect Rome and the Baltic region.
Keywords: Livonian crusade, medieval papacy, papal legates

T

he history of Livonia during the first half of the thirteenth century has
to a great extent been the history of crusades and mission. Although
the subjects of crusades and mission encompass popes, the role of popes in
the events of this region in northeastern Europe is far from being univocal
in nature. Popes have been seen in this locality as the forerunners of Christianity, instigators of criminal conquests, protectors of neophytes, and
greedy and power-hungry church monarchs. It is only relatively recently
that researchers have become interested in how the popes could play their

*Dr. Selart is professor of medieval history at the University of Tartu, Estonia, email:
anti.selart@ut.ee. His research was supported by the Estonian Research Council (project no.
PUT 107). The author is grateful to the journal’s anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments on earlier drafts of this essay.

437

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

role in the Baltic Sea area. This was a time when the authority of the
popes, both in ecclesiastical and secular matters, had reached its heyday.1
To be a medieval “periphery” (meant here as from the point of view of the
papacy)2 was not only an issue of geographical distance. Peripheries were
also created by the lack of human contact and networks.3 In the Livonian
case, both aspects were relevant. It was a faraway land with no regular personal ties to the people in and around the curia in the first decades of the
thirteenth century.
Crusaders and missionaries who created the new Christian land in the
Baltics were charged with placing the conquered territories within the
Catholic Church. They originated from the northern German and Scandinavian outskirts of Latin Europe with rather limited regular contact with
the Roman Curia. This article reconsiders the predominantly curia-centered
recent discussions on the papal impact on the Livonian crusading in the
first half on the thirteenth century from the point of view of local agents.
It focuses on the possibilities for communication and their limitations
caused by specific features of both, such as the weakness of personal ties
and the practice of travel in the north. Local responses to papal letters and
the execution of papal decisions also are discussed.
These are questions for active scholarly debate. In this context, this
article discusses the role of popes from the point of view of local agents,
examining how the leaders of ecclesiastic institutions and crusader groups in
Livonia made use of papal justice and legitimizing authority. The other side
of this question is the problem regarding the ways and options for implementing the decisions and mandates issued at the papal curia in these “new”
outskirts of Latin Europe. The central argument here is that the papal
impact was mainly an issue of the possibilities for communication. The natural conditions of maritime transport and still underdeveloped personal ties
between Livonia and the curia in this period limited these possibilities.
1. Cf. James M. Powell, ed., Innocent III. Vicar of Christ or Lord of the World? (Washington, DC, 1994).
2. On the terminology of “center” and “periphery” here, cf. Jochen Johrendt and Harald
Müller, “Zentrum und Peripherie. Prozesse des Austausches, der Durchdringung und der
Zentralisierung der lateinischen Kirche im Hochmittelalter,” in Römisches Zentrum und kirchliche Peripherie: Das universale Papsttum als Bezugspunkt der Kirchen von den Reformpäpsten bis
zu Innozenz III., ed. Jochen Johrendt, [Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu
Göttingen. Philologisch-Historische Klasse, Neue Folge, 2], (Berlin, 2008), pp. 1–16.
3. Klaus Herbers, “Im Dienste der Universalität oder der Zentralisierung? Das Papsttum und die ‘Peripherien’ im hohen Mittelalter—Schlussbemerkungen und Perspektiven,” in
Johrendt, ed., Römisches Zentrum, pp. 323–43, here pp. 336, 339–40.

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439

The majority of popes in the thirteenth century managed to affect ecclesiastic and secular policy more than their predecessors4 and many of their
successors. The three popes treated herein—Innocent III (1198–1216),
Honorius III (1216–27), and Gregory IX (1227–41)—also belong to the
most outstanding figures5 of medieval church history. Additionally, it was
namely during this period that communication between the Roman Curia
and European periphery became significantly more intense. The extent of
written communication increased enormously,6 and more legates were sent
out than ever before.7 The strengthening of these connections proceeded
from mutual interest, however. Political agents needed legitimization; they
sought papal justice, which simultaneously gave the popes a real chance to
intervene and validate their supreme power over the Christian world. In the
case of peripheral regions, the growth in the number of papal letters speaks
to the periphery’s need to obtain the support of the higher authority, as well
as the authority’s outreach to the periphery, rather than the popes’ increasing
desire to be in charge of events in the periphery.8 Even some of the appar-

4. Ernst-Dieter Hehl, Ingrid Heike Ringel, and Hubertus Seibert, eds., Das Papsttum in
der Welt des 12. Jahrhunderts, [Mittelalter-Forschungen, 6], (Stuttgart, 2002); Johrendt, ed.,
Römisches Zentrum und kirchliche Peripherie; Stefan Weinfurter, ed., Päpstliche Herrschaft im
Mittelalter. Funktionsweisen—Strategien—Darstellungsformen, [Mittelalter-Forschungen, 38],
(Ostfildern, Germany, 2012); Jochen Johrendt and Harald Müller, eds., Rom und die Regionen.
Studien zur Homogenisierung der lateinischen Kirche im Hochmittelalter, [Abhandlungen der
Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, neue Folge, 19], (Berlin, 2012); Klaus Herbers,
Fernando López Alsina, and Frank Engel, eds., Das begrenzte Papsttum. Spielräume päpstlichen
Handels. Legate—delegierte Richter—Grenzen, [Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Philologisch-Historische Klasse, neue Folge, 25], (Berlin, 2013).
5. Although Honorius III often is considered to be a rather weak pope, new research
has revealed his engagement and innovative approach in crusading and missionary policies
relating to the Baltic and other regions. See Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the
Baltic Crusades, 1147–1254, [The Northern World, 26], (Leiden, 2007), p. 11; Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, “Pope Honorius III and Mission and Crusades in the Baltic Region,” in The
Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. Alan V. Murray (Farnham, UK, 2009),
pp. 103–22, here pp. 121–22.
6. Michael T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record. England 1066–1307, 2nd ed.
(Malden, MA, 1993); Anna Adamska, “‘From Memory to Written Record’ in the Periphery
of Medieval Latinitas: The Case of Poland in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” in Charters and the Use of the Written Word in Medieval Society, ed. Karl Heidecker, [Utrecht Studies
in Medieval Literacy, 5], (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 83–100.
7. Heinrich Zimmermann, Die päpstliche Legation in der ersten Hälfte des 13. Jahrhunderts.
Vom Regierungsantritt Innocenz’ III. bis zum Tode Gregors IX. (1198–1241) (Paderborn, 1913).
8. See Thomas Frenz, Papsturkunden des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit, 2nd ed., [Historische Grundwissenschaften in Einzeldarstellungen, 2], (Stuttgart, 2000), pp. 86–109;
Dominik Waßenhoven, Skandinavier unterwegs in Europa (1000–1250). Untersuchungen zu
Mobilität und Kulturtransfer auf prosopographischer Grundlage, [Europa im Mittelalter, 8],

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

ently most powerful medieval popes had difficulties in implementing their
decisions in Livonia. Simultaneously, these decisions mostly were based
solely upon information provided by local interested parties.
The events that transpired during the first half of the thirteenth century in Livonia resulted in establishing a group of ecclesiastic territories
(bishoprics and the “state” of the Brethren of the Sword or, later on, the
Teutonic order). Local communities were forced to accept Christianity;
baptism was equated with political and economic subjugation. The interests and endeavors of different power centers crossed in the Livonian crusades and other military conflicts here. In this period, the initiatives of the
Danish king; those of Riga’s political and ecclesiastic center, established
mainly by ministeriales of the Bremen Archbishopric; and those of the
Swedish king and the archbishop of Magdeburg collided in the eastern
Baltics. In Riga, conflicts also emerged between the bishops and the Order
of the Brethren of the Sword. In 1186, Hartwig of Uthlede, archbishop of
Bremen, consecrated an Augustinian canon, Meinhard (†1196) of Segeberg, Holstein, to be the first bishop of the Livs. Bishop Albert (†1229)
founded the town of Riga in 1201. The military Order of the Brethren of
the Sword began c. 12029 and was amalgamated with the Teutonic order
in 1237. The Danish Church showed interest in the Christianization of
the Estonians as early as the 1160s or 1170s; the Danish raids on Estonia
started, at the latest, from the last decade of the twelfth century. The
attempt by the king of Sweden to conquer western Estonia in 1220 ended
in failure. The endeavors of Albrecht (†1232), archbishop of Magdeburg
in Livonia, were equally unsuccessful, although some persons associated
with Magdeburg acquired key positions in Livonia, such as the canon
Nicolaus from Magdeburg, who became the bishop of Riga (1229–53).10

(Berlin, 2006). On the linguistic aspects of communication, see Falk Eisermann, “Das kain
babst teutsch zu schreiben phleg. Päpstliches Schriftgut und Volkssprache im 15. Jahrhundert,”
Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 134 (2005), 446–76.
9. Cf. Barbara Bombi, “Innocent III and the Origins of the Order of Sword Brothers,”
in The Military Orders, Vol. 3: History and Heritage, ed. Victor Mallia-Milanes (Aldershot,
UK, 2008), pp. 147–53.
10. See most recent general accounts of the Baltic crusades in English: Ane Bysted,
Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North. Denmark
and the Baltic Crusades, 1100–1522, [Outremer. Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East 1],
(Turnhout, 2012); Jens E. Olesen, “Danish Crusades towards the Eastern Baltic region until
c. 1250,” in “Ecclesia Nidrosiensis” and “Norges veldi”. The Role of the Church in the Making of Norwegian Domination in the Norse World, ed. Steinar Imsen, [Norgesveldet Occasional Papers 3],
(Trondheim, 2012), pp. 347–64; Alan V. Murray, ed., The North-Eastern Frontiers of Medieval
Europe. The Expansion of Latin Christendom in the Baltic Lands (Farnham, UK, forthcoming).

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The main arbiter and granter of legitimacy in these conflicts was the
pope. There was no secular ruler who would be accepted by all of the actors
in this region. Popes confirmed the authority of new rulers over the territories conquered from heathen peoples and limited the newly founded dioceses. Papal arbitrage was the only institution of conflict resolution that
could be acknowledged by all of the parties active in this region.11 The
question as to the level of papal significance in the matters of Livonia does
not so much concern the will of the popes to decide on Livonian issues but
rather their opportunities to make realistic decisions and carry them out.
Thus, it is necessary to study the context regarding the reception of papal
letters and seek to ascertain their impact with regard to local development.
Proceeding particularly from the pope’s role as an arbiter and endorser, his
decisions may not be considered unduly independent.
Regarding such a viewpoint on this issue, the study by Ernst Pitz, “Papal
and Imperial Rescripts in the Middle Ages” (1971),12 is especially important
in works on Baltic history. Pitz claimed, much more explicitly than those
before him, that in the case of the mission in Livonia, the popes merely filled
the requests of the petitioners when they issued letters, and their decisions
were based on information from interested parties. The popes and their officials were not in a position to check this information, nor could they guarantee the implementation of decisions in the distant periphery—in other
words, papal letters concerning the Livonian crusades and the Baltic policy
reflect the policy of local powers of northeastern Europe, rather than that of
the leaders of the Church in Rome. On occasion, Pitz’s colleagues severely
criticized his assertions. These critiques mainly concern Pitz’s claims about
the organization of work and decision-making processes by the papal
chancery and curia.13 However, if observed from the viewpoint of Livonia—
the other end of the communication channel between the “center” and the

11. Mihkel Mäesalu, “Päpstliche und kaiserliche Machtansprüche im livländischen
Kreuzzugsgebiet im 13. Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 62 (2013),
472–89, here 488–89.
12. Ernst Pitz, Papstreskript und Kaiserreskript im Mittelalter, [Bibliothek des
Deutschen historischen Instituts in Rom, 36], (Tübingen, 1971). See also Ernst Pitz, “Die
Römische Kurie als Thema der vergleichenden Sozialgeschichte,” Quellen und Forschungen aus
italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 58 (1978), 216–359, here 345–59; this work also
includes the index of the book.
13. Peter Herde, “Zur Audientia litterarum contradictarum und zu ‘Reskripttechnik,’”
Archivalische Zeitschrift, 69 (1973), 54–90; Matthias Thiel, “Ernst Pitz, Papstreskript und
Kaiserreskript” [Book Review], Archivalische Zeitschrift, 71 (1975), 114–15; Richard Spence,
“Pope Gregory IX and the Crusade on the Baltic,” The Catholic Historical Review, 69 (1983),
1–19, here 5. Cf. the comments by Pitz, “Die Römische Kurie,” p. 293.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

“periphery”—such condemnation14 has not been so unanimous. For example, Hartmut Boockmann has emphasized repeatedly that the content of
papal and emperors’ documents concerning the Baltic region in the thirteenth century originates from the petitioners rather than from the issuing
chanceries.15 However, even most recently, statements have been made that
“both Honorius III as well as Gregory IX managed to carry out their policy
and implement their plans in this region.”16 Torben Nielsen asked, “Did
Innocent III actually have a Northern policy?,” answering that the role of the
pope in the region applied mainly to local initiatives, and those were associated with a wider context.17 The significance of papal decisions on the development in Livonia during the first half of the thirteenth century has been
continuously and repeatedly emphasized.18

14. The Livonian context is presented by Friedrich Benninghoven, “Zur Rolle des
Schwertbrüderordens und des Deutschen Ordens im politischen Gefüge Altlivlands,”
Zeitschrift für Ostforschung, 41 (1992), 161–85, here 165–67.
15. Hartmut Boockmann, Der Deutsche Orden. Zwölf Kapitel aus seiner Geschichte
(Munich, 1989), pp. 266–67; Hartmut Boockmann, “Die Freiheit der Prußen im 13. Jahrhundert,” in Die Abendländische Freiheit vom 10. bis zum 14. Jahrhundert. Der Wirkungszusammenhang von Idee und Wirklichkeit im europäischen Vergleich, ed. Johannes Fried, [Vorträge und
Forschungen, 39], (Sigmaringen, 1991), pp. 287–306, here p. 289. See also Jane Sayers, Innocent III. Leader of Europe 1198–1216 (London, 1994), pp. 87–91; Hans-Joachim Schmidt,
“Raumkonzepte und geographische Ordnung kirchlicher Institutionen im 13. Jahrhundert,” in
Raumerfassung und Raumbewusstsein im späteren Mittelalter, ed. Peter Moraw, [Vorträge und
Forschungen, 49], (Stuttgart, 2002), pp. 87–125, here pp. 99–105; Marian Dygo, “Mission
und Kreuzzug in den Anfängen der Christianisierung Livlands,” in Kryžiaus karų epocha Baltijos regiono tautų istorinėje sąmonėje. Mokslinių straipsnių rinkinys, ed. Rita Regina Trimonienė
and Robertas Jurgaitis (Šiauliai, Lithuania, 2007), pp. 66–84, here p. 73.
16. “Nii Honorius III-l kui ka Gregorius IX-l õnnestus siin teostada oma poliitikat ja
viia ellu oma plaanid,” emphasis in original. Ivar Leimus, “Modena Wilhelmi salasepitsused
ehk kuidas Tallinn aastal 1227 mõõgavendade omaks sai [The Conspiracies by William of
Modena or How Tallinn Came in 1227 into the Possession of the Sword Brethrens],” in “Kui
vana on Tallinn?” 13. mail 2004 toimunud konverentsi ettekanded ja diskussioon, ed. Tiina Kala
(Tallinn, Estonia, 2004), pp. 64–79, here p. 76.
17. Torben K. Nielsen and Kurt Villads Jensen, “Pope Innocent III and Denmark,” in
Innocenzo III urbs et orbis, ed. Andrea Sommerlechner, 2 vols. (Rome, 2003), 2:1133–68. Cf.
Torben K. Nielsen, “Celestine III and the North,” in Pope Celestine III (1191–1198). Diplomat and Pastor, ed. John Doran and Damian J. Smith (Farnham, UK, 2008), pp. 159–78.
18. Christian Krötzl, “Finnen, Liven, Russen. Zur päpstlichen Politik im nördlichen
Ostseeraum im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert,” in Ab aquilone. Nordic Studies in Honour and Memory
of Leonard E. Boyle, O.P., ed. Marie-Louise Rodén [Skrifter utgivna av Riksarkivet, 14],
(Stockholm, 1999), pp. 44–56; Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind,
“Communicating Crusades and Crusading Communications in the Baltic Region,” Scandinavian Economic History Review, 49, no. 2 (2001), 5–25, here 10; Nils Blomkvist, The Discovery
of the Baltic. The Reception of a Catholic World-System in the European North (AD 1075–1225),
[The Northern World, 15], (Leiden, 2005), pp. 648–51.

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In considering the issue of papal “policy” in Livonia—and in the
“periphery” of Latin Europe in general—it is necessary to contemplate
what real opportunities existed for the popes to make thoughtful decisions
and affect the course of matters in a more immediate manner. As Iben
Fonnesberg-Schmidt has pointed out, the popes’ actions in Livonia tended
to be the location of local initiatives in relation to the policy of the entire
Church. She accentuates the development that in broad terms led to an
increase in papal attention with regard to the Baltics.19 However, this
again, in a certain way, is solely a glance from a distance. In northern
Europe, it may be claimed that—without too much exaggeration—every
kind of legitimization was good, whereas details and legal nuances were of
an ancillary nature. Even during the late Middle Ages, the legal competence required for comprehending the legal implications created by papal
records might not have always been at hand in northern Europe.20
The consequent relevant question is, then, how the papal justice and
authority were perceived in Livonia. The only contemporary local chronicle of this period in the Baltic crusades, authored by Henry of Livonia,
presents in its narrative a story of the undisputable and full support of the
popes to the Livonian German bishops and to the Order of the Brethren
of the Sword. The chronicle,21 written in the 1220s most probably by the
local missionary priest Henricus de Lettis on behalf of the bishop of Riga,
advocates the “German” Church and mission of Riga, especially against the
king of Denmark. The author repeatedly claims that the crusading privileges and indulgences of Livonian “German” crusaders were equal with
that of crusaders to Jerusalem.22 This assertion conflicts with papal letters
that reveal Innocent III’s treatment of the Livonian crusade as a potential

19. Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, 1147–1254, [The
Northern World, 26], (Leiden, 2007).
20. Brigide Schwarz, “Norddeutschland und die römische Kurie im späten Mittelalter
(1200–1450): Probleme der Kommunikation,” in The Roman Curia, the Apostolic Pentitentiary
and the Partes in the Later Middle Ages, ed. Kirsi Salonen and Christian Krötzl, [Acta instituti
romani Finlandiae, 28], (Rome, 2003), pp. 3–22, here pp. 8–9. See also Jörg Erdmann, “Quod
est in actis, non est in mundo.” Päpstliche Benefizialpolitik im sacrum imperium des 14. Jahrhunderts, [Bibliothek des Deutschen historischen Instituts in Rom, 113], (Tübingen, 2006).
21. Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen, eds., Crusading and
Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier. A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of
Livonia (Farnham, UK, 2011).
22. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, ed. Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, [Scriptores
rerum germanicarum in usum scholarum ex Monumentis Germaniae historicis separatam
editi], (Hannover, 1955), chapter III.2, XIX.7. Cf. the English translation: James A.
Brundage, trans., The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, 2nd ed. (New York, 2003).

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

impediment to or competitor in the successful completion of the great
Outremer expedition. It was only Honorius III who regarded the crusades
in the Baltic “as being of essentially the same character as crusades to the
East.”23 Similarly, the chronicle does not mention the failed missions.
Innocent III rejected the request of the Order of the Brethren of the Sword
to establish a separate bishopric for the territories seized by the Brethren.24
Likewise, the pope rejected the requests of Bishop Albert to grant Riga the
status of an archbishopric.25 The objective of the Chronicle of Henry of
Livonia was, in every way, to demonstrate the legitimacy of the Church of
Riga and Riga’s crusaders, and their rights in Livonia.26 At the same time,
the limited nature of the support provided by Innocent III reveals itself
only in comparison with the papal letters sent to other addressees. In Livonia, northern Germany, or Denmark of the time, it was probably hardly
possible or, rather, just not necessary to make such a detailed comparison.
The only “general” crusading bulls of this period present in northern Germany (the land of origin for the majority of Livonian crusaders and
prelates) are the 1216 mandate by Innocent III about the planned gathering of crusaders in the Kingdom of Sicily27 and some letters by Honorius
III dealing with fiscal aspects of the same crusading proposal. No similar
document issued by Gregory IX is known to exist in this region.28 Livonian
clergy were informed about the main political issues of the Mediterranean
crusades,29 but they apparently had no knowledge regarding details of the
general papal crusading policy. One exceptional case directly connecting

23. Pitz, Papstreskript, p. 19; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes, pp. 111–13, 143 (quotation), p. 185; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, “Pope Honorius III,” pp. 103–22.
24. Liv-, Esth- und Curländisches Urkundenbuch nebst Regesten, ed. Friedrich Georg von
Bunge, Vol. 1 (Reval, Estonia, 1853), no. 24. Hereafter cited as LUB; Benninghoven, Der
Orden der Schwertbrüder, p. 117.
25. LUB, Vol. 1, no. 47; Hermann Hildebrand, ed., Livonica, vornämlich aus dem 13.
Jahrhundert, im Vaticanischen Archiv (Riga, 1887), nos. 10, 11, cf. 12.
26. Anti Selart, “Iam tunc. . . The Political Context of the First Part of the Chronicle
of Henry of Livonia,” in The Medieval Chronicle, 5 (2008), 197–209. Cf. Iben FonnesbergSchmidt, “Riga and Rome: Henry of Livonia and the Papal Curia,” in Tamm et al., ed., Crusading and Chronicle Writing, pp. 209–27.
27. August Potthast, ed., Regesta pontificum romanorum inde ab a. post Christum natum
MCXCVIII ad a. MCCCIV, (Berlin, 1874), 1:443–44, no. 5048.
28. Brigide Schwarz, ed., Regesten der in Niedersachsen und Bremen überlieferten Papsturkunden 1198–1503, [Quellen und Untersuchungen zu Geschichte Niedersachsens im
Mittelalter, 15], (Hannover, 1993), pp. 20–21, 23, 27, 34. None of them is preserved in original, cf. Tilman Schmidt, Die Originale der Papsturkunden in Norddeutschland (Bremen, Hamburg, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Schleswig-Holstein) 1199–1415, [Index actorum romanorum
pontificum ab Innocentio III and Martinum V electum, 7], (Vatican City, 2003).
29. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XIX.7, XXIV.4, XXIV.7; LUB, Vol. 1, no. 42.

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Palestine and Livonia is the 1238 papal letter to the papal legate in the
Baltics, William of Modena (†1251), which prescribes the treatment of
slaves who were converts.30 Its point of departure was the legal situation in
the Holy Land, however, and it is certainly questionable how it could actually be implemented in the very dissimilar settings of the Baltics.31
The Chronicle by Henry of Livonia does not question papal authority
and certainly does not criticize papal decisions. For him, the pope was not
only the source of justice but also of consolation.32 Even when Bishop
Albert did not succeed against King Valdemar II at the Roman Curia in
1220, the chronicler says that the pope listened to the Livonian petitions
mercifully and paternally—however, it was the emissaries of the king at the
curia who viciously disturbed the business of the Livonian Church.33
The precondition for actual implementation of a papal decision was to
have a sufficiently strong interested party at the local level. The emergence
of such a situation was possible only if the content of the papal record generally corresponded to the expectations of the petitioner.34 Potentially, the
possibilities for a document to be preserved also could depend on the fact of
whether the relevant content conformed to the interests of its possessor.35
As stressed by Tiina Kala, the vast majority of documents produced in thirteenth-century Livonia are lost. Documents considering power relations
and property rights had better chances of preservation.36 Hence, regarding
the history of thirteenth-century Livonia, papal letters remain a central documental source, although in the case of every Livonia-related letter entered
in the papal register, it is indeed impossible to be sure whether it actually

30. Benjamin Z. Kedar, Crusade and Mission. European Approaches towards the Muslims,
(Princeton, 1984), pp. 148–49, 212–15; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes, pp. 178–79.
31. Anti Selart, “Slavery in the Eastern Baltic in the 12th–15th Centuries,” in Schiavitù
e servaggio nell’economia Europea secc. XI–XVIII. Serfdom and Slavery in the European Economy,
11th–18th Centuries, ed. Simonetta Cavaciocchi, [Fondazione Istituto Internazionale di
Storia Economica F. Datini. Atti delle “Settimane di Studi” e altri Convegni, 45], (Florence,
2014), pp. 351–64, here p. 362.
32. See, for example, Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XI.3, XIV.13, XX.1.
33. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XXIV.4.
34. See Pitz, “Die römische Kurie,” p. 223.
35. Cf. Arnold Esch, “Überlieferungs-Chance und Überlieferungs-Zufall als methodisches Problem des Historikers,” Historische Zeitschrift, 240 (1985), 529–70.
36. Tiina Kala, “Dokumendid ja inimesed 13. sajandi Liivimaal [The Character of
Charters and the Social Background of Their Testifiers in Thirteenth-Century Livonia],” in
Sõnasse püütud minevik in honorem Enn Tarvel, ed. Priit Raudkivi and Marten Seppel (Tallinn,
Estonia, 2009), pp. 92–114, here p. 111.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

reached the addressee or whether it was ever used.37 Another obstacle to
research is that only a small part—the minimum for the first half of the thirteenth century is estimated at 20 percent—of the total production of the
papal chancery was recorded in the registers, and the recording of a letter in
the register often resulted from the petitioner’s intention.38
Due to the predominantly reactive role of the papacy, the letters
often provided post-factum support or legitimization. At the end of the
twelfth century and at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the work
of the papal chancery39 developed significantly. The demand for papal
letters substantially increased and a problem simultaneously emerged, in
that the pope and his chancery were incapable of independently assessing the legitimacy and truthfulness of the information submitted by the
petitioners.40 Situations occurred wherein the curia had to admit that
due to a lack of information and poor knowledge of local circumstances,
it could not make any kind of decision.41 During the same period, proctors (permanent representatives and agents at the curia) and conservators42 (delegated judges to defend certain institutions or classes) came

37. Pitz, Papstreskript, pp. 78–79.
38. Othmar Hagendender, “Die Register Innozenz’ III,” in Papst Innozenz III. Weichensteller der Geschichte Europas, ed. Thomas Frenz (Stuttgart, 2000), pp. 91–101, here p. 92.
39. On the papal chancery, see Peter Herde, Beiträge zum päpstlichen Kanzlei- und
Urkundenwesen im dreizehnten Jahrhundert (Munich, 1967); Jane E. Sayers, Papal Government
and England during the Pontificate of Honorius III (1216–1227) (Cambridge, UK, 1984);
Patrick N. R. Zutshi, “The Personal Role of the Pope in the Production of Papal Letters in
the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” in Vom Nutzen des Schreibens. Soziales Gedächtnis,
Herrschaft und Besitz im Mittelalter, ed. Walter Pohl and Paul Herold, [Österreichische
Akademie der Wissenschaften. Phil.-hist. Klasse Denkschriften, 306; Forschungen zur
Geschichte des Mittelalters, 5], (Vienna, 2002), pp. 225–36; Rudolf Hiestand, ed., Hundert
Jahre Papsturkundenforschung. Bilanz—Methoden—Perspektiven, [Abhandlungen der
Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Philologisch-Historische Klasse, Dritte Folge,
261], (Göttingen, 2003).
40. Patrick N. R. Zutshi, “Innocent III and the Reform of the Papal Chancery,” in
Sommerlechner, ed., Innocenzo III urbs et orbis, 1:84–101. The relevant bibliography also is
included here.
41. Christine Schuchard, “Päpstliche Legaten und Kollektoren nördlich der Alpen,” in
Kommunikation und Mobilität im Mittelalter. Begegnungen zwischen dem Süden und der Mitte
Europas (11.–14. Jahrhundert), ed. Siegfried de Rachewiltz and Josef Riedmann (Sigmaringen, 1995), pp. 261–75, here pp. 261, 269.
42. Kurt Forstreuter, “Conservatores des Deutschen Ordens,” in Von Akkon bis Wien.
Studien zur Deutschordensgeschichte vom 13. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Udo Arnold, [Quellen
und Studien zur Geschichte des Deutschen Ordens, 20], (Marburg, 1978), pp. 29–42;
William Urban, “The Diplomacy of the Teutonic Order at the Curia,” Journal of Baltic Studies, 9 (1978), 116–28.

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into being. The institution of proctors of the Teutonic order at the curia
emerged as early as c. 1220,43 but as the order did not have any significant interest in the Livonian crusades prior to the amalgamation of the
Order of the Brethren of the Sword with the Teutonic order, its proctors were not involved in Livonian issues before this date. None of the
political powers in Livonia could support a permanent representative at
the papal curia.44 Thus, with the lack of consistent representation, there
was no possibility of reacting immediately to petitions submitted by
rivals or of blocking them.
Thus, the only effective way to communicate with the curia was
through personal visits by local actors. The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia
regularly mentions journeys by representatives of the Church of Riga to the
pope and, more infrequently, to the Roman king responsible to the
emperor for procuring charters of support. Theoderich, the Cistercian
abbot of Dünamünde and later bishop of Estonia (†1219), went to the
curia on at least six occasions.45 Albert, during his incumbency as a bishop,
traveled to Germany at least ten times to obtain support and recruit crusaders; in addition, on three occasions he traveled to the pope in Italy.46
The Chronicle of Henry also reports on difficulties and failures on the way.

43. Kurt Forstreuter, ed., Die Berichte der Generalprokuratoren des Deutschen Ordens
an der Kurie, Vol. 1: Die Geschichte der Generalprokuratoren von den Anfängen bis 1403,
[Veröffentlichungen der niedersächsischen Archivverwaltung, 12], (Göttingen, 1961), pp.
52–57; Barbara Bombi, “I procuratori dell’Ordine Teutonico tra il XIII e XIV secolo,”
Römische historische Mitteilungen, 44 (2002), 193–297, here 230–31; Barbara Bombi,
“L’Ordine Teutonico nell’Italia centrale. La casa romana dell’Ordine e l’ufficio del procuratore generale,” in L’Ordine Teutonico nel Mediterraneo, ed. Hubert Houben [Acta Theutonica, 1], pp. 197–216, here 205–14; Barbara Bombi, “The Teutonic Order and the
Papacy,” in As ordenes militares. Freires, guerreiros, cavaleiros, ed. Isabel C. F. Fernandes,
[Colecção ordens militares, 7], Vol. 1 (Palmela, Portugal, 2012), pp. 455–64, here pp.
460–62.
44. Kristjan Toomaspoeg, “La guerre baltique au regard des sociétés de l’Europe
méditerranéenne à la fin du Moyen Âge,” in Regards croisés sur la guerre sainte. Guerre, idéologie
et religion dans l’espace méditerranéen latin (XI e–XIII e siècle), ed. Daniel Baloup and Philippe
Josserand (Toulouse, 2006), pp. 399–412; Kristjan Toomaspoeg, “The Teutonic Order in
Italy. An Example of the Diplomatic Ability of the Military Orders,” in The Military Orders,
Vol. 5: Politics and Power, ed. Peter W. Edbury (Farnham, UK 2012), pp. 273–82.
45. Paul Johansen, Nordische Mission, Revals Gründung und die Schwedensiedlung in Estland, [Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar, 74], (Stockholm,
1951), p. 95.
46. Gisela Gnegel-Waitschies, Bischof Albert von Riga. Ein Bremer Domherr als Kirchenfürst im Osten (1199–1229), [Nord- und osteuropäische Geschichtsstudien, 2], (Hamburg,
1958), pp. 168–74.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

In 1215, the Livonian prelates on their way to Rome to attend the ecumenical council had to fight off the pirates of Ösel.47 In 1220, when Albert
sought help against the Danish king, it was only with the help of his local
supporters that the bishop managed to relocate from Lübeck, which, at the
time, was under the control of the king of Denmark.48
In contrast to the situation of Livonia, countries such as Italy or
France were represented at the curia on a more or less permanent basis, as
well as benefited from the familial, legal, and social ties of central institutions of the Catholic Church with the nearby regions. Italian roots, studies
at Italian and French universities, and outstanding positions in leading
monastic orders were the factors that could promote an ecclesiastical career
at the Roman Curia.49 Such relationships were practically nonexistent in
the northern periphery in the thirteenth century.50 With regard to Germany, Robert Gramsch has noted that “[i]t is characteristic for the thirteenth century that the contact between the curia and Germany became
always just then intensified, when the political weather indication signaled
a storm.”51 In the case of Livonia, tensions triggered contact, as the need
for an arbiter and authoritative right became apparent. Figuratively speaking, a journey to Rome was an investment, with such a level of cost that a
bishop or another local authority had to consider very carefully the expense
versus expected profit.

47. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XIX.5.
48. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XXIV.4.
49. Cf. Jürgen Dendorfer and Ralf Lützelschwab, eds., Geschichte des Kardinalats im
Mittelalter, [Päpste und Papsttum, 39], (Stuttgart, 2011), pp. 100–11, 160–70; Bernhard
Schimmelpfennig, Das Papsttum. Von der Antike bis zur Renaissance, 6th ed. (Darmstadt,
2009), pp. 191–203.
50. There is the hypothesis, however, that Archbishop Anders Sunesen of Lund had
personal contacts with Innocent III. See Torben K. Nielsen, “Pope Innocent III and Denmark, Sweden, and Norway,” Analecta romana instituti danici, 28 (2001), 7–32, here 12. Cf.
counter-arguments in Alfred J. Andrea, “Innocent III and the Byzantine Rite, 1198–1216,”
in Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and Its Consequences, ed. Angeliki Laiou, [Réalités Byzantines, 10], (Paris, 2005), pp. 111–22, here p. 115. Archbishop Henry of Gniezno (†1219),
who was personally close to Innocent III, was never involved in Livonian issues; see Urszula
Borkowska, “Innocent III and the Countries of the ‘New Christianity’—Poland and Hungary,” in Sommerlechner, ed., Innocenzo III urbs et orbis, 2:1169–91, here pp. 1181–88.
51. “Kennzeichnend für das 13. Jahrhundert ist, daß sich der Kontakt zwischen der
Kurie und Deutschland immer dann intensivierte, wenn die Zeichen der politischen
Großwetterlage auf Sturm standen.” Robert Gramsch, “Kommunikation als Lebensform.
Kuriale in Thüringen vom 13. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert,” in Kurie und Region. Festschrift für
Brigide Schwarz zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Brigitte Flug, Michael Matheus, and Andreas
Rehberg, [Geschichtliche Landeskunde, 59], (Stuttgart, 2005), pp. 417–34, here p. 418.

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By comparison, northern Germany had a weaker relationship with the
curia than southern Germany,52 hampered by communication difficulties.
The popes’ interest toward the region continued to lie in the filling of vacancies with suitable candidates during strenuous times in the so-called “big politics.”53 A similar situation also can be observed in the Baltic area during the
second half of the thirteenth century, when the pope gave orders to appoint
bishops from among the clergy as a reward for their assistance during the
conflict between the emperor and the pope.54 The presence of Livonians at
the curia remained very limited even in the later Middle Ages.55
The services of the papal messengers (cursores), who also had become
institutionalized at the beginning of the thirteenth century, were frequently
needed to liaise between eastern and northern Europe, where there were
no other possibilities to deliver letters as there were, for example, in the
relationship networks of Italian business enterprises.56 Actually, even very
important papal legal acts often were disseminated by the petitioners and
their associates rather than by the curia.57
52. Dieter Brosius, “Kurie und Peripherie—das Beispiel Niedersachsen,” Quellen und
Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 71 (1991), 325–39.
53. Schwarz, “Norddeutschland,” pp. 3–5.
54. Conrad Eubel, “Der Minorit Heinrich von Lützelburg, Bischof von Semgallen,
Curland und Chiemsee,” Historisches Jahrbuch, 6 (1885), 92–103; Willibord Lampen,
“Johannes van Diest, O.F.M. Hofkapelaan van Graf Willem II en eerste Nederlandsche bisschop uit de Minderbroedersorde [Johannes van Diest O.F.M., Court Chaplain of the Count
William II and the First Dutch Franciscan Bishop],” Bijdragen voor de gesciedenis van het
bisdom van Haarlem, 44 (1926), 299–312; John B. Freed, The Friars and German Society in the
Thirteenth Century, [The Mediaeval Academy of America Publication, 86], (Cambridge,
MA, 1977), pp. 131–32; Anti Selart, “Die Bettelmönche im Ostseeraum zur Zeit des
Erzbischofs Albert Suerbeer von Riga (Mitte des 13. Jahrhunderts),” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 56 (2007), 475–99, here 488–92.
55. Christiane Schuchard, Die Deutschen an der päpstlichen Kurie im späten Mittelalter
(1378–1447), [Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 65], (Tübingen,
1987), pp. 169–76.
56. Brigide Schwarz, “Im Auftrag des Papstes. Die päpstlichen Kursoren von ca. 1200
bis ca. 1470,” in Päpste, Pilger, Pönitentiare. Festschrift für Ludwig Schmugge zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Andreas Meyer, Constanze Rendtel, and Maria Wittmer-Butsch (Tübingen, 2004),
pp. 49–71, particularly p. 62. See also Pierre Gasnault, “La transmission des lettres pontificales au XIIIe et au XIVe siècle,” in Histoire comparée de l’administration (IV e–XVIII e siècles),
ed. Werner Paravicini and Karl Ferdinand Werner, [Beihefte der Francia, 9], (Munich,
1980), pp. 81–87; Anne-Marie Hayez, “Les courriers des papes d’Avignon sous Innocent VI
et Urbain V (1352–1370),” in La circulation des nouvelles au Moyen Âge, [Collection de l’École
Française de Rome, 190], (Rome, 1994), pp. 49–62.
57. Peter Johanek, “Methodisches zur Verbreitung und Bekanntmachung von Gesetzen im Spätmittelalter,” in Paravicini and Werner, eds., Histoire comparée de l’administration,
pp. 88–101, here pp. 93–95.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

But the central fact in this context is that travel between Livonia and
Italy was sufficiently time-consuming and costly. In the first half of the
thirteenth century, the southeastern shore areas of the Baltic Sea were
inhabited by “heathens” and were subject to power struggles that affected
travel. The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia mentions the extraordinary use
of the Prussian route twice on occasions when weather or political conditions halted maritime traffic.58 Apparently, the regular use of mainland
roads between Livonia and Germany or Poland was possible only from the
late-thirteenth century, when the power of the Teutonic order in Curonia
and Prussia had been established.59 Maritime travel on the Baltic Sea
stopped entirely from October to April or May, during the periods of
autumn storms and icy conditions.60 When comparing Livonia with the
Holy Land, the difference is enormous, although communication difficulties also existed between Italy and the area on the eastern shore of the
Mediterranean Sea. The shores of the eastern Mediterranean were densely
populated in comparison to the thirteenth-century Baltic Sea area61 and
were a stop on long-distance trade routes as well as on numerous local
routes between the mainland and islands.62 A similar difference exists
between the enormous amount of papal privileges acquired by the Templars and the Hospitallers63 and those acquired by the Order of the
58. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter HCL XIV.13, XXIII.11.
59. Anti Selart, “Pellegrini del Nord-Est dell’Europa sulla via di Roma (Secoli XIII–
XVI),” La Via Teutonica. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Venezia, 29 guigno 2012,
Palazzo Cavalli Franchetti, ed. Renato Stopani and Fabrizio Vanni (Florence, 2013), pp. 117–37.
60. Juhan Kreem, “Seasonal Isolation in the Communication in Livonia,” in Isolated
Islands in Medieval Culture and Mind, ed. Torstein Jørgensen and Gerhard Jaritz, [The Muhu
Proceedings, 2], (Budapest, 2011), pp. 120–27; Juhan Kreem, “Seasonality of Transport Network in the Eastern Baltic,” in Towns and Communication, Vol. 2: Communication between
Towns, ed. Hubert Houben and Kristjan Toomaspoeg, [Saggi e testi, 45], (Galatina, Italy,
2011), pp. 259–69.
61. Hain Rebas, “Internationella medeltida kommunikationer till och genom Balticum
[Medieval International Communications to and via the Baltics],” Historisk tidskrift [Stockholm], 98 (1978), 154–85; Kristin Ilves, “About the German Ships on the Baltic Sea at the
Turn of the 12th and 13th Centuries: Data from the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia,” Offa,
58 (2001), 81–87.
62. David Jacob, “The Eastern Mediterranean in the Later Middle Ages: An Island
World?” in Byzantines, Latins, and Turks in the Eastern Mediterranean World after 1150, ed.
Jonathan Harris et al. (Oxford, 2012), pp. 93–118, here 100–05. On the seasonality of traffic,
compare with Michael McCormick, Origins of the European Economy. Communications and
Commerce, A.D. 300–900 (Cambridge, UK, 2001), pp. 395–98, 444–68.
63. Rudolf Hiestand, “Some Reflections on the Impact of the Papacy on the Crusader
States and the Military Orders on the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” in The Crusades
and the Military Orders. Expanding the Frontiers of Medieval Latin Christianity, ed. Zsolt Hunyadi and Józef Laszlovszky (Budapest, 2001), pp. 3–20, here pp. 12, 15–16.

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Brethren of the Sword. The latter obtained from c. 1202–37 only seven
known papal privileges.64 The size, solvency, and political weight of the
orders were not the only aspects that play a role here but also the differing
personal connectedness of the orders with the “heartlands” of Europe.
Hence, papal politics in the periphery is to a great extent a question of
travel and personal relationships (or absence thereof).65 The fact that the
papal chancery dealt with Livonia at the demand of local petitioners is also
reflected in the rhythm of issuing the documents. The activity regarding
operation of the papal chancery differed by the season of the year. According
to Frank Bischoff, at the beginning of the thirteenth century, two-fifths of
the papal correspondence was issued in March, April, and May, whereas letters dwindled in August and September.66 As the demand for letters was
increasing, the annual rhythm became somewhat more uniform as time went
on and the summer break became shorter.67 Depending on the addressees,
certain rhythms also existed. During the pontificate of Celestine III (1191–
98), 15 percent of the letters to Italian addressees were issued in April, and
18 percent of letters to other addressees in May. The reason for this situation
is clear. Italian petitioners who had commenced their journeys in spring
reached their destinations earlier than those coming from more distant areas,
and thus the Italian issues were addressed first.68 All the letters to petitioners
from Scandinavia during the period of 1146–57 were compiled from the end
of November up until the beginning of January69; consequently, the supplicants arrived in Rome in autumn and spent the winter there.
The letters issued to Livonian petitioners similarly concentrate primarily
on shorter periods. During the pontificate of Innocent III (c. twenty-five to
thirty known letters), the “seasons” for Livonian politics were October and
April. During the pontificates of Honorius III (c. forty-five known letters)

64. Friedrich Georg von Bunge, Liv-, est- und kurländische Urkundenregesten bis zum
Jahre 1300, ed. Friedrich Benninghoven (Hamburg, 1959), nos. 57, 262, 266, 300, 302,
308, 390.
65. Cf. Bernhart Jähnig, “Der Deutsche Orden und die livländischen Bischöfe im
Spannungsfeld von Kaiser und Papst,” Nordost-Archiv, 7 (1998), 47–63, here 50–51.
66. Frank M. Bischoff, Urkundenformate im Mittelalter. Größe, Format und Proportionen
von Papsturkunden in Zeiten expandierten Schriftlichkeit (11.–13. Jahrhundert), [Elementa
diplomatiae, 5], (Marburg, 1996), p. 31.
67. Stefan Hirschmann, Die päpstliche Kanzlei und ihre Urkundenproduktion (1141–
1159), [Europäische Hochschulschriften. Reihe III: Geschichte und Hilfswissenschaften,
913], (Frankfurt am Main, 2001), pp. 122–24.
68. Bischoff, Urkundenformate, pp. 32–33.
69. Hirschmann, Die päpstliche Kanzlei, pp. 125–27.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

and Gregory IX (c. fifty-five letters), the number of letters issued for Livonia
increased, and the “season” was prolonged.70 This reflects the intensification
of communication, which, however, was affected by the ability of petitioners
to travel. For example, the papal chancery issued on October 10–11, 1213,
at least five letters that support the wishes of the Order of the Brethren of
the Sword.71 These are followed by six letters from October 30 to November
2, 1213, that benefit Estonian Bishop Theoderich, who applied for the same
areas in Estonia as did the Brethren some weeks earlier.72 Thus it can be
inferred that the two competing envoys, who probably left Livonia in the late
summer before the autumn storms began, were actually racing to reach
Rome. Five letters, issued from October 25–29, 1219, protect the interest of
Bishop Albert of Riga against the potential pretensions of the Danish king,
the archbishop of Bremen, and those of the Brethren.73 An attempt to avoid
this kind of “race” between competing envoys was probably reflected in the
bull of Gregory IX, which prohibited the sending of Livonian messengers to
Rome “without the letters of prelates” and stated that the letters provided by
“false procurators” were not valid.74
Evidently, these “Livonian seasons” at the curia in general can be associated with the traffic between Riga in Livonia and Lübeck in northern Germany, which depended on the rhythm of navigation. The military activities
of the Baltic crusaders were seasonal as well, but their rhythm was another
one. Winter may have made navigation impossible, but the frozen rivers,
marshes, and seas benefited raiders. The favored months for military raids
were August and September, whereas the periods of low military activity were
April and from October to December. This is logical, as early spring and late
autumn were the periods of high water, deep mud, and food shortages.75

70. The calculation is approximate and is based on Bunge, Liv-, est- und kurländische
Urkundenregesten.
71. LUB, Vol. 1, nos. 27–31.
72. LUB, Vol. 1, nos. 32–37. See Friedrich Benninghoven, Der Orden der Schwertbrüder. Fratres milicie Christi de Livonia, [Ostmitteleuropa in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart,
9], (Cologne, 1965), pp. 131–32.
73. LUB, Vol. 1, nos. 43–46; Heinrich J. Böthführ, “Verzeichnis der von Herrn Dr. K.
Höhlbaum der Gesellschaft für Geschichte und Alterthumskunde der Ostseeprovinzen übersandten Handschriftlichen Sammlung zur Geschichte Livlands,” in Sitzungsberichte der
Gesellschaft für Geschichte und Alterthumskunde der Ostseeprovinzen Russlands aus dem Jahr 1886
(Riga, 1887), pp. 95–101, here p. 97.
74. Theodor Schiemann, Regesten verlorener Urkunden aus dem alten livländischen
Ordensarchiv (Mitau, Latvia, 1873), p. 1, no. 3 (undated abstract from the 16th century).
75. Friedrich Benninghoven, “Zur Technik spätmittelalterlicher Feldzüge im Ostbaltikum,” Zeitschrift für Ostforschung, 19 (1970), 631–51.

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Friedrich Benninghoven, when writing about the relationships
between Livonia and the papal curia, highlighted the Cistercians’ communication network as an information channel.76 In connection with Livonia,
traces have indeed been preserved referring to the exchange of information
between the Baltics and Western Europe by way of the Cistercians.
Recently, Marek Tamm stressed the importance of Cistercians as conveyors of information between Livonia and the papal curia. Beside the “toplevel channels of communication” such as papal legates, there were the
“grass-root level contacts” provided mostly by Cistercians and largely
underestimated in the historiography.77 In the works of Caesarius, a monk
from Heisterbach Abbey (Rhineland), and in the chronicle of Albericus, a
monk from Troisfontaines Monastery (Champagne), there are episodes
narrating events in Livonia that are more or less contemporary with the
actual events. However, Caesarius’s narratives regarding Livonia demonstrate a clear political tendency—as in their explicit hostility toward Denmark—and the circle of his informants was rather restricted to Cistercians
such as the abbots of Dünamünde: Bishop Theoderich, and Bishop Bernhard zur Lippe (†1224).78 Albericus wrote about Livonian events mainly
on the basis of information from Cistercian papal legate Baldwin of Aulne
(†1243).79 In both instances, there is one quite specific viewpoint on the
events, with a written record of an opinion that does not prove the existence of regular and broad-sighted exchange of information. Additionally,
the “focal point” of this Cistercian network was located in Rhineland and
eastern France, not in Italy or Rome. Although those active in Livonian
crusades mainly originated from northern Germany and Denmark,80 their

76. Benninghoven, “Zur Rolle des Schwertbrüderordens,” p. 175.
77. Marek Tamm, “Communicating Crusade. Livonian Mission and the Cistercian
Network in the Thirteenth Century,” Ajalooline Ajakiri, 3–4 (2009), 341–72, quotation p.
344; Marek Tamm, “Inventing Livonia. The Name and Fame of a New Christian Colony on
the Medieval Baltic Frontier,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 60 (2011), 186–209.
Cf. Christian Krötzl, “Die Cistercienser und die Mission ‘ad paganos’, ca. 1150–1250,”
Analecta Cisterciensia, 61 (2011), 278–98.
78. Lore Wirth-Poelchau, “Caesarius von Heisterbach über Livland,” Zeitschrift für
Ostforschung, 31 (1982), 481–98; Barbara Bombi, “The Authority of Miracles: Cesarius of
Heisterbach and the Livonian Crusade,” in Aspects of Power and Authority in the Middle Ages,
ed. Brenda Bolton and Christine Meek, [International Medieval Research, 14], (Turnhout,
2007), pp. 305–25.
79. “Albrici monachi Trium Fontium Chronica, a monacho Novi Monasterii Hoiensis
interpolata,” ed. Paul Scheffer-Boichorst, in Monumenta Germaniae historica inde ab a. C. 500
usque ad a. 1500. Scriptores, 23 (Hannover, 1874), pp. 631–950, here pp. 879–946.
80. Astaf von Transehe-Roseneck, Die ritterlichen Livlandfahrer des 13. Jahrhunderts,
[Marburger Ostforschungen, 12], (Marburg, 1960); Bernd Ulrich Hucker, “Expansion nach

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

connections outside this area remained sporadic nevertheless. In the thirteenth century, Livonia was still sufficiently distant so that, for example,
Dominican brothers who were in disgrace would be sent from Germany to
Riga as a punishment.81
Besides bulls and letters, papal legates also served as the instruments
of papal policy in the periphery.82 As Robert Figueira notes, “Papal legation represented an important tool for the medieval pope, since it provided him with a flexible means of making his increasingly inimitable
jurisdiction operative at the local level throughout Latin Christendom.”83
During the first half of the thirteenth century, there were three papal
legates operating in Livonia: Anders Sunesen (†1228), William of
Modena, and Baldwin of Aulne. The number of papal legations to Livonia in this period remained marginal against the background of the total
legatine activity of this period: Heinrich Zimmermann counted 259 legations during the pontificates of Innocent III, Honorius III, and Gregory
IX.84 Whereas Sunesen was associated with Danish crusades in the Baltics
in his position as a permanent resident legate (a specific prerogative of the

Übersee. Zur Auswanderung Niederdeutscher in das Ostbaltikum im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert,” in Zwischen Heimat und Fremde. Aussiedler, Ausländer, Asylanten, ed. Wilfried Kürschner and Hermann von Laer [Vechtaer Universitätsschriften, 11], (Cloppenburg, Germany,
1993), pp. 55–73.
81. Heinrich Finke, Ungedruckte Dominikanerbriefe des 13. Jahrhunderts (Paderborn,
1891), no. 145. On the similar practice of the Franciscans, cf. Max Perlbach, “Aus norddeutschen Minoriten-Klöstern,” Altpreussische Monatsschrift, 10 (1873), 268–70, here 270.
82. Robert C. Figueira, “‘Legatus apostolice sedis’: The Pope’s ‘Alter Ego’ According
to Thirteenth-Century Canon Law,” Studi Medievali, 3rd ser., 27 (1986), 527–74; Robert C.
Figueira, “The Medieval Papal Legate and His Province: Geographical Limits of Jurisdiction,” in Plenitude of Power. The Doctrines and Exercise of Authority in the Middle Ages. Essays
in Memory of Robert Louis Benson, ed. Robert C. Figueira (Aldershot, UK, 2006), pp. 73–105;
Maria Pia Alberzoni and Claudia Zey, eds., Legati e delegati papali. Profili, ambiti d’azione e
tipologie di intervento nei secoli XII–XIII (Milan, 2012).
83. Robert C. Figueira, “Papal Reserved Powers and the Limitations of Legatine
Authority,” in Popes, Teachers, and Canon Law in the Middle Ages, ed. James R. Sweeney and
Stanley Chodorow (Ithaca, NY, 1989), pp. 191–211, here pp. 204–05.
84. Zimmermann, Die päpstliche Legation, pp. 296–318.
85. Torben K. Nielsen, “Archbishop Anders Sunesen and Pope Innocent III: Papal
Privileges and Episcopal Virtues,” in Archbishop Absalon of Lund and His World, ed. Karsten
Friis-Jensen and Inge Skovgaard-Petersen (Roskilde, 2000), pp. 113–32, here pp. 116–17;
Torben K. Nielsen, “The Missionary Man: Archbishop Anders Sunesen and the Baltic Crusade, 1206–21,” in Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, 1150–1500, ed. Alan V.
Murray (Aldershot, UK, 2001), pp. 95–117, here pp. 100–02. Cf. Robert C. Figueira, “The
Classification of Medieval Papal Legates in the Liber Extra,” Archivum historiae pontificiae, 21
(1983), 211–28, here 224.

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See of Lund),85 William and Baldwin take center stage in historiography
of the papal politics in Livonia. These two figures traditionally have been
treated in opposition to each other. William’s activities are regarded as
successful, and he is depicted in a positive light,86 whereas Baldwin has
deserved all kinds of negative assessments87: “He proved to be a poor
choice.”88 The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia and the preserved documents provide a relatively good overview of William’s activities in Livonia
in 1225–26. The central source concerning Baldwin’s legation in 1230–34
is the citation of Gregory IX to the Riga Bishop Nicolaus and the
Brethren of the Sword, dating from 1234, which is based on the complaints mediated by Baldwin himself. This text89 lacks a definite chronology and is difficult to comprehend because of a lack of context.
William was appointed to the position of legate as a result of a
request by the bishop of Riga.90 In 1225, when there was an outbreak of
unrest involving the people of Riga and the Danes, William took the disputed areas under his protectorate as arbiter. Actually, by 1227, all the
areas surrendered by the Danish king in Estonia had moved under the
control of the Riga camp. Baldwin, a Cistercian, was sent to Livonia in
1230 as a vice legate to resolve a matter of conflicting appointments of the
new bishop of Riga. In 1230–31, Baldwin concluded surrender treaties
with the Curonians and took some of the counties in Estonia under his
control. Baldwin traveled to the curia in 1232, and the pope granted him
the mandate as a legate in the Baltics and appointed him the bishop of
Semigallia. However, after his arrival in Livonia in 1233, he could no

86. Gustav Adolf Donner, Kardinal Wilhelm von Sabina, Bischof von Modena 1222–
1234, päpstlicher Legat in den nordischen Ländern (†1251), [Commentationes humanarum litterarum, 2/5], (Helsinki, 1929); Sylvain Gouguenheim, “Un Italien dans la Baltique. La
légation de Guillaume de Modène (1180–1251) en Norvège et en Suède (juin 1247–été
1248),” in Les élites nordiques et l’Europe occidentale (XIIe–XVe siècle), ed. Tuomas M. S.
Lehtonen and Élisabeth Mornet, [Histoire ancienne et medieval, 94], (Paris, 2007), pp.
139–52.
87. See the bibliography in Anti Selart, “Balduin von Alna, Dänemark und Russland.
Zur politischen Geschichte Livlands in den 1230er Jahren,” in The Reception of Medieval
Europe in the Baltic Sea Region, ed. Jörn Staecker, [Acta Visbyensia, 12], (Visby, Sweden,
2009), pp. 59–74, here pp. 59, 70.
88. Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes, p. 187. For one of the very few positive assessments, see Arnolds Spekke, History of Latvia. An Outline (Stockholm, 1951), p. 138.
89. Hildebrand, Livonica, no. 21. Cf. the recent edition: Niels Skyum-Nielsen, ed.,
Diplomatarium Danicum, Ser. 1, Vol. 6: 1224–1237 (Copenhagen, 1979), no. 199.
90. Heinrichs Livländische Chronik, chapter XXIX.2. Cf. Mihkel Mäesalu, “A Crusader
Conflict Mediated by a Papal Legate: The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia as a Legal Text,”
The Medieval Chronicle, 8 (2013), 233–46.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

longer assert himself. His supporters were defeated by the Order of the
Brethren of the Sword that had again conquered the whole of Estonia. At
the beginning of 1234, the Brethren had achieved the revocation of Baldwin’s mandate, and William (1234–35) became the papal legate once
again in Livonia. William operated as a legate in Livonia from 1236 to
1238, when he spearheaded the restitution of northern Estonia to the
Danish crown.91
The foundation for William’s success was the accordance of his decisions with the wishes of the powerful political authorities at the local level.
During 1236–38, when William had to implement the papal decision concerning the conflict between the Teutonic order and the Danish king
regarding the Estonian territory (which tended to favor the king, whereas
the legate was connected with the order), the king had to obtain an additional injunction from the pope for the legate. Other significant factors
included the army (recruited by the king) and a less than secure authority
of the Teutonic order in Livonia, as the Lithuanians had defeated the
Order of the Brethren of the Sword in 1236 and combined it with the Teutonic order in 1237.92 The initial task of Baldwin’s legation was to resolve
the dispute over the bishop of Riga; later, he supposedly operated in the
interests of the Danish king93 and undoubtedly against the interests of the
most powerful local authority—the Order of the Brethren of the Sword.
Thus, his failure was actually predestined. Similarly, the fact that Baldwin
relied on natives cannot be idealized as an independent, nonviolent mission
policy,94 as this was probably necessitated by the limited number of potential allies. In the end, a legate depended on local support also in economic
terms95 and had to respond to various requests to approve disputed legal
claims,96 which potentially influenced their acceptance by residents. Even

91. Mihkel Mäesalu, “Päpstliche Gewalt im Kreuzzugsgebiet. Gründete Wilhelm von
Modena in Estland einen ‘Pufferstaat’?,” Forschungen zur baltischen Geschichte, 6 (2011), 11–30.
92. LUB, Vol. 1, nos. 152, 159, 160; Klaus Militzer, Von Akkon zur Marienburg. Verfassung, Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur des Deutschen Ordens, 1190–1309, [Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte des Deutschen Ordens, 56], (Marburg, 1999), pp. 364–66.
93. Selart, “Balduin von Alna,” pp. 64–65.
94. See Alfred Bilmanis, A History of Latvia (Princeton, 1951), pp. 72–74; Arthur
Võõbus, Studies in the History of the Estonian People, [Papers of the Estonian Theological Society
in Exile, 18], Vol. 1 (Stockholm, 1969), pp. 77–80; Indriķis Šterns, Latvijas vēsture 1180–1290.
Krustakari, [Latvian History 1180–1290. The Crusades], (Riga, 2002), pp. 231–36, 718–19.
95. Zimmermann, Die päpstliche Legation, pp. 280–89; Schuchard, “Päpstliche Legaten
und Kollektoren,” p. 267.
96. Stefan Weiß, Die Urkunden der päpstlichen Legaten von Leo IX. bis zu Coelestin III.
(1049–1198), [Forschungen zur Kaiser- und Papstgeschichte, 13], (Cologne, 1995), p. 329.

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457

when represented locally by the legates, the popes were unable to secure
the implementation of their decisions.97
The role of the legates in the communication between the curia and
the Baltic region was limited as well. Communication was not systematic and depended on the personal initiatives and travel of the legates.98
After his stay in Riga, Sunesen delivered a report to the pope on the success of Christianization in Livonia in 1206–07, which is probably
reflected in the “Chronica Slavorum” by Arnold of Lübeck (†1211/14)
and in the anonymous Vita of Innocent III.99 Any mutual correspondence or negotiation between William (or Baldwin) during their legatine journeys and the pope is not proven by the existing sources. Honorius III confirmed the decisions made by William when the legate
arrived in Rome in November 1226.100 The papal letters to Baldwin in
1232 also followed the personal visit of the legate at the curia.101 Additional tasks assigned to the legates resulted from diplomatic activities of
third parties (such as that of the king of Denmark in the 1230s) and not
from initiatives of the legates (or popes) themselves.102 As noted by Iben
Fonnesberg-Schmidt, “It was not curial practice to send legates simply
to gather information.”103 Thus, the success of a legate in the far northeast of Latin Europe in the thirteenth century depended mainly on his
ability to rely on local parties, which limited his ability to put the papal
decisions into effect.
In conclusion, the relationship between Livonia and the papacy during
the first half of the thirteenth century was to a large extent an issue of the
physical conditions of communication. The pope was the only potential
arbiter recognized by all parties to the internal conflicts between the crusaders in Livonia; however, the actual impact of papal decisions and the
97. Mäesalu, “Päpstliche und kaiserliche Machtansprüche,” pp. 488–89.
98. Cf. Claudia Zey, “Legaten im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert. Möglichkeiten und
Beschränkungen (am Beispiel der Iberischen Halbinsel, des Heiligen Landes und Skandinaviens), in Herbers et al., eds., Das begrenzte Papsttum, pp. 199–212.
99. Kaspar Kolk, “Lüübeki Arnold Liivimaa pööramisest II [Arnold of Lübeck on the
Conversion of Livonia II],” Tuna. Ajalookultuuri ajakiri, no. 2 (2004), 37–57, here 49–53;
James M. Powell, trans., The Deeds of Pope Innocent III by an Anonymous Author (Washington,
DC, 2007), para. CXXVII, p. 235.
100. Bunge, Liv-, est- und kurländische Urkundenregesten, pp. 38–39.
101. Bunge, Liv-, est- und kurländische Urkundenregesten, pp. 52–53, 57–58.
102. Bunge, Liv-, est- und kurländische Urkundenregesten, pp. 50–51, 60–63; Hildebrand, Livonica, no. 12.
103. Fonnesberg-Schmidt, “Riga and Rome,” p. 226.

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POPES AND LIVONIA IN THE FIRST HALF OF THE 13TH CENTURY

incentive of their decisions in general is a totally different matter where the
distance separating Livonia and the curia was of a decisive nature. Indeed,
the Roman Curia was the best-informed institution of thirteenth-century
Europe,104 but in the case of far-flung regions such as Livonia, the information remained scant and biased. This distance was not solely a geographical one or the need to cross the Alps and sail across the Baltic Sea,
but also one created by the shortage of personal relationships. Livonia was
a “new” Christian land, without long-established patterns of communication with southern Europe. According to Pitz:
the situation with transport geography, economy, and social matters still
forced the monarchs into politics, which on one side, wherever applicable, aspired to adhere to a clearly defined princely prerogative. On the
other hand, however, they mainly had to hand the initiative and execution over to an external side.105

The Livonian crusade during the first half of the thirteenth century
was an event with a regional significance. The popes and the curia indeed
had general ideas about Christianization, crusades, and the organization of
a Christian law and political hierarchy in the area,106 but they were unable
to make independent decisions in “everyday” matters and could not obtain
acceptance of their resolutions without conditions. From the local standpoint, the issue was the skillful and efficient utilization of papal authority
rather than papal Livonia-related policy. This became particularly evident
in the activities of papal legates, who were rarely able to act effectively
against locally influential parties.

104. Werner Maleczek, “Der Mittelpunkt Europas im frühen 13. Jahrhundert. Chronisten, Fürsten und Bischöfe an der Kurie zur Zeit Papst Innocenz’ III.,” Römische Historische
Mitteilungen, 49 (2007), 89–157.
105. “Noch immer nötigten die verkehrsgeographischen, wirtschaftlichen und sozialen
Umstände den Monarchen eine Politik auf, die zwar einerseits eine bestimmt umrissene
herrscherliche Prärogative, wenn möglich, festzuhalten strebte, andererseits aber Initiative
und Exekution großenteils nach außen abgeben mußte.” Pitz, “Die Römische Kurie,” p. 344.
Cf. John C. Moore, Pope Innocent III (1160/61–1216). To Root Up and to Plant, [The
Medieval Mediterranean, 47], (Leiden, 2003), pp. 40–44, 79.
106. Sylvain Gouguenheim, “Gregor IX., Wilhelm von Modena und die Herrschaftsbildung des Deutschen Ordens (vom Kruschwitzer Vertrag zur Bulle von Rieti 1230–1234),”
in Die Ritterorden als Träger der Herrschaft: Territorien, Grundbesitz und Kirche, ed. Roman
Czaja and Jürgen Sarnowsky, [Ordines militares, 14], (Toruń, Poland, 2007), pp. 87–103,
here pp. 95–96; Barbara Bombi, Novella plantatio fidei. Missione e crociata nel nord Europa tra
la fine del XII e i primi decennia del XIII secolo, [Nuovi studi storici, 74], (Rome, 2007), pp.
271–74.

“But an Echo”?
Claude Martin, Marie de l’Incarnation,
and Female Religious Identity in
Seventeenth-Century New France
MARY DUNN*
Claude Martin’s Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation
claims to reproduce so faithfully Marie de l’Incarnation’s spiritual
autobiography that Claude’s voice in the text is “but an echo” of his
mother’s own. A close reading, however, suggests that Claude so dominates the account of his mother’s life that the Vie emerges as an
instance of hagiography and apology that renders Marie the model of
the Counter-Reformation saint, the paradigm of post-Tridentine
Catholic devotion, and the obedient daughter of a patriarchal ecclesiastical hierarchy in an effort to draw the boundaries of female religious
identity in early-modern New France.
Keywords: authorship; Marie de l’Incarnation; hagiography; New
France; Ursulines

O

N SEPTEMBER 27, 1654, Marie de l’Incarnation wrote to her son,

Claude Martin, from Quebec,

The love and affection I have for you and the consolation I feel for the
fact that you belong to God has made me get over myself to send you the
writings that you have desired from me. I wrote them with repugnance
and sent them with difficulty. But … I have to tell you my intentions
with regard to the above, namely, that I desire that these writings not be
shared with or made known to anyone but you … I beg you to write on
the cover, Papers of conscience, so that no one touches them and glances at
them without scruple … If you happened to fall ill and were in danger of
death, have them thrown into the fire.

This letter, which “is short so that it makes more of an impression on
you,” accompanied the Relation of 1654—Marie’s spiritual autobiography
*Dr. Dunn is assistant professor of modern Christianity at Saint Louis University,
email: mdunn12@slu.edu.

459

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

and a source of urgency for Claude for at least eleven years.1 Composed at
the behest of her spiritual director, the Relation of 1654 traces Marie’s spiritual development from a young and preternaturally pious girl in seventeenth-century Tours to the celebrated mystic and founder of the Ursuline
order in colonial New France. When Marie finally revealed to her spiritual
director her intention to send the Relation to Claude, he not only conceded
but “even commanded me to do it.”2 This, then, Marie did, but only on the
condition of utmost confidentiality. “I trust,” she continued in the letter of
September 27, “that you will keep the fidelity for which I am asking and
that after I granted you what you asked of me, you will not refuse me what
I desire of you.”3
Claude published his mother’s Relation in its entirety in 1677.
Although he had originally intended to compose a biography of a more
conventional sort, he was persuaded by “learned and pious people” to let his
mother tell her own story, for to edit the text would have been to detract
from the edifying simplicity of her prose and, indeed, “to correct the Holy
Spirit who, after having made her do so many holy and heroic actions,
guided her hand to put them down on paper.”4 Nevertheless, Claude could
not resist tinkering with his mother’s work, appending a number of “additions” to the text, dividing the Relation into books and chapters, and editing Marie’s prose—but only, he insists, in the interests of explaining, clarifying, and polishing—such that the resulting Vie de la Vénérable Mère
Marie de l’Incarnation amounts to the work of two authors. This great ser1. “L’amour et l’affection que j’ay pour vous, et la consolation, que je ressens de ce que
vous êtes à Dieu m’ont fait surmonter moy-même pour vous envoyer les écrits que vous avez
désirés de moy. Je les ay faits avec répugnance, et les envoye avec peine. Mais … j’ay à vous
dire mes intentions là-dessus, qui est que je ne désire pas que qui ce soit en ait la communication et la connoissance que vous … [J]e vous prie d’écrire sur la couverture, Papiers de conscience, afin que personne n’y touche, et n’y jette les yeux sans scruple … Si vous veniez à
tomber malade, et que vous fussiez en danger de mort, faites-les jetter au feu … Cette lettre
est courte, afin qu’elle fasse plus d’impression sur vostre esprit”: Marie de l’Incarnation, Lettre
CLXII, Marie de l’Incarnation: Correspondence, ed. Guy Oury (Solesmes, 1971), p. 548,
emphasis in original, author’s translation. All translations from the original French that
follow are the author’s.
2. “il me commanda même de le faire”: Lettre CLIII, in Correspondence, ed. Oury, p.
516.
3. “Je me confie que vous me garderez la fidélité que je vous demande, et qu’après vous
avoir accordé ce que vous avez demandé de moy, vous ne me refuserez pas ce que je désire de
vous”: Lettre CLXII, in Correspondence, ed. Oury, p. 548.
4. “personnes de science et de pieté;” “corriger le Saint Esprit, qui après lui avoir fait
faire tant d’actions saintes et heroiques a conduit sa main pour les coucher sur le papier”:
Claude Martin, La Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation (Solesmes, 1981), p. xvii.

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461

vant of God, writes Claude in the preface to the Vie, “worked on it herself
and her son put the finishing touches on it, but such that he speaks there
as but an echo.”5 At once inscribing and effacing himself from the Vie,
Claude purports to give center stage to his mother’s voice, casting himself
in an exclusively supporting role as the “supplement that extends [Marie’s
voice] beyond its own activity even when it is no longer.”6
From the beginning, readers of the Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de
l’Incarnation seem to have seconded Claude’s assessment of the insignificance of his editorial influence. Pierre Loisel, for example, doctor at the
Sorbonne and chancellor of the diocese and University of Paris whose
letter of approbation is appended to Vie, renders Claude the natural editor
of the work of his mother
who not only gave him the milk of her breasts … [but] poured into his
heart the sentiments with which God inspired her for his glory and …
made him the sole heir of her interior communications.7

As Elizabeth Goldsmith puts it, just as a parent and child are but one flesh,
in Loisel’s estimation so also do Claude’s “added texts naturally belong
within the ‘body’ of his mother’s work” where they presumably complement
5. “Cette grande Servante de Dieu y a travaillé elle-même, et son fils y a mis la dernière
main, en sorte neanmoins qu’il n’y parle que comme un écho”: Martin, La Vie, p. ii. The relationship between Marie de l’Incarnation and her son, Claude, is a rich, complex, and intriguing one and is the subject of Mary Dunn’s book “The Cruelest of All Mothers” (New York,
forthcoming). Although Marie had abandoned Claude when he was just eleven years old to
enter religious life, the relationship between mother and son took shape, once Marie arrived
in Quebec, by means of an extensive trans-Atlantic correspondence that reveals much in the
way of the dynamic—both edifying and poignant—between the two. For an analysis of the
ways in which the event of the abandonment figures in Marie’s writings, see Mary Dunn,
“‘The Cruelest of All Mothers’: Marie de l’Incarnation, Motherhood, and Christian Discipleship,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 28, no. 1 (2012), 48–62.
6. “comme un supplément qui l’étend au delà de sa propre activité, lors même qu’elle
n’est plus”: Martin, La Vie, p. viii. Within the body of the Vie itself, Claude continues to at
once draw attention to and deflect attention from his editorial interventions, repeatedly dismissing his own additions as unnecessary elaborations on his mother’s unimpeachably “clear
and solid” (“si claire et si solide”) prose. Ibid., p. 689. Describing Marie’s disposition in the
aftermath of the fire of 1650, for example, Claude affirms that “it would be difficult to add
anything [to Marie’s own words] that would render it more admirable” (“il seroit difficile d’y
rien ajoûter pour la render plus admirable”), but then goes on (as he does elsewhere) to do just
that. Martin, La Vie, p. 583.
7. “qui ne luy a pas seulement donné le lait de ses mammelles … mais … s’est plûë …
de verser dans son coeur les sentimens que Dieu luy inspiroit pour sa gloire et … l’a rendu
Legataire universel, de ses communications interieurs”: Martin, La Vie, p. xxxiii.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

rather than contradict the story told by the Relation.8 The discovery of a
manuscript of the Relation of 1654 in the archives of the Ursulines of TroisRivières nearly a century ago (which enabled scholars to test Claude’s pleas
of editorial innocence against the textual evidence of the original Relation)
seems, at least initially, to have added little to the analysis of Claude’s
impact on the composition of his mother’s life story. Among the earliest
scholars to juxtapose the Relation as it was reproduced in Claude’s Vie with
the original text, Albert Jamet found little of which to accuse Claude, concluding that Claude’s revisions to the Relation amounted to only minor
modifications of style and that “doctrinal corrections were insignificant and,
properly speaking, nonexistent.”9 Some decades later Jacques Lonsange
would prove more critical, admitting that the Vie does not reproduce the
Relation with a “scrupulous exactitude” and alters Marie’s prose much more
dramatically than Claude reveals in his preface. Nonetheless, Lonsange
concluded, “Claude Martin, habituated to the writing of his mother, probably read correctly … where the copyist of the Trois-Rivières manuscript
was mistaken” and more often than not, amended the text in a way that
made more precise the meaning of his mother’s prose.10 In other words,
Jamet and Lonsange saw Claude as his mother’s echo.11
In recent years, however, others have refused to take Claude at his word
and have examined the Vie more critically to understand the true effect of
Claude’s additions, explanations, clarifications, and refinements on the
Relation of 1654. Guy Oury, for example, contends that Claude retouched
his mother’s work in ways that were more than just simple orthographical
corrections or emendations of style (although he stops tantalizingly short of
elaborating on this claim).12 Natalie Zemon Davis goes further, arguing
8. Elizabeth C. Goldsmith, Publishing Women’s Life Stories in France, 1647–1720:
From Voice to Print (Burlington, VT, 2001), p. 37.
9. Marie de l’Incarnation, Relation de 1654, in Marie de l’Incarnation: Écrits Spirituels
et Historiques, ed. Albert Jamet (Paris, 1929), 2:141.
10. “Claude Martin, habitué à l’écriture de sa mère, a probablement lu correctement …
où le copiste du manuscrit des Trois-Rivières s’est trompé”: Martin, La Vie, p. 11.
11. The tendency to read Claude’s Vie as a work in harmony with Marie’s Relation of
1654 persists even in the most contemporary scholarship. Chantal Théry, for example, argues
that the voices of mother and son through which the Vie is constituted are so inextricably crossed
as to render the two ultimately indistinguishable. In Théry’s reading, the Vie reveals a relationship between mother and son marked not by antagonism, but mutuality. Chantal Théry,
“L’Écho est le fils de la voix: Les rapports mère-fils,” in Femme, Mystique, et Missionnaire. Marie
Guyart de l’Incarnation, ed. Raymond Brodeur (Sainte-Foy, Canada, 2001), pp. 253–64.
12. Guy-Marie Oury, Dom Claude Martin: le Fils de Marie de l’Incarnation (Sablé-surSarthe, 1983), p. 182. 13. Natalie Zemon Davis, Women on the Margins: Three SeventeenthCentury Lives (Cambridge, MA, 1995), p. 131.

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that Claude’s editorial interventions functioned to confirm Marie’s doctrinal orthodoxy, to prove her obedience to the institutional Church, to
demonstrate the authenticity of her mysticism, and “to rid her language of
elements offending late seventeenth-century French politesse.”13 In the following, the critical analysis initiated by Oury and Davis is expanded, suggesting that a close reading of the Vie belies Claude’s claim to be “but an
echo that responds to what she says by her own words.”14 Far from complementing or supplementing his mother’s voice, Claude overwhelms it, altering its tenor and tone here, interrupting it there, and sometimes even going
so far as to suppress it altogether. Indeed, Claude so dominates the account
of his mother’s life that the Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation
emerges as not simply an exercise in literary aesthetics or theological orthodoxy, but as an instance of hagiography and apology that renders Marie the
model of the Counter-Reformation saint, the paradigm of post-Tridentine
Catholic devotion, and the obedient daughter of a patriarchal ecclesiastical
hierarchy in an effort to draw the boundaries of female religious identity in
early-modern New France.
The Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation is a long text,
consisting of 34 pages of front matter and 757 text pages. Marie’s Relation of 1654, however, accounts for less than one-third of these pages,
with the remaining two-thirds owing to the editorial work of her son.
Claude divides his mother’s spiritual autobiography into 87 chapters and
appends a supplement to each one, which is formally identified as such
within the text of the Vie. In some instances, as one would expect, Claude
adds to the information introduced in the preceding chapter. Elaborating, for example, on Marie’s description of her involvement in her
brother’s transportation business, Claude adds information concerning
the nature of the enterprise, waxes eloquent on his mother’s remarkable
talent for industry, and interprets this episode of Marie’s life history as
providential preparation for her future life on the Canadian frontier. Two
chapters later, Claude supplements Marie’s account of her desire for frequent Communion and affection for corporeal penance with testimony
from her Relation of 1633 and distinguishes the theological import of
Marie’s experience of penance from that of the common sinner. Still
later, toward the end of the first book, Claude follows up on Marie’s
report of the trials she suffered on behalf of her son on the eve of entering

13. Natalie Zemon Davis, Women on the Margins: Three Seventeenth-Century Lives
(Cambridge, MA, 1995), p. 131.
14. “un écho qui répond à ce qu’elle dit par ses propres paroles”: Martin, La Vie, p. ii.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

religious life, amplifying his mother’s narrative with details culled from
his own memory and personal reflection that lends theological significance to the events described in the Relation.
In other instances, however, the additions interrupt and upset the
linear development of Marie’s own narrative. Throughout the Vie,
Claude anticipates the unfolding of Marie’s story, alerting his audience
to “the dreadful penances … we will see in another place,” the state of
spiritual marriage to which “she felt attracted … but which was [as yet]
unknown to her,” the “great favor to which she aspired for a long time
and which finally was accorded to her … as we will see in the following
chapter,” and the sort of mystical marriage “to which God would elevate
her one day.”15 More jarring than these brief instances of narrative foreshadowing, however, are those numerous instances in which the
appended material forestalls the Relation by entire chapters, disclosing
details of Marie’s life story that Marie defers until much later in the text.
Supplementing Marie’s short account of her marriage in his addition to
the second chapter of the Vie, Claude comments on her husband’s tolerance for Marie’s devotional practices, a point that Marie does not make
until chapter 4. Later, interrupting Marie’s own description of the
process by which she eventually discerned her vocation for Canada and
secured her passage to the New World, Claude reveals the role of Dom
Raymond de Saint-Bernard in the episode, anticipating Marie’s own
account of her former confessor by a full chapter. Similarly, in his addition to the 14th chapter of book 2 of the Vie, Claude recounts the efforts
undertaken by Madeleine de la Peltrie to realize her dream of establishing a school for Amerindian girls in New France, details that do not
appear in Marie’s narrative until the subsequent chapter. Even as Claude
pays lip service to the epistemological priority of Marie’s own testimony
(particularly that related to the content of her interior experience, since
“she alone can reveal the sentiments hidden in her soul”), the cumulative
effect of the repeated disjunctures introduced into the text is the displacement of Marie as author and the substitution of another in her
place, allowing Claude to assert his dominance over the Vie and, indeed,
over the discursive production of his mother herself.16

15. “des penitences effroyables dont on verra … en un autre lieu”; “qu’elle se sentoit
attirrée à un état sublime, main qui luy était inconnu”; “cette grande faveur, à laquelle elle
aspiroit depuis si longtemps, et qui enfin luy fut accordée … comme l’on va voir au Chapitre
suivant”; “où Dieu la doit élever un jour”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 35, 49, 104, 127.
16. “il n’y a qu’elle qui puisse declarer les sentimens cachez de son ame”: Martin, La Vie,
p. 390.

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465

Having wrested control over his mother’s Vie from Marie herself,
Claude proceeds by means of his additions, substitutions, and omissions to
Marie’s spiritual autobiography to render his mother the model of the
Counter-Reformation saint.17 If (as he suggests in the preface) Claude
composed the Vie as something of an argument for his mother’s sanctity—
the first step in the process of canonization that in the aftermath of the
Reformation had become an increasingly demanding one—he had his
work cut out for him. Not only was Marie a mystic in a seventeenth-century religious universe that looked with suspicion upon practitioners of an
interiorized, passive spirituality oriented toward the end of union with the
divine but also she was a woman whose life history pushed uncomfortably
against the gendered ideals of female sanctity in the tradition of Catholic
hagiography. With the rigorous attention to historical truth befitting a
successful petition for canonization in the early-modern period (complete
with a privileging of first-person testimony and a painstaking documentation of sources), Claude inscribes his mother into the hagiographic tradition, sanctifying her mysticism as the inspiration of God, not the devil;
squaring her marriage, motherhood, and missionary zeal with the normative virtues of female sanctity; and situating her within the lineage of
Christian saints wrought in imitation of Christ.
By the early-seventeenth century, the spirituality that had taken shape a
century or so earlier under the influence of the likes of St. John of the
Cross, St. Teresa of Ávila, and Miguel de Molinos had made its way to
France. Just as it had in Spain and Italy, this new spirituality that privileged passive interiority and personal experience over theological learning
and intellectual contemplation soon aroused the suspicion of traditional
theologians in France who warned of the potential for demonic deception in the process of spiritual ascent. As Molinos himself had acknowledged, it was just as likely that the devil rather than God might take
17. For a discussion of Marie de l’Incarnation’s missionary apostolate within the context
of the Tridentine reforms in seventeenth-century France, see Dominique Deslandres, “Qu’estce qui faisait courir Marie Guyart? Essai d’ethnohistoire d’une mystique d’après sa correspondance,” Laval théologique et philosophique, 53 (1997), 285–300. See also Deslandres, “Les
Femmes Missionnaires de Nouvelle-France,” in La religion de ma mere: les femmes et la transmission de la foi (Paris, 1992). Against those who would see in Marie de l’Incarnation a reflection of “the mood and aims of the Catholic reformation,” Anya Mali contends that Marie
“overcame institutional obstacles and the seeming dissonance of her inner callings to achieve
religious goals which were not in keeping with her sex and situation.” Anya Mali, Mystic in the
New World: Marie de l’Incarnation (1599–1672) (Leiden, 1996), p. xv. Situating Marie too
squarely within the context of the Catholic Reformation, insists Mali, obscures the ways in
which she forged a unique religious identity in response to the realities of life in New France.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

advantage of the will and soul annihilated through the practice of passive
mysticism. Even though Molinos had argued that “some residue of a passive awareness of Christ’s love” would safeguard against demonic possession, his theology, as Moshe Sluhovsky puts it, “exposed and even celebrated the ambivalence that had characterized passive interiorized
spirituality since the early sixteenth century.”18 Within this context, then,
an argument for the sanctity of Marie de l’Incarnation—who insisted,
like her Italian and Spanish counterparts, upon self-annihilation as a precondition for mystical union—had to begin with the discernment of spirits. Claude’s task, in other words, was to cast the mysticism of his mother
as the inspiration of God rather than the devil and her interior trials—
which included disturbing episodes of demonic temptation—as those of
a saint rather than a sinner.19
Repeatedly throughout the Vie, Claude’s additions interpret what
Marie’s Relation simply describes, obliging his audience to recognize his
mother’s unrelenting experience of demonic temptation as divinely
inspired. Following Marie’s account of her temptations to blasphemy, dishonesty, and pride shortly after her formal profession into religious life,
Claude explains these experiences as the necessary counterpart to divine
favor, going so far as to compare his mother to none other than St. Paul.
For if God, Claude maintains, “gave her these extraordinary graces … like
Saint Paul … it was only to prepare her, as he did this Apostle” to withstand the tests he sends to the most heroic and faithful souls alone.20 Not
content to justify his mother’s experience of temptation as compatible with
spiritual success, Claude renders the episode exemplary and offers his
mother, like Job before her, as “a model for those people who are tempted
interiorly, as Job is for those who are tempted exteriorly and in the body.”21
Elsewhere, Claude renders Marie’s temptations as “one of the most effica18. Moshe Sluhovsky, Believe Not Every Spirit: Possession, Mysticism, & Discernment in
Early Modern Catholicism (Chicago, 2007), p. 119.
19. In his attempts to justify and render orthodox his mother’s mysticism, Claude
sought to situate Marie’s religious experience within the boundaries of the Christian tradition
and the spirituality of the Catholic Reformation. For a discussion of the ways in which
Marie’s mysticism reflects not only “the tenets of Catholic Reformation mysticism, but also
the contours of her time that were to change the perceptions of mysticism,” however, see
Marie-Florine Bruneau, Women Mystics Confront the Modern World: Marie de l’Incarnation
(1599–1672) and Madame Guyon (1648–1717) (Albany, NY, 1998), p. 38.
20. “Car s’il luy a fait ces graces extraordinaires … comme Saint Paul … ce n’a été que
pour la preparer, comme il fit cet Apôtre”: Martin, La Vie, p. 207.
21. “le modele des personnes qui son tentées interieurement, comme Job l’est de celles
qui le sont exterieurement et dans le corps”: Martin, La Vie, p. 207.

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cious means God uses to purify a soul he wants to raise up,” a point he reiterates later in the Vie when he insists that
God permitted that she be attacked by these long and painful tests … so as
to purify her more and more of these little specks of impurity to which the
purest souls are subject … [and] to elevate her to a very sublime union.22

Perfection, Claude explains, consists not in avoiding temptation, but in
vanquishing it. More to the point, sanctity itself does not preclude the possibility of temptation; to the contrary, temptation might actually give proof
of sanctity as successfully resisting temptation “is a very powerful means of
winning glorious victories over themselves and acquiring very rich crowns
for heaven.”23 After all, the temptations imposed upon saints, Claude
explains elsewhere in defense of his tortured mother, prove distinct from
those imposed upon sinners, since the latter are the effects of divine justice
whereas the former “are the effects of his goodness and love” and serve—as
they did for Abraham, Job, and Paul—as a test of faith, as a means of accumulating merit, and as a goad to the humility even the most enlightened of
souls ought to maintain before God.24 God, Claude concludes,
who only engages saints in battles in order to render them victorious and
never permits them to be tempted beyond their strength, always came to
[Marie’s] aid when it was time and from the manner in which he delivered
her it was evident that these temptations were but the effects of his love.25

Toward the end of the Vie, Claude confronts the issue of mysticism’s
ambiguity head-on:
I do not know how better to elucidate the excellence of the possession this
God of light took of the soul of our Mother except by comparing it to the
possession that the Prince of darkness takes of bodies, for when the
Demon possesses a body he renders himself its master to such an extent

22. “un moyen des plus efficaces dont Dieu se sert pour purifier une ame qu’il veut
élever;” “Dieu a permis qu’elle fût attaquée de ses longues et penibles épreuves … afin de la
purifier de plus en plus de ces petites poussieres d’impureté où les ames les plus pures sont
sujettes … [et afin de la] élever à une union tres sublime”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 95, 416.
23. “un moyen tres puissant pout remporter des glorieuses victoires sur elles-mémes et
se faire de trés riches couronnes pour le Ciel”: Martin, La Vie, p. 227.
24. “les tentations des Saints sont des effets de sa bonté et de son amour”: Martin, La
Vie,, p. 445.
25. “Mais Dieu qui n’engage ses Saints dans les combats que pour les faire vaincre, et
qui ne permet jamais qu’ils soient tentez audessus de leurs forces, luy est toûjours venu au secours lorsqu’il a été temps; et de la maniere qu’il la délivroit il étoit évident que ces tentations
n’étoient que des effets de son amour”: Martin, La Vie, p. 69.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE
that he is within it like the soul. It is he who makes the tongue speak, who
makes the eyes look, who gives movement to all the members such that it
seems that the body has no being, life, and action except by the impure
spirit that possesses it. It was the same with God in his place with regard
to the soul that he had purified and rendered worthy of his greatest favors.
He possessed her so intimately and in a manner so penetrating and so
sharp that she felt as if she was consumed and annihilated to herself.

However, there is this difference, Claude adds:
While the demon only makes the body of which he is master do ridiculous
and indecent things, God only brought the soul he possessed to the purest
evangelical practices, namely to these great and admirable virtues of which
she speaks here and that she says are the effects of this possession.26

In the end, then, corporeal testimony (whether “ridiculous and indecent things” or “the purest evangelical practices”) had the last word in the
process of spiritual discernment.
If Marie’s tendency toward a passive interior sort of spirituality (coupled with her successive bouts of demonic temptation) presented something
of a challenge to arguments for her sanctity, the historical facts of her marriage, motherhood, and missionary zeal proved no less difficult to Claude’s
hagiographic portrait. Just as, however, it was the corporeal evidence of
Marie’s evangelical practices that testified to her divine (as opposed to
demonic) inspiration, so also it was these “great and admirable virtues” that
took center stage in Claude’s representation of his mother as the paradigmatic female saint of the Counter-Reformation. For Claude, as for other
early-modern Catholic hagiographers, it was not the dazzling display of the
26. “[O]n ne peut mieux faire connoître la beauté de la lumiere, qui est la chose du
monde la plus belle qu’en la comparant et en l’opposant à la nuit qui est l’obscurité et la laideur
méme, aussi je ne croy pas mieux faire comprendre l’excellence de la possession que ce Dieu
de lumiere prît de l’ame de nôtre Mere qu’en la comparant à la possession que le Prince des
tenebres prend des corps. Car quand le Demon possede un corps il s’en rend tellement le
maître qu’il en est comme l’ame. C’est luy qui fait parler la langue, qui fait regarder les yeux,
qui donne le mouvement à tous les membres, en sorte qu’il semble que le corps n’ait de l’étre,
de la vie et de l’action que par l’esprit impur qui le possede. Il en étoit de méme de Dieu en
son ordre, au regard de l’ame qu’il avoit purifiée et renduë digne de ses plus grandes faveurs.
Il la possedoit si intimement et d’une maniere si penetrante et si vive qu’elle se sentoit comme
consumée et anneantie à elle-méme”; “[L]e demon ne fait faire au corps dont il est le maître
que des choses ridicules et indecentes. Mais Dieu ne portoit l’ame qu’il possedoit, qu’aux plus
pures pratiques de l’Evangile, sçavoir à ces grandes et admirables vertues dont elle parle icy,
et qu’elle dit étre les effets de cette possession”: Martin, La Vie, p. 669.

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miraculous that offered the most eloquent proof of sanctity, but the interior
cultivation of virtue.27 There are no miracles in Marie’s life, Claude insists
in the preface to the Vie, for “God did not guide her by this way, [but]
attached her to something solid, which is faith, mortification, the Evangelical maxims, purity of heart, and the practice of common virtues, but in the
most sublime and heroic degrees.”28 Indeed, in place of the traditional catalog of miracles appended to the lives of medieval Catholic saints, Claude
elaborates on his mother’s virtues and provides exhaustive evidence of her
modesty, prudence, humility, charity, and patience. Unable to resist at least
one account of the miraculous, however, Claude admits at the end of the Vie
that “it was especially noted that tempted people received particular help by
her intercession”—a miracle nonetheless possessed of an appropriately interior (as opposed to exterior) valence.29
Throughout the Vie, Claude draws attention to the interior dimensions of his mother’s sanctity, orienting his reader’s gaze away from the
signs of holiness exhibited on the canvas of the body and toward the discovery of a hidden sanctity secreted deep within the recesses of the soul. In
striking contrast to his medieval predecessors who tended more toward a
somatization of female sanctity against the grain of holy women themselves, Claude, if anything, displaces his mother’s body from the Relation
of 1654.30 Although Claude hardly suppresses Marie’s affection for corporeal penance altogether, he consistently edits down the longer passages in
the Relation that recount—in what Claude must have determined was
excessive detail—his mother’s penitential practices, going so far as to omit
27. For a discussion of the ways in which early-modern hagiography privileges interior
demonstrations of sanctity over and against exterior signs in connection with a broader cultural shift toward personal experience as a way of knowing, see Nicholas D. Paige, Being Interior: Autobiography and the Contradiction of Modernity in Seventeenth-Century France (Philadelphia, 2000), pp. 93–95.
28. “Dieu ne l’a pas conduit par cette voye; il l’a attachée au solide, qui est la foy, la mortification, les maxims de l’Evanglie, la pureté de coeur, et la pratique des vertus communes,
mais dans des degrez les plus sublimes et des plus heroïques”: Martin, La Vie, pp. xi–xii.
29. “Et l’on a particulierement remarqué que les personnes tentées reçoivent des secours
particuliers par son intercession”: Martin, La Vie, p. 738.
30. Comparing Blessed Beatrice of Nazareth’s Seven Manners of Loving God with her
hagiographer’s account of the text, for example, Amy Hollywood argues that the hagiographer externalizes and somatizes the original text, drawing attention to Beatrice’s body as “the
visible site of her sanctity.” Amy Hollywood, “Inside Out: Beatrice of Nazareth and Her
Hagiographer,” in Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters, ed. Catherine M.
Mooney (Philadelphia, 1999), pp. 78–98. For a discussion of the role of the body in Marie de
l’Incarnation’s writings, see Monique Dumais, “Relation au corps,” in Femme, Mystique, et
Missionnaire, pp. 301–06.

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the more dramatic displays of physical mortification entirely. Reproducing
the litany of penances Marie admits to practicing before entering religious
life, Claude censors Marie’s reference to the absinthe she forced herself to
consume “for fear that [she] would take a liking to meats” as well as to her
habit of “dress[ing] stinking wounds and … draw[ing] so near to them that
she could smell them.”31 Similarly, where Marie reports that she “redoubled” (suggesting an intensification of) her penances after reaching the
state of spiritual marriage, Claude claims that she merely “continued”
them.32 Finally, altogether absent from the Vie is Marie’s admission to
having bled herself (nearly fatally) in the depth of the Canadian winter for
the purpose of excising “these imperfect sentiments and emotions … in my
spirit and in my nature.”33 To argue that the Vie offers an interiorized
account of sanctity in place of the Relation’s exterior one would be, of
course, to argue too much. Standing alone, Marie’s Relation admits of a
decided inclination inward as Marie herself draws repeated and sustained
attention to her interior spiritual experiences (which are, curiously, more
often concealed than revealed by her exterior appearance). Nonetheless,
the cumulative effect of Claude’s editorial interventions in the Relation is—
however subtly—to direct the reader’s attention away from his mother’s
body and toward “what is most admirable … [which is] the interior of this
excellent Mother.”34
It is this impulse toward interiorization that marks Claude’s justification of his mother’s sanctity in spite of the historical facts of her marriage,
motherhood, and missionary zeal that grated against the gendered ideal of
female holiness. Against the weight of a hagiographic tradition that celebrated virginity as one of the fundamental virtues of female sanctity,
Claude struggled to reconcile the incontrovertible evidence that Marie had
engaged in sexual relations. Sounding a note played before by other
hagiographers charged with crafting the life stories of wives and mothers,
Claude casts Marie’s decision to marry as one borne of obedience.
Although, he explains, Marie had resolved “to consecrate her virginity to
God in a monastery from the age of fourteen,” she ultimately acquiesced to
her parents’ command to marry, because “she believed herself obliged to

31. “de peur qu’il prenne gout aux viands;” “panser des plaies puantes et … s’en
approcher si près qu’il en reçoive le sentiment”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 211.
32. “redouble”; “continue”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 256.
33. “ces sentiments et émotions imparfaites … dans mon esprit et dans ma nature”:
Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 404.
34. “Mais ce que l’on trouvera de plus admirable, c’est l’interieur de cette excellent
Mere”: Martin, La Vie, p. xi.

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471

obey everything that they desired of her … [and] to follow the will of God
which was shown to her by that of her parents.”35 Having entered into
carnal marriage, Claude continues, Marie took no pleasure in “the freedom
nor the pleasures” of this state, but determined to use her marriage as a
means of
increasing the number of the predestined, which is the true end of marriage … such that when she realized she was pregnant … she did not
cease to offer God the little creature she was bearing in her bosom, begging him to inscribe it among the number of his chosen ones and to
permit her to have other children only for heaven.

This thought, Claude concludes, “that if she used marriage well she
would be able to serve as an instrument of God to fulfill the number of the
predestined, was her only consolation in this state.”36
More to the point, Claude insists, Marie’s heart was never in her marriage, but drawn exclusively to prayer—an element typically so opposed to
marriage that St. Paul had only counseled virginity as a means to the end
of a pure and disinterested prayer life. Indeed, “her spirit was never so
buried in the cares of domestic affairs that she did not take the time to
attend to her devotions … dedicate regular hours to prayer, and … hear
Mass daily.”37 Subordinating physical virginity (of a visible, exterior sort)
to spiritual virginity (of an invisible, interior sort), Claude resolves the tension between Marie’s sexuality and her sanctity—a tension apparently not
noticed by Marie, if the lack of attention to virginity or its opposite in the
Relation is any indication. Claude admits elsewhere:
[I know] that there are people who are of the sentiment that one ought
only to give the name of spouse [of Christ] to virgins, but God thinks
differently than men: he is not so much the spouse of bodies as he is of
souls and since souls no more have a sex than [God] and since he and
they are pure spirits, it is certain that he is not only the spouse of Virgins,

35. “de consacrer à Dieu sa virginité dans un Monastere, dés l’âge de quatorze ans”; “elle
crut étre obligée d’obeïr à tout ce que l’on desiroit d’elle … [et] à suivre la volonté de Dieu,
qui luy étoit manifestée par celle de ses parens”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 10, 397.
36. “Cette pensée, que si elle usoit bien de marriage, elle pourroit server d’instrument à
Dieu pour remplir le nombre de ses predestinez, étoit son unique consolation dans cét état”:
Martin, La Vie, p. 10.
37. “Elle ne plongeoit point tellement son esprit dans les soins de ses affaires domestiques, qu’elle ne prît du temps pour vaquer à ses devotions qu’elle n’eût ses heures reglées
pour faire Orasion, et qu’elle ne fût soigneuse d’entendre la Messe tous les jours”: Martin, La
Vie, p. 14.

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but … also of widows, married women, and even men when they render
themselves worthy of it.38

Finally, according to Claude, his mother’s eventual entry into religious
life allowed her the opportunity to reclaim, at least interiorly, the virginity
she had lost exteriorly out of obedience. Not only did Marie (miraculously!) lose all memory of her prior sexual experiences—retaining not “the
least idea” of that which, at any rate, had “never made an impression in her
heart or in her spirit”—but also she proved herself “so withdrawn, so
restrained, and so austere,” and so jealous of her modesty (thinking, for
example, in a moment of imminent disaster at sea, of tying her habits
around her legs “so as to be seen only in a decent state” should the vessel
actually sink) that Claude could render his mother spotless and, as such,
the rule rather than the exception of female sanctity:
It is true that this virtue belongs to the body, but it is also true that it has its
origin in the soul and that one will never be pure in body and that one
cannot pay heed to it without having an affection and a love for this virtue.39

The impulse toward interiorization permits Claude not only to reconcile the uncomfortable facts of his mother’s marriage and motherhood with
the gendered ideal of the virginal saint but also to celebrate Marie’s missionary zeal and circumscribe her within the ambit of feminine sanctity charted
by the Counter-Reformation Catholic Church. In an addition appended to
Marie’s description of the dream vision that inaugurated her Canadian
vocation and impassioned her commitment to the conversion of “all these
poor souls” through the apostolate of teaching, Claude abruptly confronts
the gendered limits that would seem either to have thwarted Marie’s missionary vocation or to have rendered her a heretic for having tried it:
I know that women have never been permitted to hold publicly the office
of preacher in the Church; and besides that Saint Paul prohibits it in sev-

38. “Je sçay qu’il y a des personnes qui sont dans le sentiment qu’on ne doit donner le
nom d’épouse qu’aux Vierges, mais Dieu a des pensées bien differentes de celles des hommes:
il n’est pas tant l’époux des corps comme il l’est des ames, et comme les ames n’ont point de
sexe non plus que luy, et que luy et elles sont des esprits purs, il est certain qu’il n’est pas seulement l’Epoux des Vierges, mais qu’il l’est encore des veuves, des femmes mariées, et des
hommes mémes quand ils s’en rendront dignes”: Martin, La Vie, p. 120.
39. “[E]lle n’en avoit pas retenu la moindre idée…”; “cela ne fit jamais d’impression
dans son coeur ny dans son esprit”; “si retirée, si retenuë, si austere”; “Il est vray que cette vertu
est propre au corps, mais il est vray aussi qu’elle part de l’ame comme de sa premiere origine,
et que l’on n’aura jamais la pureté, et on ne la pouvoit regarder sans avoir du sentiment et de
l’amour pour cette vertu”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 397–99.

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eral places of his Letters, the natural modesty not permitting them to
expose their faces to the public view of all sorts of people; and it is no less
prohibited for them to exercise the function of Missionary and to go
bearing the Gospel into infidel lands, as much because of the weakness
of their sex and the accidents that could happen to them, as because the
common opinion of their simplicity would be more likely to discredit the
doctrine and the religion that they preach than give it weight and authority; besides which they are not capable of receiving sacerdotal orders
which ought necessarily to be attached to this ministry … And … the
Church has never given to a single [woman] the status of Apostle, this
glorious title having only been accorded to men whom God gave to his
Church to be its foundation and its principle columns.

However, Claude at length concludes, “they are not prohibited to do
in desire what the Preachers and Apostles do in fact and to go in spirit
throughout the world searching for souls with a zeal for their salvation.” In
a move that finds no counterpart in the Relation itself, Claude confines
Marie’s missionary ambition to one of desire rather than fact on the basis
of the restrictions imposed upon her on account of her sex:
It is thus that the zeal of Mother de l’Incarnation brought her in spirit
into the infidel and most barbarous nations in awaiting that she go there
in person to carry out evangelical functions to the extent that her sex and
condition would permit, such that if one cannot give her the name of
Apostle, one can at least give her that of Apostolic woman and if she did
not carry out all the functions exteriorly … there is no doubt, at least, that
she had the merit for it on earth and now enjoys the recompense and the
crown for it in heaven.40

40. “tous ces pauvres ames”; “Je sçay qu’il n’a jamais été permis aux femmes de faire
publiquement dans l’Eglise l’office de Predicateur; outre que saint Paul le défend en plusieurs
endroits de ses Epîtres, la pudeur naturelle ne leur permet pas d’exposer leur visage à la veuë
publique de toutes sortes de personnes et il ne leur est pas moins défendu d’exercer la fonction
de Missionnaire et d’aller porter l’Evangile dans les païs Infideles, tant à cause de la foiblesse
de leur sexe, et des accidens qui leur pourroient arriver, que parce que l’opinion commune que
l’on a de leur simplicité seroit plus capable de decrediter la doctrine et la religion qu’elles
précheroient, que de luy donner du poids et de l’autorité; outre qu’elles ne sont pas des sujets
capables de recevoir l’impression du caractere du Sacerdoce, qui doit étre comme indispensablement attaché à ce ministere”; “Aussi ne trouve-t-on point que l’Eglise ait jamais donné à
aucune la qualité d’Apôtre, ce titre glorieux n’étant accordé qu’à ces grands hommes, que Dieu
a donnez à son Eglise pour en être le fondement et les principales colomnes. Il ne leur est pas
neanmoins défendu de faire en desir ce que les Predicateurs et les Apôtres font effectivement,
et d’aller en esprit par tout le monde chercher des ames par un zele de leur salut”; “C’est ainsi
que le zele de la Mere de l’Incarantion l’emportoit en esprit dans les nations infideles et les
plus barbares, en attendant qu’elle y allât en personne pour y faire des fonctions evangeliques

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

Marie, Claude argues elsewhere, had a “holy jealousy for not having
the liberty to do like them, [but] she accompanied them constantly in
desire and in spirit,” goading them by her prayers, animating them by her
letters, and enthusiastically applying her feminine skills to the fabrication
of “their ornaments to attract the infidels.”41 Preserving the apostolic vocation as the prerogative of clerical men alone, Claude not only displaces
Marie’s missionary zeal to the realm of desire but also defers its satisfaction
to the eschaton:
not content to accompany apostolic men by a simple desire, but unable
to do more during her life, she asked God as a singular grace that it please
him to order her for Purgatory to accompany them in fact after her death

where she would provide support to her male counterparts (“so as to console them, to wipe their sweat, and to excite them to work”) as well as carry
out the work of mission herself (“so as to assemble the infidel people, to
dispose them to hear the word of God, and to remove all obstacles to their
conversion”).42
Although Marie repeatedly refers to the “apostolic spirit” that animates her Canadian vocation throughout the Relation, she betrays no hint
of chafing under gendered restrictions nor conveys any sense of exclusion
from the missionary field on the basis of her sex.43 On the contrary, even
before her arrival in New France, she insists that “my spirit … could not
stay enclosed in our monastery” and admits that she “felt myself closely
united [with them] … [and I felt] that I was one with them.”44 Surely
autant que son sexe et sa condition le pouvoient permettre; de sorte que si l’on ne peut pas luy
donner le nom d’Apôtre, on peut au moins luy donner celuy de femme Apostolique, et si elle
n’en a pas fait exterieurement toutes les fonctions … on ne peut neanmoins douter, qu’elle
n’en ait eu le merite sur la terre, et qu’elle n’en possede maintenant la recompense et la
couronne dans le Ciel”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 303–04, emphasis added.
41. “Comme elle avoit une sainte jalousie de n’avoir pas la liberté de faire comme eux,
elle les accompagnoit incessamment de desir et en esprit”; “… leurs ornamens pour attirer les
Infidéles”: Martin, La Vie, p. 438.
42. “[E]lle ne se contentoit pas d’accompagner les hommes Apostoliques par un simple
desir, mais ne pouvant faire davantage pendant sa vie, elle demanda à Dieu comme une grace
singuliere, qu’il luy plût de lui ordonner pour Purgatoire de les accompagner en effet après sa
mort, afin de les consoler, d’essuyer leurs sueurs, et de les exciter au travail; afin encore
d’assembler les peuples infideles, de les disposer à écouter la parole de Dieu, et d’écarter tous
les obstacles de leur conversion”: Martin, La Vie, p. 439.
43. “esprit Apostolique.” See, for example, Martin, La Vie, pp. 300, 305.
44. “Mon corps étoit dans nôtre Monastere, mais mon esprit … n’y pouvoit demeurer
enfermé”; “[J]e me sentois étroitement unie [avec les ouvriers de l’Evangile] … [et je sentais]
que j’étois une méme chose avec eux”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 300–01.

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Marie, whose apostolate in New France included the responsibilities of
teaching Amerindian girls and educating catechumens of both sexes, did
not understand her apostolic spirit as active on the plane of desire (or,
indeed, eternity) alone, but operative as well within the material terrain of
the New World and among the indigenous peoples she saw, heard,
smelled, and touched. In insisting upon the exclusively interior dimensions
of his mother’s missionary zeal, however, Claude at once renders Marie as
properly deferential to her male ecclesiastical superiors and her vocation as
a suitably cloistered one—one that unfolds not only within the space of the
convent but also within the recesses of the soul.
If the gendered ideal of female sanctity orients Claude’s defense of his
mother’s marriage, motherhood, and missionary zeal, attention to Marie’s
sex is curiously absent from his effort to integrate her within the lineage of
Christian saints. In striking contrast (again) to certain of his medieval
predecessors, Claude identifies his mother overwhelmingly with male figures, whether from biblical or Christian history.45 Marie, Claude insists, is
another Jacob whose talent for business attracted blessings on her brotherin-law’s house (as Jacob’s did on the house of Laban), another St.
Lawrence whose pleas to accompany Saint-Bernard to New France went
unheeded (as those of St. Lawrence did with St. Sixtus), another Tobias
whose eventual passage across the Atlantic was protected by Jean de
Bernières (as Tobias’s journey had been by the Archangel Raphael), and
another Colomba whose missionary zeal took her to a distant land and a
foreign people.46 She is another Ananias for her “patience during the
course of so many different tests”; another Solomon next to whom de la
Peltrie “had the same sentiments as the Queen of Sheba”; another
Dominic, Benedict, and Francis for having founded a religious community
whose members “acquitted themselves of all their duties with so much zeal
and exactitude”; and another Jonah “but with this difference: that it was
45. St. Hildegard of Bingen’s hagiographer, for example, compares Hildegard exclusively to female figures (including Leah and Rachel) and underscores her role as feminine
bridal mystic in contrast to Hildegard’s tendency to compare herself to both male and female
biblical figures (including Moses, John the Evangelist, Susanna, and Jonah). Barbara
Newman, “Hildegard and Her Hagiographers: The Remaking of Female Sainthood,” in
Mooney, ed., Gendered Voices, pp. 16–34. Similarly, Catherine Mooney points out that St.
Clare of Assisi’s gender takes center stage in later hagiographical portraits of the saint as her
hagiographers draw attention away from Clare’s own emphasis on imitatio Christi and instead
focus on the ways that Clare’s life resembles that of the Virgin Mary. Catherine M. Mooney,
“Imitatio Christi or Imitatio Mariae? Clare of Assisi and Her Interpreters,” in Mooney, ed.,
Gendered Voices, pp. 52–77.
46. Martin, La Vie, pp. 54, 334, 389, 610, 637, 710.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

this Prophet who distanced himself from the face of God, whereas it was
God who fled before the face of this Mother.”47 Like Job, Marie proved
the model of fidelity in the midst of unrelenting (albeit interior) temptation; like Abraham, Marie found the strength and the courage to sacrifice
her son, “an Isaac, an only son, whom God had given to her to prove her
faith and her love”; like Paul, Marie suffered on account of the persecution
of the Church and was sustained by “a natural generosity elevated and fortified by hope … as was that of Saint Paul.”48
Most conspicuously, perhaps, Marie takes shape in the Vie as another
Christ whose life story, from infancy to death, unfolds according to the
pattern of the gospels. Recounting the circumstances of his mother’s birth,
Claude describes his maternal grandmother, in language reminiscent of
Johannine scripture, as but “a little branch from a great tree” that “nevertheless produced this great fruit, which was offered to God the day after
her birth in the Church of Saint Saturnin to receive holy Baptism there.”49
Depicted, even from her infancy, as the sacrifice offered to God the Father,
Marie assumes the proportions of the Incarnation itself. Her torments
upon entering religious life evoke Christ’s agonies in the garden of Gethsemane—“God took pleasure in treating [her] … as he had his only son,”
revealing to her the “pains that she must suffer in carrying out the designs
God had for her … as to his Son … which was like … a spiritual passion
for her.” Her final words to a mourning Ursuline recall those of the resurrected Christ who assures his disciples in the Gospel of Matthew that “I
am with you always, to the very end of the age.”50

47. “sa patience à tant d’épreuves differentes”; “avoit les mémes sentimens que la Reine
de Saba”; “elles s’acquittoient de tous leurs devoirs avec tant de zele et d’exactitude”; “Mais
avec cette difference, que c’étoit ce Prophete qui fuioit de devant la face de Dieu, au lieu que c’étoit Dieu qui fuioit de devant la face de cette Mere”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 407, 413, 574, 575.
Emphasis in original.
48. “un Isaac, et un unique, que Dieu luy avoit donné pour épreuver sa foy et son
amour”; “une generosité naturelle élevée et fortifiée par l’esperance … comme étoit celle de
saint Paul”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 171, 207, 579, 586, 592.
49. “Cette petite branche [de ce grande arbre] neanmoins a produit ce grand fruit, qui
fut offert à Dieu le lendemain de sa naissance dans l’Eglise de saint Saturnin, pour y recevoir
le saint Baptéme”: Martin, La Vie, p. 4.
50. “Dieu ait pris plaisir à traitter sa servant de la méme maniere qu’il avoit fait son Fils
unique”; “les peines qu’elle devoit souffrir dans l’accomplissement des desseins où il l’alloit
engager … comme à son Fils … qui lui fut … comme une passion spirituelle”: Martin, La Vie,
pp. 374, 575, 727 (“although absent,” Marie announces, “I will always be with you” [“quoyque
absente je ne laisseray pas d’estre avec vous”]. Matt. 28:20).

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Claude compares his mother to Judith on account of her exemplary
life as a widow; to Gertrude, Catherine, and Teresa on account of her
experience of mystical marriage; and (taking his inspiration from Marie’s
Relation of 1633) to the Virgin Mary whose three-day search for her missing son brought comfort to Marie when her own son ran away to the Port
of Blois on the eve of her entry into religious life. However, in contrast to
Claude’s many and varied references to male figures from the annals of biblical and Christian history, allusions to his mother’s female counterparts
are scarce.51 The one female saint with a life history suitable as a model for
Claude’s conscious molding of his mother’s identity is Teresa of Ávila, the
Carmelite mystic who had been canonized as the paradigmatic example of
Counter-Reformation female sanctity just fifty-five years before. For
Claude, Marie was “a second Teresa”—a holy woman who shared with her
Spanish predecessor both the experience of mystical marriage and the
status of spiritual autobiographer (albeit one writing out of obedience to a
clerical superior and by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit). As the Teresa
of the New World, Marie would, by means of Claude’s deft manipulation,
become not only compatible with but also, like the Teresa of traditional
hagiography, exemplary of Counter-Reformation sanctity—cloistered,
contemplative, obedient, and deferential to the institutional Church and its
practices.52
Within the context of a Catholic Church in France still reeling from
the sixteenth-century wars of religion and struggling to implement (at long
last) the canons and decrees issued by the Council of Trent some 100 years
before, La Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation proves not only an
instance of hagiography, but one of apology as well, as Claude labors to
distinguish Marie de l’Incarnation’s spiritual practices from those of her
Protestant counterparts and to conform both the substance and the style of
her devotions to the norm of a post-Tridentine Catholicism. Eager to
defend the doctrine of good works against the Protestant insistence that
salvation is by faith alone, Claude takes pains to draw his reader’s attention
to the centrality of works in Marie’s life. Unsatisfied with Marie’s description of her attempts to win the “savages” for heaven by means of “my poor

51. Martin, La Vie, pp. 33, 175, 693. Toward the end of the Vie, Claude draws a passing connection between his mother and Ss. Thecla, Monica, Catherine of Siena, Ludviga,
Gertrude, and Teresa. These, however, are comparisons suggested not by Claude himself but
by other “people who knew this great servant of God” (“des personnes qui ont connu cette
grande servant de Dieu”). Martin, La Vie, p. 753.
52. For a criticism of the comparison between Marie de l’Incarnation and Teresa of
Ávila, see Mali, Mystic in the New World, pp. 165–66.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

prayers” alone, Claude adds “and my little works.”53 Elsewhere, anxious
perhaps that his readers might misinterpret Marie’s description of the
prayer of quietude as obviating the need for the works of the flesh, Claude
explains that such prayer is possible only “after [one has performed] the
works of penitence.”54
Claude, moreover, makes much of his mother’s devotion to the sacraments, in implicit defense not only of the doctrine of good works in general
but also of the theology of the sacraments in particular and the sacramental
authority of the priests who perform them. Praising his mother’s “ardent
and almost continual desire” for Communion (even interpreting her endof-life request that he intercede for her soul at the altar as evidence of “the
perfect confidence she had in the virtue of the holy sacrifice of the Altar”),
Claude insists on the necessity of grounding spiritual ambition on the
foundation of the seven sacraments: “no matter how a soul intends to raise
itself to perfection, this is in vain unless it edifies itself on the fundamental
practices of the Christian life.”55 This, Claude is careful to point out, his
mother did not neglect to do. Even as she cultivated a rich interior life of
prayer, Marie eagerly participated in the outward ceremonies of the
Church, partaking of the sacraments, “listening to sermons, participating
in processions, [and] assisting in divine service … which are assuredly
agreeable to God and of very high merit because [they are] the fruit of
good works.”56 Furthermore, Marie’s “esteem … for the word of God
made her infinitely esteem those who preached it, as well,” such that she
never dared to inquire into the moral character of the preacher, for “she did
not love the word on account of the Preacher, but she loved the Preacher
because of the word of God.”57 Going so far as to extend his apology of
Catholic sacramental theology beyond the temporal confines of his
mother’s life, Claude describes two postmortem visions, each of which

53. “par mes pauvres prières de gagner [les Sauvages] pour le ciel”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 373.
54. “aprés les travaux de la penitence”: Martin, La Vie, p. 684.
55. “desir ardent et presque continuel”; “la confiance parfait qu’elle avoit das la vertu du
saint sacrifice de l’Autel”; “sçavoir que quelque dessein qu’ait une ame de s’élever à la perfection, c’est en vain qu’elle travaille, si elle n’édifie sur les pratiques fondamentales de la vie
Chrétienne”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 22, 520, 711.
56. “d’entendre les predications, de se trouver aux processions, d’assister au divin service
… qui sont assurément agreables à Dieu et d’un tres-haut merite, parce [qu’ils sont] le fruit
de la bonne action”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 22–23.
57. “L’estime qu’elle faisoit de la parole de Dieu, faisoit qu’elle estimoit aussi infiniment
ceux qui la précheroient … Ainsi elle n’aimoit pas la parole de Dieu à cause du Prédicateur,
mais elle aimoit le Prédicateur à cause de la parole de Dieu”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 19–20.

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confirmed Marie’s presence in heaven and each of which—not coincidentally—occurred “during the holy Mass.”58 To a post-Tridentine Church
sensitive to the dismantling of the sacramental system and the undermining of clerical authority wrought by the Reformation, the figure cut by the
Marie de l’Incarnation of Claude’s Vie must have been reassuring indeed.
For Claude, Marie modeled not only the substance of a post-Tridentine devotion firmly grounded in the sacraments and a respect for the
authority of the institutional Church but its style as well, epitomizing the
sobriety, gravity, and thoughtful piety that the Council of Trent had tried
so hard to inspire among early-modern Catholics. Commenting on his
mother’s affection for the ceremonies of the Church, Claude lauds Marie’s
eagerness to arrive early to church “so as to choose a place from which she
could consider them more comfortably and meditate on them in less distraction.” Distinguishing Marie from both her Protestant counterparts and
her more tepid Catholic peers, Claude continues:
To look at [Church ceremonies] out of a pure curiosity is a mistake, but
to look at them in order to meditate on them, this is a work of piety and
religion: for one must not believe that these Symbols although sensible
and exterior are so useless as the heretics imagine, nor of such little consequence as some Catholics persuade themselves.59

Elsewhere, echoing a post-Tridentine concern to reorient Catholic
devotion away from the apocryphal and superstitious and toward the scriptural and the sacred, Claude renders his mother exemplary:
Never was there a soul more devout or more given to God and everything
that relates to his cult as was Marie de l’Incarnation. Her devotion, nevertheless, did not consist of puerile or superstitious practices nor of
excesses or affections sensible to nature which are quite often more the
effects of a self-love than the effects of a true devotion, but [rather], it
consisted of a strong and solid practice of the maxims of the gospel and
the most perfect imitation possible of the life and virtues of our Lord.60

58. “pendant la sainte Messe”: Martin, La Vie, p. 756.
59. “afin de choisir une place d’où elle les pût considerer plus à l’aise, et les méditer avec
moins de distraction. Les regarder par une pure curiosité, c’est un défaut, mais les regarder
pour les méditer, c’est une oeuvre de piéte et de religion: car il ne faut pas croire que ces Symboles quoyque sensibles et exterieurs soient si inutiles que les heretiques se l’imaginent, ny de
si peu de consequence que plusieurs Catholiques se le persuadent”: Martin, La Vie, p. 23.
60. “Il ne se peut voir une ame plus devote ny plus portée à Dieu, et à tout ce qui regarde
son culte, qu’étoit la Mere de l’Incarnation. Sa devotion neanmoins ne consistoit pas dans les
pratiques pueriles ou supersticieuses, ny dans des saillies ou des tendresses sensibles de la

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

Drawing attention to Marie’s respect for the sacramental system and
deference vis-à-vis clerical authority, Claude casts his mother in La Vie de la
Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation as the obedient daughter of a patriarchal ecclesiastical hierarchy. Throughout the Vie, Marie’s obedience takes
center stage as Claude edits and supplements the Relation to foreground the
virtue as a constant in his mother’s life, from her youth through her novitiate
and beyond. Not only had Marie consented to marriage out of “a respectful
fear that she had always had for her parents and which led her to obey them
in all things, as God himself” and taken a vow of (clandestine) obedience to
her sister and brother-in-law “which was a quite bold engagement and one
quite difficult to satisfy,” but upon entering religious life, “her fidelity toward
the Mistress of the Novitiate was so admirable” that as soon as she received
a piece of advice or instruction, she “immediately put it into practice.”61
Determined to reconcile his mother’s preternatural spiritual authority with
her manifest virtue of obedience, Claude renders his mother the model
novice “such that it could have been said that there were two mistresses, the
one who taught the Novices by speech and the other who instructed them by
her examples.”62 Even after assuming a position of apparent authority and
prestige as the founder and Superior of the first Ursuline convent in the New
World, Marie continued to practice a consummate obedience:
When she was raised to the position of Superior she did not forget her
initial duties, but … her obedience was completely Angelic, for she was
always ready and always exact in executing the orders of her Superiors

as well as eager to submit herself to the inclinations of her inferiors.63
Indeed, even at the moment of death, Marie proved resolutely obedient,
nature qui bien souvent sont plutôt des efforts de l’amour propre que des effets d’une veritable
devotion. Mais elle consistoit dans une forte et solide pratique des maxims de l’Evangile, et
dans l’imitation la plus parfait qu’il lui étoit possible de la vie et des vertus de nôtre Seigneur”:
Martin, La Vie, p. 517. Similarly, qualifying his mother’s assertion that “holy water … wiped
away venial sins” (“l’eau bénite … effaçait les péchés véniels”), Claude adds (sounding a postTridentine note), “provided one uses it with devotion” (“pourvu que l’on en usât avec devotion”). Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 166.
61. “une crainte respecteuese qu’elle avoit toûjours euë pour ses parens, et qui l’avoit
portée à leur obeïr en toutes choses, comme à Dieu meme”; “qui fut un engagement bien
hardy et auquel il étoit bien difficile de satisfaire”; “Sa fidelité envers sa Maitresse de Noviciat
étoit admirable; car elle ne luy a entendu jamais donner un avis ny une instruction … qu’elle
ne la mit aussi-tôt en pratique”: Martin, La Vie, pp. 9, 184, 491.
62. “[L]’on eût pû dire qu’il y avoit deux maitresses, l’une qui enseignoit les Novices de
paroles, et l’autre que les instruisoit par ses exemples”: Martin, La Vie, p. 184.
63. “Quand elle fut élevée à la Charge de Superieure elle ne s’oublia point de ses premiers devoirs, mais … son obeïssance étoit toute Angelique; car elle étoit toûjours prête et
toûjours exacte à executer les ordres de ses Superieurs”: Martin, La Vie, p. 492.

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refusing to wet her parched throat and tongue until she had received leave
from the nurse charged with her care.64
Much of Claude’s attention in the Vie to the virtue of obedience is
directed toward Marie’s relationship with her spiritual director. For Claude,
Marie’s perfect submission to the authority of her spiritual director was
exemplary, modeling the ways in which progress in the spiritual life presupposes the guidance of a director to whose judgment and guidance one ought
to submit “in all things.”65 Not only had Marie obeyed her director through
a simple submission to his orders, but so as to augment her obedience “she
vowed to obey him in everything that could advance her in the ways of sanctity” and listened to his advice and orders “as if they had come from God”
himself.66 She had, moreover, refused to esteem or act on any of the revelations she had received from God until she had “submitt[ed] them to the
examination of her director and she was so persuaded that this was the order
that [God] had established in the Church that she would have believed herself in error had she proceeded in another manner.”67 Although blind obedience to “a wise and experienced director” proves sound advice to practitioners of the spiritual life generally, Claude affirms that “it is absolutely
necessary for those whom God raises to passive contemplation” in particular.68 Within the context of a seventeenth-century Catholicism wary of the
implications of passive mysticism, the mediation of a spiritual director
served as a safeguard not only against demonic deception (to which women,
if the cautionary tale of Adam and Eve was any indication, were particularly
susceptible) but also against injury to clerical authority and the command of
the institutional Church. Repeatedly, as if to underscore his mother’s deference to her ecclesiastical superiors, Claude reworks the Relation to transform Marie’s account of what is or was into an account of what “felt like,”
“seemed,” is “as if,” or was “like.”69 Qualifying Marie’s testimony with verbs
of semblance, sensation, and simile—as Teresa of Ávila some 100 years earlier had qualified her own—Claude moderates his mother’s spiritual author64. Martin, La Vie, p. 495.
65. “en toutes choses”: Martin, La Vie, p. 488.
66. “[E]lle fit voeu de luy obeïr en tout ce qui la pourroit faire avancer dans les voyes
de la sainteté”; “comme s’ils luy eussent été apportez de la part de Dieu”: Martin, La Vie, pp.
488, 490.
67. “aprés l’avoir soûmise à l’examen de son Directeur, et elle étoit si persuade que
c’étoit là l’ordre que sa Providence a étably dans l’Eglise, qu’elle eut cru étre dans l’erreur, si
elle en eût usé d’une autre maniere”: Martin, La Vie, p. 488.
68. “un Directeur sage et experimenté”; “il est absolument necessaire à ceux que Dieu
éleve à la contemplation passive”: Martin, La Vie, p. 191.
69. Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 207, 242, 253, 305.

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ity, introducing an element of uncertainty into her otherwise sure and confident prose suggestive of her subordination to a theologically-trained clerical elite who probably know better.70
At least as important as Marie’s deference to the one “who held
[God’s] place” was her manifest obedience to God himself.71 Throughout
the Vie, Claude foregrounds and exaggerates his mother’s interpretation of
her spiritual itinerary as one charted by divine providence, reading her
marriage as the means to the end of her (meritorious) maternal sacrifice,
her affection for sermons as an augur of her missionary zeal, and her
involvement in Paul Buisson’s business as preparation for her apostolic
vocation. More to the point, Claude’s edits to the Relation underscore and
amplify the divine agency operative in the unfolding of his mother’s life,
rendering Marie something of the puppet of a heavenly master. In a
number of instances, Claude intervenes in the Relation to suggest a divine
agent, whereas Marie had alluded to none. Claude, for example, explains
his mother’s acquisition of St. Francis de Sales’s Introduction à la Vie Dévote
as a result of God having “permitted me to have a copy” and her hunger for
mystical union with God as that “to which he himself disposed me.”72
Under Claude’s editorial influence, Marie’s decision to abandon the
eleven-year-old Claude in favor of religious life becomes a response to an
interior voice that “makes her” do so, her love for religious life born of her
own experience and a love compelled by the Holy Spirit. Her Superior’s
desire to know the dispositions of her soul are deemed an expression of the
divine will.73 To Marie’s admission that it was God’s will that prevailed
over her sister’s wishes on the eve of her departure to New France, Claude
adds that this God had also “advanced the affairs to the point where they
were.”74 Claude’s tendency to describe the events of his mother’s life in the

70. Both Alison Weber and Gillian Ahlgren have drawn attention to the distinctive
rhetorical strategy that characterizes the written work of Teresa of Ávila. Consciously cultivated as a means of disarming her critics within the context of the Spanish Inquisition and,
more generally, a sixteenth-century Catholicism suspicious of mystical experience, Teresa’s
rhetorical strategy foregrounded her obedience, humility, and ignorance and drew attention
to the instability of her authority, her limitations as an “unlettered woman,” and her role as
recipient (as opposed to interpreter) of divine communication. Alison Weber, Teresa of Avila
and the Rhetoric of Femininity (Princeton, 1990); Gillian Ahlgren, Teresa of Avila and the Politics of Sanctity (Ithaca, NY, 1996).
71. “qui luy ont tenu sa place”: Martin, La Vie, p. 488.
72. “Dieu permit que le livre de l’Introduction à la vie dévote”; “où lui-même me disposait”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 192, 209.
73. Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 275, 285, 297–98.
74. “avait avancé les affaires au point où elles étaient”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 347.

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metaphor of the miraculous (against the text of the Relation itself) likewise
draws attention to the significance of divine agency to the Vie. He describes
the movement of her heart as she passed, while still a laywoman, before the
Ursuline monastery in Tours as “sudden” (rather than, as Marie writes in
the Relation, “subtle”); classifies the iceberg that threatened to destroy his
mother’s ship en route to New France as a “prodigy” and the circumstances
of its evasion “incredible”; defines the zeal with which de la Peltrie busied
herself with the most humble of tasks “marvelous”; and the exhaustion
experienced by the nuns during the rebuilding of the monastery after the
fire “unbelievable.”75
On the one hand, Claude’s edits seem only to have picked up and
elaborated on the theme of divine providence already robustly developed
in the unedited text of the Relation. Throughout her spiritual autobiography, after all, Marie gives repeated and sustained attention to the providence of God and reads the events of her life as effects of divine invitation,
guidance, and power. On the other hand, taken together and isolated
from the rest of the Relation, Claude’s edits unambiguously (and uniformly) push his mother’s life story in a particular direction—one that
underscores the authority of God to the exclusion of the authority of
Marie herself, effectively displaces Marie as the subject of the Relation,
and replaces her with a divine protagonist. Embellishing Marie’s account
of God’s influence on her spiritual itinerary, Claude’s editorial interventions collude to render his mother the passive object of a divine actor and
her story as one of divine will and power over and against female obedience and submission. Claude, it seems, was intent upon proving that his
mother knew her place not only with the ecclesiastical hierarchy but also
with God himself. To his mother’s Relation, Claude adds an expression of
deference here (describing Marie’s communications with God as those
“with which he was pleased to honor me”), a proclamation of piety there
(recounting Marie’s attachment to the “sacred holy” mystery of Christ’s
passion).76 Marie was, moreover, not only “sweetly attached” (as the
unedited text of the Relation puts it) but also “submissive” to God, recognizing God as the absolute “master of [her] heart” and “the master and
guide of her soul.”77 Deflecting attention from what he must have inter-

75. “subit”; “subtil”; “prodige”; “incroyable”; “merveilleux”; “incroyables”: Jamet, Écrits
Spirituels, pp. 355, 356, 369, 374.
76. “quelque intimes qu’aient été les communications dont il lui a plu de m’honorer”;
“sacré saint”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 169, 266.
77. “doucement attachée”; “soumise”; “le maître et guide de l’âme”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 172, 192, 212.

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FEMALE RELIGIOUS IDENTITY IN 17TH-CENTURY NEW FRANCE

preted (or must have worried others would misinterpret) as his mother’s
overreaching intimacy with God, Claude replaces the familiar “tu” with
which Marie addresses God with the more formal “vous” and omits the
diminutive from Marie’s reference to “our very adorable little Jesus.”78
Elsewhere in an addition to the Relation, qualifying the “sort of equality”
wrought between God and the mystic through the experience of mystical
marriage, Claude underscores the “infinite distance” that nonetheless continues to separate the “Majesty of God” from the lowliness of the human
being.79 In addition, he suppresses altogether Marie’s reflection in the
aftermath of the fire of 1650 that she “felt … as if [she was] identical with
[God’s] very holy will,” carefully avoiding any suggestion of undue intimacy that would close the gap between human and divine.80
Anything “but an echo,” Claude dominates his mother’s life, wielding
editorial authority over not only the text of the Relation of 1654 but also the
discursive production of Marie’s identity as a woman religious in earlymodern colonial New France. Belying Claude’s claim merely to explain,
clarify, or polish Marie’s original prose are the edits and additions to the
Relation that subtly but persistently render La Vie de la Vénérable Mère
Marie de l’Incarnation an instance of hagiography and apology in defense of
Counter-Reformation sanctity, post-Tridentine Catholic devotion, and
the patriarchal ecclesiastical hierarchy. Within Claude’s capable editorial
hands, Marie de l’Incarnation becomes—against the evidence—genuinely
virginal, absolutely cloistered, and consistently submissive; a visionary privileged with authentic communication from God; a mystic who champions
rather than challenges the sacraments and the priests who perform them; a
model of obedience who knows her place before both the clerical elite and
God himself. When the Vie appeared in 1677 to near-universal approbation, Claude must have congratulated himself on a job well done. Indeed,
so successful were Claude’s efforts to conform his mother to the exacting
standards of a seventeenth-century French Catholicism that JacquesBénigne Bossuet, one of mysticism’s most vocal critics and certainly no
friend to spiritual women, endorsed Marie de l’Incarnation as exemplary.81

78. “notre très adorable petit Jésus”: Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, pp. 262, 305.
79. “sorte d’égalité”; “distance infinite”; “la Majesté de Dieu”: Martin, La Vie, p. 115.
80. “[J]e me sentais … comme étant une même chose avec sa très sainte volonté”:
Jamet, Écrits Spirituels, p. 435.
81. Tamara Harvey, Figuring Modesty in Feminist Discourse across the Americas: 1633–
1700 (Burlington, VT, 2008), p. 113. See also Elizabeth Goldsmith, who argues that
Bossuet’s approbation of Marie owes particularly “to the conditions under which her writing
was circulated, edited and printed”; Goldsmith, Publishing Women’s Life Stories, p. 14.

MARY DUNN

485

For Claude, however, at stake in the success of La Vie de la Vénérable
Mère Marie de l’Incarnation was more than just mere affirmation of his skill
as editor, apologist, and hagiographer. Although, as John Coakley argues
of the medieval hagiographies penned by Franciscan and Dominican friars,
the Vie testifies to Claude’s fascination with his mother as something of the
locus of divine power and—as Jodi Bilinkoff argues of early-modern
women’s lives written by their male confessors—functions as a means of
translating a continental Catholicism across the Atlantic, there was more
to the matter for Claude, the abandoned son of an absent mother who had
renounced the maternal ties of the flesh in favor of religious life.82 For
Claude, La Vie de la Vénérable Mère Marie de l’Incarnation served to justify
the event of his abandonment and to defend the authenticity of Marie’s
maternal sentiments. If Claude could prove, by means of the carefully
crafted Vie, that his mother had been a saint—and an unimpeachable one
at that, in conformity with the norms of the Counter-Reformation and the
post-Tridentine Church—then the abandonment had not been in vain.
Having successfully integrated his mother within the pantheon of Christian saints and circumscribed her within the ambit of Catholic orthodoxy,
Claude renders the abandonment not the tragic decision of an apathetic
mother, but, in the end, the edifying evidence of a natural love purified,
elevated, and indicative of “the true love and the true desires that mothers
and fathers ought to have for their children.”83

82. John Coakley, “Gender and the Authority of Friars: The Significance of Holy
Women for Thirteenth-Century Franciscans and Dominicans,” Church History, 60 (1991),
445–60. Jodi Bilinkoff, Related Lives: Confessors and Their Female Penitents, 1450–1750
(Ithaca, NY, 2005).
83. “le veritable amour et les veritables desirs que les peres et les meres doivent avoir
pour leurs enfants”: Martin, La Vie, p. 453.

The First Six Chinese Bishops
of Modern Times:
A Study in Church Indigenization
PAUL P. MARIANI, S.J.*
This article describes the processes that culminated in Pope Pius XI’s
historic 1926 consecration of the first native Chinese Catholic bishops
of modern times. Since the first Chinese bishop had been named some
250 years before, the many obstacles that prevented the naming of new
native bishops in the intervening centuries are explored. Spurred by
progressive missionaries, the Church embarked on a reform program to
indigenize the Catholic episcopacy in China. In doing so, the Holy See
had to overcome opposition from powerful constituencies. A brief portrait of the six bishops provides insight into the reasons why Rome
decided on this particular group of candidates.
Keywords: Benedict XV, Pope; Chinese bishops; Lebbe, FrédéricVincent; missionaries; Pius XI, Pope

O

n October 28, 1926, when Pope Pius XI—in a singular ceremony in
St. Peter’s Basilica—consecrated the first six Chinese bishops of
modern times, it was both a significant and auspicious event. It was significant because these men were the first native bishops of the Catholic
Church in 250 years to be named not only for China but for all of East and
Southeast Asia, consecrated by the hands of the pope himself in Rome, the
very center of the Catholic world; and it was auspicious because it marked
a new beginning for the indigenization of church leadership. The event
thus marked a decisive turning point toward a Catholic Church that was
no longer simply “Western,” but truly universal in its leadership—a course
of events that continues to this day.

Given the resistance at the time to admitting Chinese priests to the
office of bishop, the six needed to be men of unimpeachable integrity and
from families of deep faith, even from families that included martyrs

*Father Mariani is assistant professor in the History Department at Santa Clara University, email: pmariani@scu.edu.

486

PAUL P. MARIANI, S.J.

487

among them. They also had to be able to bridge the gap between East and
West, and so they were often conversant in Latin, Italian, and French, as
well as various Chinese dialects. Thus the selection can be understood of
Philip Zhao Huaiyi (趙懷義); Simon Zhu Kaimin, S.J. (朱開敏); Joseph
Hu Ruoshan, C.M. (胡若山); Melchior Sun Dezhen, C.M. (孫德禎);
Odoric Cheng Hede, O.F.M. (成和德); and Aloysius Chen Guodi,
O.F.M. (陳國砥). In making these six men bishops, Rome—despite
protestations from different quarters—had spoken clearly. The age of local
church leadership for the Asian churches was arriving.
Given this bold move, it can be argued that the Holy See was among
the first European-based powers to devolve power to local leadership. Even
so, two questions immediately arise. First, why did it take until 1926 for
the Holy See to—once again—name local Chinese bishops?1 This fact is
all the more interesting because the first Chinese bishop had been named
some 250 years before. Yet, since then, no others had been named. Second,
how did the Holy See overcome serious obstacles when it tried to fulfill its
long-neglected policy of raising an indigenous hierarchy in China? This
article seeks to answer these questions.
What makes this narrative especially compelling is the interplay—at
times confrontational—between several major constituencies. Arguing the
case for Chinese bishops were European missionaries who were sensitive
to the nationalistic aspirations of many Chinese Christians. Arguing
against church indigenization were other missionaries, mainly French, who
aligned with the French consular authorities. Both of these groups sought
to represent their respective points of view to the Holy See.
Historical Background
By the 1920s the Catholic Church in China found itself in a predicament. With the successive bursts of missionary activity from Europe
beginning in the late-fifteenth century, membership in the non-European
churches began to increase. The Church soon became a victim of its own
success. One of the great ironies of this growth was that for a Church that
called itself Catholic—universal—its leadership was still almost completely
European. In fact, until 1926 when these six Chinese bishops were conse1. The term bishop is used throughout this article. Technically speaking, since China was
still a mission country during these years, many of these “bishops” were, in fact, vicars apostolic,
and—slightly lower in rank—prefects apostolic. Instead of dioceses, they led vicariates apostolic and prefectures apostolic respectively. Yet they still functioned basically as bishops.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

crated, there was not a single native Latin-rite Catholic bishop in East and
Southeast Asia.2 Thus, the consecration of these men as bishops marks the
beginning of the indigenization of the Catholic hierarchy not only in
China, but in much of Asia as well.
This state of affairs had not always been the case.3 Early in the China
mission, there was a deliberate effort to begin to foster local leadership. In
fact, the Chinese Dominican Gregory Luo Wenzao was made vicar apostolic
of Nanjing (Nanking) in 1674. Eleven years later he was elevated to bishop.
Yet this auspicious beginning would not continue. In the intervening
centuries there were a host of obstacles that stood in the way of developing
a native episcopacy in East Asia. In fact, by the late-eighteenth century, the
Catholic missionary effort in China began to languish, unable to withstand
the divisive issue of the Chinese rites, the combined onslaughts of Robespierre and Napoleon, the suppression of the Jesuit order, and—finally—
the anti-Christian edicts promulgated by Chinese emperors.
Only after 1842 did the Catholic mission effort in China rise—much
like a phoenix—from its own ashes. The legacy is complex. China was
defeated in the Opium War, and the British soon negotiated the Treaty of
Nanking in 1842 that gave them some important commercial advantages
in China. The French followed suit in 1844 with the Treaty of Whampoa
that essentially extracted the same concessions from the Chinese.
Yet the French state soon went a step further. It had long taken an
interest in the Catholic missions to China, but now it set into motion a
series of agreements with the Chinese that, in short order, essentially lifted
the imperial ban on Catholicism and gave France legal status as protector
of Catholic missions in China. Further permissive treaties were signed in
the ensuing decades. Whereas Portugal had acted as protector of Catholic
interests in China in an earlier age, so now France assumed the same role.4
Therefore, with the express protection of France, and the great enthusiasm and generosity of the Catholic world, the Catholic institutional presence in China grew rapidly. Statistics tell part of the story. The number of

2. The first indigenous bishop of the Latin Rite in modern times was the Indian Jesuit
Tiburtius Roche who was consecrated in 1923.
3. For more information on the Holy See’s policy in mission areas, see Raphael Song,
The Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (Washington, DC, 1961).
4. For an excellent new study on the French Protectorate, see Ernest P. Young, Ecclesiastical Colony: China’s Catholic Church and the French Religious Protectorate (Oxford, 2013).

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

489

baptized Catholics in China rose from 315,000 in 1848 to 2.4 million by
1926.5 In the same period, the number of Chinese priests grew from 135
to 1217.6 In fact, these figures meant that China had the greatest share of
priests in all of the so-called mission territories.
The size of the Chinese clergy was commendable. The fact that none
had yet been named bishop was not. There were several obstacles in the years
after 1842. First, despite the great growth of the Chinese clergy, the number
of foreign missionary priests had grown even faster. Within twelve years of
their re-emergence, their numbers outstripped that of their Chinese confreres. From 1848 to 1926, the number of foreign priests jumped from
eighty-four to 1797.7 Thus, by 1926, foreign clergy were dominant in China,
and the Chinese clergy were being crowded out of their own Church.
A second major problem was that even if the Holy See wanted to name
local bishops to China, it was nearly powerless to do so, for the China mission largely was out of its control. The fact was that the French government,
in its role of protector, demanded its pound of flesh. It was to be the sole
representative of the Church’s interests in China. To this end, it continually
blocked the attempts of the Holy See to negotiate directly with the Chinese.
There had been an attempt as late as 1918–19 to establish direct contacts
between the Vatican and China, but the French blocked the initiative.
A third obstacle was that the various religious orders and missionary
congregations often stood in the way. Catholic missionary policy called for
dividing China into many missions headed by different religious orders
and missionary congregations. Thus the Church in China had, in essence,
become a concatenation of European-controlled missions. Since the
majority of Chinese priests were secular clergy, it was nearly impossible for
them to rise through the ranks of a vicariate controlled by European-based
religious orders. Therefore, “Rome’s authority was diluted … by the interposition of the various religious orders and missionary societies that actually ran the vicariates.”8

5. See the statistics in Holy Spirit Centre Staff, “A Chronology of the Catholic Church
in China in the Context of Selected Dates in World and Chinese History,” Tripod, XIII, no.
76 (1993), 19–76.
6. Pasquale M. d’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China: Being an Outline of the Formation and Growth of the Chinese Catholic Clergy, 1300–1926 (Shanghai, 1927), p. 50.
7. Ibid.
8. Ernest P. Young, “The Politics of Evangelism at the End of the Qing: Nanchang,
1906,” in Christianity in China: From the Eighteenth Century to the Present, ed. Daniel H. Bays
(Stanford, CA, 1996), pp. 91–113, here p. 98.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

Further, many missionaries felt an obligation to their nations of origin,
nations which frequently considered missionaries to be an extension of
their own “civilizing project.” In short, these missionaries worked for the
Church, but they often worked for their nation of origin at the same time.
Therefore, if good local bishop candidates did exist, the information rarely
reached Rome. What was needed was decisive action on the part of the
Holy See. It needed to break the power of the French Protectorate. One
way to do so was to send a papal delegate to China to gather information
on qualified candidates for bishop. But first, the pope needed to be convinced that the time was ripe for local Chinese bishops.
The Tide Begins to Turn
By the 1920s, missionaries in China were becoming aware that China
was fundamentally changing. There was the continued rise of Chinese
nationalism manifested most clearly by the May 4th movement in which
students took to the streets in 1919 to protest the terms of the Treaty of
Versailles. More worrisome for the missionaries was a new anti-Christian
student movement. Further, some Chinese were now openly criticizing the
strong alliance between Christian missionaries and their home countries.
In fact, among Protestants, some Chinese church leaders cut their ties to
foreign countries and foreign mission boards. Thus, there was the rise of
indigenous forms of Chinese Protestantism.9
There also was a gradual shift in consciousness in some quarters of
the Catholic Church as well. At the dawn of the twentieth century,
Catholic missionary efforts worldwide continued to grow in vigor. The
Church thus had to make important juridical and theological modifications to adapt to this growth. In terms of the juridical changes, along
with the birth of new missionary congregations, the Congregation for the
Propagation of the Faith (Propaganda Fide) was itself renewed. In 1908
five Western European countries, together with the United States and
Canada, were detached from the jurisdiction of Propaganda Fide and
given an independent hierarchy.10 By 1917 all of the Eastern-rite
churches were no longer under the authority of Propaganda Fide. Now
Propaganda Fide could focus on the great needs of the truly missionary
territories.

9. See Lian Xi, Redeemed by Fire: The Rise of Popular Christianity in Modern China
(New Haven, 2010).
10. Song, The Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith, p. 121.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

491

There were theological modifications as well. This shift was informed
by the new field of missiology that grew out of the theological schools of
Rome, Münster, and Louvain. These theologians called for greater church
indigenization and the raising of the dignity of the local church:
[M]ission again became a function of the essence of the church. It was to
be carried on in such a way that it would validate the church’s supranational character. … Local churches could no longer be copies of Western
churches and were to be led by their own people, even at the episcopal
level.11

Further, the French priest Léon Joly influenced some church leaders. His
book Le christianisme et l’Extrême Orient (Christianity and the Far East; Paris,
1907) argued that the Catholic missionary effort, especially of the previous
century, had failed because it had established European spiritual colonies
rather than a local church. Joly called for a return to the primitive church practice of fully indigenous local churches complete with local leadership.
This new thinking would, in a decade or so, reach the highest levels of
the Holy See. Something concrete had to be done to devolve power to the
local churches. Therefore: “Under Benedict XV (1914–1922) and Pius XI
(1922–1939) the endeavor to depoliticize mission and to emancipate the
mission districts to become young churches began.”12 Further, this new
turn involved not only policies but also personalities. One of the most
forceful new churchmen on the scene was Cardinal Willem van Rossum
who was made prefect of Propaganda Fide in 1918. He was to become one
of its most important heads in modern times. Van Rossum was “a Dutchman of whom it was written that ‘his manner was generally cold, but he
was not incapable of smiling.’”13 More important, van Rossum had an iron
will. Proceeding cautiously but decisively, he proved crucial in the effort to
ordain local Chinese bishops.
However, some high-ranking prelates in the Vatican still needed to be
convinced of the need for an indigenous hierarchy. This impetus would
come through one prophetic priest and missionary in China. FrédéricVincent Lebbe (1872–1940) arrived in China just after the Boxer Rebellion

11. Arnulf Camps, Studies in Asian Mission History, 1956–1998 (Boston, 2000), p. 29.
12. Ibid.
13. Stephen Neill and Owen Chadwick. A History of Christian Missions, 2nd ed. rev.
(New York, 1986), p. 388. See also Life with a Mission: Cardinal Willem Marinus van Rossum,
C.Ss.R. (1854–1932), ed. Vefie Poels, Theo Salemink, and Hans de Valk (Nijmegen, 2011).

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

(1898–1900) as a member of the Vincentian order. Lebbe was extraordinary
in that—in the age of high imperialism—he “went native” by learning Chinese, wearing Chinese clerical dress, and ultimately taking Chinese citizenship. As early as 1908, Lebbe insisted that church policy should be “China
to the Chinese, the Chinese to Christ,” and in 1917 he began to argue for
the consecration of Chinese bishops. In fact, he personally recommended
some of the men who ultimately were consecrated. However, while pursuing these still controversial goals, he made some powerful enemies. The
French consul in Beijing eventually had him banished to a small mission in
Ningbo on China’s southeast coast. Lebbe returned to Europe in 1920.
As a French-speaking Belgian, Lebbe was in the unique position of
having some distance from French colonialism, yet close enough to see its
workings from the inside. The writings of Joly also influenced him. Lebbe
and Anthony Cotta—a fellow Vincentian and good friend from seminary
days—soon were advocating for the Chinese. Cotta—a few years older than
Lebbe—was a French citizen of Egyptian background. He joined Lebbe as a
missionary to China and so was able to exert direct influence on papal policy.
Both missionaries were upset that no Chinese clergy had been
advanced to the episcopate since Gregory Luo Wenzao some 250 years
earlier. To remedy this unfortunate situation, Lebbe wrote to Cotta in
1916 with a concrete proposal:
Would it be quite impossible to establish a few secular dioceses, or even
just one, to begin with? … Even if it was only by way of experiment, so
that there would be no need to repeat it if it failed? If necessary there
would be nothing to stop the bishop having European advisers—wise,
educated, religious men. Then we should at last have a Church, a diocese,
a vicariate, that would have the people behind it. I feel sure that the time
has come for this. Oh, to have a bishop who could preach and write and
talk the language, how marvelous it would be!14

Lebbe’s proposal was simple. By this time, the number of church jurisdictions was just under 100, which served a Chinese Catholic population
of 2.4 million. Some of these jurisdictions were minuscule, with fewer than
twenty priests to minister to several thousand Catholics. Would it be that
14. Jacques Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance: The Life of Père Lebbe, trans. George
Lamb (New York, 1958), p. 165. Lamb’s translation of some of the original archival documents has introduced some minor stylistic and editorial changes. In this article, the author
usually has elected to retain his translations because they are quite accurate and rendered into
readable English.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

493

difficult to move just one of these jurisdictions to the authority of a Chinese bishop? Or, barring that, could a jurisdiction be detached from a preexisting one and given to a Chinese leader?
Cotta himself also deeply shared these ideas, and he even shared them
directly with Propaganda Fide. On February 6, 1917, he sent a handwritten letter of fifty-one pages to Domenico Serafini, the cardinal prefect of
Propaganda Fide.15 The letter was titled Mémoire sur le Clergé Indigène
(Report on Indigenous Clergy). Cotta was especially galled by the fact that
there were “missionaries, or even apostolic vicars, who after 25 and 30 years
in China, know neither the Creed in Chinese, nor the commandments of
God, nor any prayer.”16 He then wrote another letter to Propaganda Fide
on December 26, 1917, in which he referenced the letter of February 6,
1917 (the Propaganda Fide archives also contain a typewritten version of
the same letter).
In the succeeding months, Lebbe himself continued to advocate on
behalf of the Chinese. His tour de force, however, was his letter of September 18, 1917, to Paul-Marie Reynaud, a fellow Vincentian who was his
bishop in Ningbo. He was responding to a letter that Reynaud had written
him in June of that year. In this twenty-five page letter—written during his
annual retreat—Lebbe outlines his desires for the Church in China. In
addition to discussing imperialism and the French protectorate, Lebbe also
takes up the charged issue of the failures of foreign missionaries and their
relationship with the Chinese clergy.
Lebbe had addressed this letter to Reynaud. However, on October 12,
1917, Cotta sent copied versions of the letters of Reynaud and Lebbe to
Propaganda Fide. Lebbe’s letter that reached Rome had many salient passages. For example, he wrote:
[A]fter giving so much of their sweat and blood so many generations of
missionaries have only managed to establish not churches like the first
apostles and their successors, living churches, but spiritual colonies:
colonies of a country or of a congregation (which are in the church rather
than being of the church The national priesthood, being always kept
down to the assistant level, is as though foreign in its own country. (I
know a certain vicariate where the native priests are not even treated as
well as the catechists.)

15. The original is in Vatican City, Archives of Propaganda Fide (hereafter referred to
as APF), Nova Serie (hereafter referred to as NS), Box 699, pp. 730–57.
16. APF, NS, Box 699, p. 749.

494

THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES
Rome, and simple human reason too, both want no distinction to be
made between foreigner and native, want us to tend, by a gradual but real
and intentional evolution, towards making ourselves redundant. Is that
what we are in fact doing? We look as though we intend to go on for
ever. In fact we seem to regard the field of our apostolic work as a kind
of fief belonging to us because of the race or society we belong to.17

Lebbe also describes the tensions created by his ideas among fellow
missionaries:
And what perhaps they find most difficult of all to forgive is my belief
that our first duty is to create a completely native priesthood, and the fact
that I have done all I can to spread this idea abroad and announced that
I should die happy if I could kiss the ring of the second bishop of
China.18

Somewhat emotionally, Lebbe then gives his bishop specific suggestions:
Monsignor, I say it on my knees with my head in the dust, in the thirtythree years of your bishopric you have produced good priests. … But has
it ever occurred to you that the best of them, Pere Sun for example,
would bear comparison with Mgr. Faveau or Pere Lepers? That Pere Zi
might have made a good district director? If you are afraid that their
European colleagues … wouldn’t agree to this … aren’t you underestimating them?
[… A]nd with the need so pressing, and so many souls waiting, the Chinese Church hungering to be the Church of China, I ask myself where
would be the danger to the Mission if X or Z became its superior, or
director, or vicar-general, as Rome has been asking for ages—especially
if he was revocable ad nutum [at the pope’s pleasure]. It would be the first
step towards the creation of that native priesthood which the Holy See
cannot bring about until the initiative comes from us. For if God cannot
save us against our own will, neither can the Pope make a bishop out of
some little assistant priest who he knows nothing of and no one has ever
told him about.19

17. See Jacques Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 199. See also Vincent Lebbe,
Lettres du Père Lebbe (Tournai, 1960), p. 145. Cotta’s version can be found in APF, NS, Box
699, pp. 712–23.
18. Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 202. Also cited in Lebbe, Lettres du Père Lebbe,
p. 154.
19. Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 202. Also cited in Lebbe, Lettres du Père Lebbe,
p. 146.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

495

The problem, according to Lebbe, was not the lack of qualified Chinese candidates. The problem was how to bring the names of these candidates to the attention of the appropriate authorities in Rome.
Lebbe goes on to contrast the mediocre efforts of some of the European bishops to those of some exemplary Chinese priests in the same
regions. Lebbe finds Rome’s “ultra-cautious attitude” to be especially problematic. For Lebbe, the problem was with Rome rather than Asia, given
the example of complete modernization demonstrated by Japan. Lebbe
stated that Japan had “roused the admiration of the whole world.” He continued in this vein:
in a few decades they had been able to produce generals who beat Russia
in the field, diplomats who could make alliances with her, scholars who
could open universities and make discoveries and inventions, but over a
period of more than three hundred years they had not been able to produce—one Catholic bishop.20

For Lebbe, this was damaging enough evidence. Japan was setting the
standard. Might China be that far behind? And yet the Church had not
yet named a recent native bishop to either country.
Since Cotta took the liberty to send a copy of this letter to Rome, it
would have a far-reaching effect. It is one thing to write a fraternal letter
to one’s bishop and another to have one’s sentiments reach and then influence the highest levels of the Church. In fact, a portion of Lebbe’s words
of September 18, 1917, would appear almost verbatim in a subsequent
papal letter.
The Holy See’s Response, 1919–20
With the end of World War I, the Holy See once again could turn its
attention to the mission world. In 1918 there was a move—as there had
been time and again for more than seventy years—to establish direct relations between the Holy See and China.21 The desire was felt on both sides.
The Holy See wanted its own representative to ascertain the situation of its
flock, clergy, and religious in China. The Chinese, for their part, were

20. Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 201. Also cited in Lebbe, Lettres du Père Lebbe,
p. 149.
21. The following popes had tried and failed to connect formally with China: Gregory
XVI in 1845, Pius IX in 1849 and 1870, and Leo XIII in 1886.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

hoping the Holy See would be a sympathetic ear in Europe. By the end of
the year, “notables” from Tianjin—in a letter directed to Benedict XV—
mention their excitement over the possibility of establishing a nunciature
in China.22
The French government, however, continued to stand in the way—an
ironic situation given that France officially had become a secular state in
1905. Yet, although it abolished church privileges, it depended on French
missionaries to be key agents of the French empire. French missionaries
began a pressure campaign to block any representative from the Holy See
to China. In 1919 Missions catholiques de Chine et du Japon, the official
review of the Paris Foreign Missions Society, gave two reasons against the
nunciature. First, the chosen nuncio was known for being pro-German—
sympathies unlikely to be regarded with favor in the aftermath of World
War I. Second, the Holy See had no say in the French Protectorate, as the
latter had been established with the Chinese government in an article of
the treaty of 1858.23 Once again—under French pressure—the planned
nunciature was scuttled.
Frustrated again with its inability to forge direct links with China, the
Holy See resorted to stealth diplomacy and took two important actions:
dispatching an official representative on a fact-finding mission to China
and publishing a papal letter on the missions. In July 1919, the Holy See
appointed Bishop Jean-Baptiste-Marie Budes de Guébriant, M.E.P.
(1860–1935), to be its visitor to China. De Guébriant was an ideal candidate as he was the vicar apostolic of Canton and knew China well through
his long years as a “bush” missionary among the tribes of China’s southwest
region. De Guébriant’s mission was twofold: to visit all the important missions in China and to send a questionnaire to the vicars apostolic that
would seek their opinions on the current state of the mission. He then
would report his findings to the Holy See.
The questionnaire (dated October 1, 1919) was quite comprehensive.
It asked for information on the “foreign” nature of Catholicism, the principal causes of Protestant success, the system of seminaries, and the economic situation of the missions. Significantly, it mentioned “[t]he indigenous clergy, their abilities, their admission to all offices, to the councils and
22. Claude Soetens, ed., Recueil des archives Vincent Lebbe: Pour l’Église Chinoise II. Une
Nonciature a Pékin en 1918? (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1983), p. 73.
23. As cited in Louis Wei Tsing-sing, Le Saint-Siège et La Chine (Sotteville-lès-Rouen,
1971), p. 84.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

497

to the administration of the missions, the manner in which they are treated
in comparison to the Europeans.”24
The responses to the questionnaire also were quite comprehensive.
Lebbe himself responded quite straightforwardly that the Chinese clergy
were ready for the episcopacy.25 Chinese students at the Jesuit-run Aurora
University in Shanghai also responded (one signer, Bernard Liu, was a
medical student and a friend of Lebbe26). Their responses were candid.
Some noted that most of the local Chinese clergy lacked the preparation
for their vocation that would be regarded as mandatory for a church leader.
It might be difficult to find a good bishop among them. Nevertheless, one
particular response mentioned fourteen outstanding foreign and Chinese
priests, including Lebbe and Cotta. Perhaps this was not quite what these
priests had in mind.
Equally interesting—and also from the Chinese side—is a letter of July
1920 to Benedict XV from nineteen priests of the mission district of southeast Zhili. The letter describes the extent of French power in the mission.
The vicar apostolic and the vicar general (who doubled as the religious superior of the mission) were French. The procurator, the four consultors of the
mission, the rector of the college, and many of the superiors also were
French. In contrast, the Chinese priests—who actually knew the language
and the culture of the people—were only rank-and-file missionaries.27
In the course of de Guébriant’s fact-finding mission, the Holy See set
in motion the second operation of its stealth diplomacy. On November 30,
1919, Benedict XV promulgated Maximum Illud (On the Propagation of
the Faith Throughout the World), perhaps one of the most important
papal letters on the missions in centuries.28 This document represented a
24. Soetens, ed., Recueil des archives Vincent Lebbe: Pour l’Église Chinoise I. La visite apostolique des missions de Chine, p. 181. Translation adapted from Arnulf Camps and Patrick
McCloskey, The Friars Minor in China (1294–1955), Especially the Years 1925–55, Based on
the Research of Friars Bernward Willeke and Domenico Gandolfi, O.F.M. (Rome, 1995), p. 272.
25. Soetens, ed., Recueil des archives Vincent Lebbe: Pour l’Eglise Chinoise I. La visite apostolique des missions de Chine, p. 259.
26. Ibid., pp. 279–300.
27. Ibid., p. 310.
28. See “Lettera Apostolica Maximum Illud,” retrieved on May 31, 2014, from http://
www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xv/apost_letters/documents/hf_ben-xv_apl_
19191130_maximum-illud_it.html. The Vatican Web site does not have an English version
of this apostolic letter. The citations are from Thomas J. M. Burke, Catholic Missions: Four
Great Missionary Encyclicals (New York, 1957).

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

decisive turning point of the Church toward the non-European world.29
Maximum Illud—rooted in the new missiology—raised many key themes:
the development of a local clergy, the inculturation of the faith, the scourge
of European nationalism among missionaries, and the proper training of
missionaries in both the language and customs of the host culture. It also
broached the sensitive topic of raising a native episcopacy. Even as it was
gathering opinions, Rome had chosen to speak.
In retrospect, it should come as no surprise that van Rossum wrote
much of this apostolic letter. It also is not unexpected that he borrowed
heavily from the ideas of both Lebbe and Cotta, especially since the latter
two were in constant correspondence with each other. For example, the
apostolic letter is clearly influenced by Lebbe’s 1917 letter to Reynaud
and Cotta’s letter of February 6, 1917, to Serafini (van Rossum’s predecessor). In addition, this memorandum drew on material from Cotta’s
letter to Lebbe on December 29, 1916, and on Lebbe’s reply to that
letter.30
Jean-Paul Wiest further elaborates that Cotta’s letter to Serafini
urged “Rome to put an end to the status of ‘spiritual colony,’ in which
the church in China was kept by foreign missionaries.”31 Wiest adds
that, “although never mentioned by name, the missionary church in
China was the intended primary target of the letter.”32 Lebbe’s years of
advocacy were beginning to pay off. China was now setting the bar for
the rest of the Catholic mission world. For example, Lebbe had written
earlier that many Chinese priests were treated as second-class citizens
and insisted on the termination of this practice. Maximum Illud echoes
this sentiment:
For the local clergy is not to be trained merely to perform the humbler
duties of the ministry, acting as the assistants of foreign priests. On the
contrary, they must take up God’s work as equals, so that some day they
will be able to enter upon the spiritual leadership of their people. (MI,
no. 15)33

29. See Agostino Giovagnoli, Roma e Pechino: La svolta extraeuropea di Benedetto XV
(Rome, 1999).
30. Soetens, ed., Recueil des archives Vincent Lebbe: Pour l’Eglise Chinoise I. La visite apostolique des missions de Chine, pp. 25–70.
31. Jean-Paul Wiest, “The Legacy of Vincent Lebbe,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research, 23 (1999), 33–37, here 35.
32. Ibid.
33. Burke, Catholic Missions: Four Great Missionary Encyclicals.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

499

Lebbe’s other seminal ideas are echoed as well. Lebbe’s concern that
Japan had advanced in all areas except in its ability to produce a single local
Catholic bishop were stated once again:
And yet it is a deplorable fact that, even after the Popes have insisted
upon it, there still remain sections of the world that have heard the Faith
preached for several centuries, and still have a local clergy that is of inferior quality. It is also true that there are countries that have been deeply
penetrated by the light of the Faith, and have, besides, reached such a
level of civilization that they produce eminent men in all the fields of secular life—and yet, though they have lived under the strengthening influence of the Church and the gospel for hundreds of years, they still cannot
produce Bishops for the spiritual government or priests for their spiritual
guidance. (MI, no. 17)34

Another of Lebbe’s constant criticisms was the colonial mentality that
infected the missionaries and damaged the Church. Maximum Illud states
the same:
It would be tragic indeed if any of our missionaries forgot the dignity of
their office so completely as to busy themselves with the interests of their
terrestrial homeland instead of with those of their homeland in heaven.
It would be a tragedy indeed if an apostolic man were to spend himself
in attempts to increase and exalt the prestige of the native land he once
left behind him. Such behavior would infect his apostolate like a plague.
(MI, no. 19)35

However, Rome’s reform policies in strengthening the local clergy and
building an indigenous hierarchy had pragmatic as well as idealistic motivations. World War I had hurt the mission cause, with many missionaries
recalled to serve in the medical and chaplain corps of their respective
nations. The war had devastated the youth of Europe as well as the ranks
of future missionaries. In addition, persecutions such as the Boxer Rebellion had proven the vulnerability of Christian missionaries in China.
Therefore, supporting a strong native clergy was to ensure the future survival of the Church:
Wherever the local clergy exist in sufficient numbers, and are suitably
trained and worthy of their holy vocation, there you can justly assume
that the work of the missionary has been successful and that the Church
has laid her foundations well. And if, after these foundations have been

34. Ibid.
35. Ibid.

THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

500

laid and these roots sunk, a persecution should be raised to dislodge her,
there need be no reason to fear that she could not withstand the blow.
(MI, no. 16)36

“Rome had spoken,” yet it was not enough. Although the letter
pointed to the shortcomings in the China mission, many missionaries
remained resistant to the idea of a native hierarchy. But now their resistance was out in the open and seen as blatant disregard for the directives
from Rome. The fact was that many missionaries to China still saw the
country as their personal fiefdom. For example, the April 1920 issue of
L’Echo de Chine—a magazine published in Shanghai by the Paris Foreign
Mission Society—directly countered the pope’s thinking in an editorial. In
the magazine’s view, the local Chinese clergy had no authority with the
secular leaders of China, were no better than Buddhist monks, and did not
even have legal status. The editorial went on to state that they were from
the lowest classes, were largely from the countryside, were without an
intellectual tradition, and were—as all Chinese were—tinged with venality
and corruption. Chinese bishops were also bound to suffer more opposition from their own priests than from missionary priests. Further, such
bishops would be prone to nationalism and might advocate an independent
national Church. In other words, Chinese bishops might adulterate the
pure Church or split it altogether. It seems likely that the editorial tried to
inflame Rome’s deepest fears.
There was a kernel of truth in some of the editorial’s assertions. For
example, Chinese priests did not have the same privileges given to European priests in the “unequal treaties.” Without the same measure of legal
standing, even a Chinese bishop might not be able to protect his flock as
well as a missionary bishop might.
Resistance continued. In the February 4, 1921, issue of L’Echo de Chine,
a certain “Cassandre” quoted a missionary with whom he had spoken:
Presently, he said, if Rome entrusts the Church of China to Chinese
alone, the purity of evangelical practices, the integrity of the dogmas, will
receive a serious twisting. Moreover, the Chinese bishop will lack prestige
with his clergy: he will not be able to, will not know how to make them
obey him. Priestly obedience is made of filial piety, of respect, of humble
submission, virtues that the Chinese priest accepts in practice, because the
authority comes from a bishop who is before all a good priest, better that
he is a foreigner if he does not flaunt his authority. One was not even able

36. Ibid.

PAUL P. MARIANI, S.J.

501

to speak about a Chinese bishop. Besides, the question of Chinese bishops
was raised not too long ago. The diocese of Peking [Beijing] counts more
than 100 native priests, that of Nanking more than 80; some others have
50, 60, 70. It seems natural enough that Rome had thought about creating
Chinese bishops; it does not seem, however, worth it to risk the chance.
Why? Because, if the Chinese priest, well-trained, is an excellent missionary, abandoned to himself, left to his own initiative, he fails.
The conclusion of these observations made upon the various fields of
Chinese activity, that is the Chinese, whether he be diplomat, soldier,
financier, businessman, or missionary, without the help and assistance of
the White, is beneath his task: he fails.37

The depth of European animus to the establishment of a Chinese
hierarchy—tinged as it was with racism—was real.
However, not all church leaders were unreceptive to the pope’s ideas. A
letter written a year before Maximum Illud by Wlodimir Ledóchowski, the
Jesuit Superior General, set forth a program of action similar to what Benedict
XV would describe. Further, once Maximum Illud was published, The Field
Afar (the magazine of the American Maryknollers) gave it strong support.38
Advances and Setbacks: 1920–24
The year 1920 would prove to be the worst of times and the best of
times for Lebbe’s mission. On the one hand, there was mounting opposi37. Claude Soetens, ed., Recueil des archives Vincent Lebbe: Pour l’Église Chinoise III.
l’Encyclique Maximum Illud (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1983), p. 166, emphasis in original: “Présentment, disait-il, si Rome confiait l’Eglise de Chine aux Chinois seuls, la pureté des mœurs
évangéliques, le célibat ecclésiastique, l’intégrité des dogmes, recevraient de sérieuses entorses.
De plus l’évêque chinois manquerait de prestige auprès de son clergé: il ne pourrait pas, ne
saurait pas se faire obéir. L’obéissance sacerdotale est fait de piété filiale, de respect, d’humble
soumission, vertus que le prêtre chinois accepte de pratiquer, parce que l’autorité émane d’un
évêque qui est avant tout un bon père, bien qu’il soit un étranger; surtout il ne fait pas étalage
de son autorité. On ne pourrait en dire autant d’un évêque chinois. La question des évêques
chinois a d’ailleurs été soulevée, il n’y a pas longtemps. Le diocèse de Pékin compte plus de
100 prêtres indigènes; celui de Nankin près de 80; quelques autres en ont 50, 60, 70. Il semble
donc assez naturel que Rome ait songé à créer des évêques chinois; elle ne semble cependant
pas vouloir risquer l’aventure. Pourquoi? Parce que, si le prêtre chinois, bien encadré, es un
excellent missionnaire, abandonné à lui-même, livré à sa seule initiative, il déraille.”
La conclusion de ces observations, faites sur les divers champs de l’activité chinoise, c’est
que le Chinois, qu’il soit diplomate, soldat, financier, commerçant ou missionnaire, sans le
secours et le concours du Blanc, est au-dessous de sa tâche: il déraille.
38. R. G. Tiedemann, “The Chinese Clergy,” in Handbook of Christianity in China, Vol.
2: 1800 to the Present, ed. R. G. Tiedemann (Boston, 2010), pp. 571–86, here pp. 580–81.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

tion to naming local bishops. On the other hand, Lebbe was given the
opportunity to present his case directly to the Holy See.
In summer 1920 de Guébriant returned to Rome to submit his report,
calling for a special papal delegate to China. However, there was a seemingly united front in the missionary press against a local episcopacy—to the
displeasure of van Rossum and the members of Propaganda Fide—
although several voices did express approval of Rome’s directives. Rome
needed the support of the China missionaries and their ecclesiastical superiors, so it had to navigate these waters carefully.
Personal difficulties complicated the situation for Lebbe. His Vincentian superiors made it clear that his job was to work with Chinese students in France—not to reform the whole Church. Thus, they refused permission for him to travel to Rome.
Undaunted, Lebbe continued his letter-writing campaign, advocating
several Chinese candidates for appointment as bishops. His September 9
letter to Cardinal Désiré-Joseph Mercier, archbishop of Malines, recommended four Chinese priests for such a position.39
First, he listed Philippe Tchao (Philip Zhao), a diocesan priest from
the Vicariate of Beijing who was zealous in evangelizing fellow Chinese.
Many members of his family pursued the Church as a vocation and
included a number of individuals martyred in the Boxer Rebellion such as
his father.
Second, he recommended Pierre Tch’eng (Peter Cheng) of the Vicariate of Baoding. Cheng also had worked for a long time in difficult mission
regions and was teaching in a minor seminary. Studious and pious, he also
had a great zeal for the conversion of his compatriots. He also had the confidence of his bishop and the local clergy.
Next there was Father Zi, a Vincentian from Ningbo who had worked
for twenty-five years in the vicinity of Wenzao—the most flourishing area
of his diocese. He was universally esteemed, obedient, and humble.
Finally, there was Pierre Tch’en (Peter Chen) from Shanxi, who was
the Chinese director of the charitable organization Pro Pontifice et Eccle-

39. Lebbe’s recommendations to Mercier can be found in Lettres du Père Lebbe, pp.
182–85.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

503

sia. He was a priest of “science and virtue.” Unperturbed by clerical politics,
he was capable of withstanding the possible jealousies of his European
confreres. Lebbe also surmised that there must be good candidates among
the Chinese Jesuits, although he had little information about them.
Although his letter-writing campaign was a positive step, Lebbe knew
that he had to present his case in person in Rome. However, there
remained the matter of the opposition of his Vincentian superiors.
Through the arrangements of a go-between, he met with Mercier in Brussels. Mercier asked Lebbe for the names of Chinese candidates for the
bishopric. Later, Mercier studied de Guébriant’s report and requested that
van Rossum nominate several Chinese bishops at once.40 Mercier was traveling to Rome at the end of the year and promised to arrange for Lebbe to
join him. Subsequently armed with a telegram from Mercier, Lebbe
received permission from his superiors to travel to Rome. Lebbe’s letter of
December 12, 1920, to Mercier refers to their meeting in Brussels and reiterates the necessity for installing an indigenous episcopate so as to conform
to the pope’s desires in Maximum Illud. The matter was so sensitive—
Lebbe wrote—that he did not want to commit anything further to writing.
He needed a one-on-one conversation.
On December 20, Lebbe met with Mercier in Rome. After this meeting, Mercier arranged for Lebbe to meet with van Rossum. Much of the
information about these meetings comes from Lebbe’s journal.41 Lebbe
reports that he told van Rossum that Maximum Illud had not been received
well by some missionaries in China. Since van Rossum already knew that
many China missionaries were against consecrating Chinese bishops, he
told Lebbe that any candidates would have to be of the highest quality, so
as to give “strong argument on the Roman side that the opposition will be
reduced to silence.” The cardinal inquired: Did such candidates exist?
Lebbe replied in the affirmative, then wrote down the names of Tchao,
Tch’eng, Tch’en, and Li (Zhao, Cheng, Chen, and Li).42 Lebbe further
explained that Zhao could have the jurisdiction of a place such as Xuanhua,
which might be detached easily from the Vicariate of Beijing.
Lebbe finally had received a hearing in Rome. In fact, the meeting
with van Rossum would be a defining moment in his life. So moved was
40. See Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 225.
41. The following encounters are described in Lebbe, Lettres du Père Lebbe, pp. 188–95.
and in Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, pp. 226–28.
42. The original is at APF, NS, Box 805a, pp. 650–51.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

Lebbe by this encounter with van Rossum that he kept the pen with which
he had written the names of the possible candidates for bishop.
Eight days later Lebbe met with Pope Benedict XV, who asked him
if there were any Chinese priests worthy of the episcopacy. There were,
Lebbe replied, and he told the pope that he had given the names to van
Rossum. The pope then said that the next opportunity must be taken for
such appointments. Lebbe also told the pope that Xuanhua and Tianjin
would be appropriate vicariates for such bishops. The pope then told
Lebbe to send this information to Propaganda Fide. “I should be glad to,
Holy Father,” Lebbe replied, “but a word from you would carry a lot of
weight.” “There are hours in life,” Lebbe later would write, “which can
compensate for years of suffering. I have never found anything but comfort
and consolation in Rome.”43
Lebbe left Rome on January 27, 1921. Although he had reason to
feel exhilarated by his reception in Rome, all was not well. Cotta was in
disgrace in Paris. He later traveled to the United States to teach and
serve as a spiritual director at the seminary for the newly founded Maryknoll Fathers, as well as at the novitiate of the Maryknoll sisters. In fact,
within a few years, Cotta left the Vincentians and became a Maryknoll
priest. (Lebbe also would leave the Vincentians to join the Little Brothers of St. John the Baptist, a Chinese congregation that he helped to
found.)
Deprived of Cotta as an ally, Lebbe was now on his own. His hopes
of returning to China were crumbling. Further, the forces against Maximum Illud seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Unfazed, Lebbe continued writing to van Rossum to advance his cause. In April, he mentioned
that he wanted Maximum Illud to be translated into actual deeds. In June,
he mentioned his ongoing frustration with the opinions of “Cassandre”
and suggested naming a Chinese bishop in 1922 to mark the 300th
anniversary of Propaganda Fide.
Yet a blow to Lebbe’s hopes occurred in early 1922. Benedict XV, the
“pope of the missions”—and the architect of the new missionary strategy—
died on January 22. Pius XI became the new pope. Lebbe and others
waited to see if Pius XI would continue Benedict’s bold program outlined
in Maximum Illud and use the information gathered by de Guébriant.
43. Leclercq, Thunder in the Distance, p. 228.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

505

The new pontiff wasted little time in indicating his priorities. Six
months after his election, Pius XI secretly chose Celso Costantini to be his
delegate for an important mission in China. Costantini set out for China
in September 1922. He arrived in Hong Kong two months later, almost
incognito, as his appointment was not announced until he was en route to
Nanjing so that potential opposition from foreign missionaries in China
could be minimized. Despite Costantini’s low-key arrival, the pope sent
several major signals through this appointment. First, Costantini was made
an archbishop prior to his departure so he would be the highest ranking
prelate in China when he arrived—a strong indication of Costantini’s role
as the pope’s voice in China. Second, he had the delegated authority to
choose the first Chinese bishops.
Adhering to the pope’s instructions, Costantini announced that he
would carry out his duties according to certain principles. First, his mission
was mainly for the purpose of evangelization. Second, he meant to respect
the sovereignty of China and all other governments, although he himself
was ultimately a servant of the Holy See. Third, he said that the pope did
not want to interfere in any political issues, except those that touched on
the Church’s religious mission. Fourth, the Holy See, Costantini
explained, was in no way an imperial power, for the pope loved China and
wished to foster its well-being. Last—and most important—mission work
was the enterprise of the Catholic Church in China. Therefore, the pope
meant to select candidates for bishop from among the local native clergy.44
With Lebbe working with Chinese students in Europe, Cotta in
America, and van Rossum busy with day-to-day activities at the Holy See,
it was now up to Costantini to advance the cause of a native episcopacy in
China. He immediately set to work. His mission was to implement Maximum Illud, and he did so in a personal way. He would not rely on the European powers to introduce him to members of the Chinese government. To
this end, he moved several times until some Chinese Catholics gave him a
residence in Beijing.45 Costantini simply wanted to show that he had a
strictly pastoral mission and was not beholden to any European powers.
To advance his program, Costantini decided to call a synod of the
bishops in China for spring 1924. In preparation for this important meet-

44. Beatrice Leung, Sino-Vatican Relations: Problems in Conflicting Authority, 1976–1986
(New York, 1992), pp. 43–44, as cited in Zhang Chunshen, Fangdigang yu woguo de waijiao
guanxi [Diplomatic Relations between the Vatican and China] (Taiwan, 1980), pp. 26–27.
45. George Minamiki, The Chinese Rites Controversy (Chicago, 1985), p. 192.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

ing in Shanghai, he took some bold steps. On December 12, 1923,
Costantini carved out the prefecture apostolic of Puqi from a larger jurisdiction. In March 1924, he made Cheng the prefect apostolic of this
region. In April, he erected the prefecture apostolic of Lixian and gave it
to Sun.46 Thus, Costantini’s actions had placed two Chinese priests as
heads of their own regions and close to the position held by consecrated
bishops. The importance of this move was clear. The pope, through his
representative, was showing that he now was committed to decisive action.
The synod in Shanghai was the first nationwide council of the
Catholic Church in China.47 Led by Costantini, it was held from May 15
to June 13, 1924. The council began with a solemn High Mass. Afterward
Costantini—speaking in Latin—said:
Among you are two Chinese prelates, recently raised to the dignity of
prefects apostolic; these, Venerable brethren, are the fruit of your past
labors, the grain of mustard that will grow into a large tree, and bring
forth abundant fruit in the future.48

Thus, the first two Chinese prefects apostolic were duly recognized, and
Costantini had alluded to his future plan for the Church in China.
In the name of equality, the synod passed several important resolutions.49 It opened all church posts to local clergy without any reservations.
Also, foreign missionaries would no longer have the “privilege of precedence,” which had given them priority over the local clergy and had only
been permitted because China had mission status at the time. The Chinese
clergy now would have the same rights as missionaries. In terms of governance, the synod maintained that each local ordinary would need a council
of three older and more prudent churchmen, one of whom was to be Chinese. The synod also echoed the Holy See’s request that missionaries
“should avoid as much as possible any contact with foreign diplomats and
gave guidelines for such contacts as were deemed necessary.”50

46. Camps and McCloskey, The Friars Minor in China, p. 34.
47. For a complete list of participants and other pertinent information, see Josef Metzler, Die Synoden in China, Japan und Korea, 1570–1931, Konziliengeschichte. Reihe a, Darstellungen (Paderborn, 1980), pp. 199–222.
48. D’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China, p. 72.
49. Much of the following information on the synod is from Camps and McCloskey,
The Friars Minor in China, pp. 37–38, and Leung, Sino-Vatican Relations: Problems in Conflicting Authority, 1976–1986, pp. 45–46.
50. Leung, Sino-Vatican Relations: Problems in Conflicting Authority, 1976–1986, p. 46.

PAUL P. MARIANI, S.J.

507

Yet, despite these progressive calls, the face of church leadership was
still overwhelmingly European. Of the fifty ordinaries present (forty-four
of them were bishops, five were prefects apostolic, and one was an apostolic
administrator), seventeen were French, ten were Italian, five were Belgian,
four were Spanish, four were Dutch, and two were German.51 The only
two Chinese leaders present were the newly appointed prefects apostolic:
Cheng and Sun. In fact, the remaining church leaders—whether provincials, religious superiors, or mission procurators—were European or of
European descent.
Even so, the approaching indigenization of the Chinese Church was
becoming apparent. In addition to the two Chinese prefects apostolic, there
were nine Chinese priests present as theologians and secretaries—including
Hu (a consulting theologian), Chen (secretary to two Italian bishops), and
Zhao (secretary to Costantini). Therefore, of the handful of Chinese priests
at the council, five of the future six Chinese bishops were present.
Final Developments: 1924–26
Then, for the next eighteen months, momentum slowed. Was Rome
waiting to see how the two Chinese prefects apostolic would fare?
The impasse was broken on February 28, 1926, when Pius XI promulgated his own missionary encyclical: Rerum Ecclesiae (On Catholic Missions). This encyclical was important for two reasons. First, Pius XI made
Benedict XV’s desires his own, and, second, he gave his own letter a higher
level of authority by making it an encyclical rather than an apostolic letter.
Thus, Pius XI decided quite publicly—and with greater authority—to continue Benedict XV’s program. In fact, regarding the native episcopacy,
Rerum Ecclesiae quoted Maximum Illud word for word. It was a clear affirmation of the continuity of Rome’s reform program.
You will remember that Pope Benedict XV our predecessor of happy
memory, uttered the following regret: “… it is a deplorable fact that, even
after the Popes have insisted upon it, there still remain sections of the
world that have heard the Faith preached for several centuries, and still
have a local clergy that is of inferior quality. It is also true that there are
countries that have been deeply penetrated by the light of the Faith, and
have, besides, reached such a level of civilization that they produce eminent men in all the fields of secular life—and yet, though they have lived

51. D’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China, p. 72.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF MODERN TIMES
under the strengthening influence of the Church and the gospel for hundreds of years, they still cannot produce Bishops for the spiritual government or priests for their spiritual guidance.” (RE, no. 2)52

Rerum Ecclesiae made it clear that the native clergy were not to be
second-class citizens in their own Church. Rather, they were to be prepared to take the highest possible positions in their native churches:
Certainly you should not allow the native clergy to be looked upon as if
they were a lower grade of priests. … On the contrary, you should prefer
the native priests to all others, for it is they who will one day govern the
churches and Catholic communities founded by your sweat and labor.
Therefore, there should exist no discrimination of any kind between
priests, be they European missionaries or natives. … (RE, no. 26)53

The encyclical also made clear that it wanted native “priests who will
be destined one day to govern parishes and dioceses” for the good of the
Church (RE, no. 25).54 On June 15 the pope sent a letter (meant specifically for the mission heads of China) to clear up any misunderstandings. It
addressed the ordinaries of China about the universality of the Church and
their principal pastoral duties. The pope strictly forbade foreign missionaries to favor the interests of their home countries. The letter also made
clear that the encyclical—ostensibly written for the universal Church—had
primarily in mind the Church in China.
The First Six Chinese Bishops of Modern Times
The stage had been set. In fact, the naming of the bishops started even
before the special letter was sent out. On March 30, 1926, van Rossum
announced Pius XI’s decision—the pope would consecrate the first Chinese bishops at St. Peter’s in Rome. Then, from May 13 to August 2, successive telegrams from Rome brought news of who ultimately would be the
six new Chinese bishops for the Church in China.
On September 10 the six set sail for Rome, accompanied by Costantini. They stopped at Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Manila,
52. Citations are from Burke, Catholic Missions: Four Great Missionary Encyclicals. See
also Claudia Carlen, ed., The Papal Encyclicals, 1903–1939 (n.p., 1981), pp. 281–91, and
Rerum Ecclesiae, retrieved on May 31, 2014, from http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/pius_xi/
encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xi_enc_28021926_rerum-ecclesiae_en.html.
53. Ibid.
54. Ibid.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

509

Singapore, and Colombo along the way to a certain amount of fanfare:
“Much publicity was given the bishops-elect on their way to Europe. Rome
seemed eager to demonstrate to the world and especially to China its desire
for a truly Chinese Church.”55 Finally, the six were received in Naples.
They then traveled by first-class train to Rome, where a huge crowd
greeted them. Van Rossum was deeply moved upon seeing them. The pope
met with them on the day of their arrival. “I wanted you to come here,” he
told them, “in order to show to the whole world the unity, the catholicity,
and apostolicity of the Church, since she is the same for all peoples.”56
The solemn Mass of consecration on October 28 was attended by
more than 40,000 people and lasted for four hours (see figure 1).57 Lebbe,
de Guébriant, and van Rossum were all present, as was a large group of
Chinese students who had traveled from Paris, Louvain, and other places.
Lebbe had worked closely with some of these students during his sojourn
in Europe. In his homily, the pope stated his desire to designate yet more
native bishops in mission countries. After their consecration, the bishops
continued their travels to France, Belgium, and Holland, where they were
received enthusiastically at each destination.
Lebbe’s letters, Pasquale d’Elia’s research, and unpublished archival
material reveal pertinent details about the six bishops that shed light on
their appointment.
Zhao (1880–1927) had been born outside Beijing. His entire family was
intensely Catholic. As mentioned earlier, his father and other relatives were
martyred during the Boxer Rebellion, two of his brothers were priests, and
he was a personal friend of Lebbe. He had worked for a long time in the missions before becoming a professor at the Beijing preparatory seminary. Since
Zhao was Costantini’s personal secretary, Constantini later would write to
Rome vouching for Zhao—stating that the priest had a “profound Roman
sentiment” and a strong attachment to the Holy Father.58
Zhao was forty-six when he was ordained bishop. Of the six, he was
the only member of the diocesan clergy and took the Vicariate of Xuanhua,

55. Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christian Missions in China (New York,
1967), p. 727.
56. D’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China, p. 86.
57. Many of the details on the October 28 consecration are found in D’Elia, Catholic
Native Episcopacy in China, pp. 85–90.
58. APF, NS, Box 902, pp. 128–40.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

FIGURE 1. The six new Chinese bishops after their consecration at St. Peter’s
Basilica on October 28, 1926. From left to right: Simon Zhu Kaimin, S.J.; Joseph
Hu Ruoshan, C.M.; Aloysius Chen Guodi, O.F.M.; Philip Zhao Huaiyi; Odoric
Cheng Hede, O.F.M.; and Melchior Sun Dezhen, C.M. Photograph from
Pasquale M. d’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China: Being an Outline of the Formation and Growth of the Chinese Catholic Clergy, 1300–1926 (Shanghai, 1927), bet.
pp. 2–3. Scan courtesy of Anthony E. Clark.

which had been detached from the Vicariate of Beijing. It had ten xian
(districts about the size of a county) under its jurisdiction, with a total population of about 1 million. There were sixteen priests to minister to a
Catholic population of just under 30,000. Zhao died in October 1927 from
apoplexy exacerbated by factional violence in his region and the ensuing
demands of ministering to the local population.
Cheng (1873–1928) was born in Laohekou, Hubei Province. He had
traveled to Italy at age ten. Eventually he became fluent in Italian, joined
the Franciscans in Italy, and was ordained at age twenty-six. He returned
to China in 1903, serving for four years as a missionary and then for many
years as a seminary teacher and administrator: “He wrote devotional and
historical works, translated the Rule of St. Francis into Chinese, and composed an Italian grammar for Chinese people.”59 He was fifty-three when
59. Camps and McCloskey, The Friars Minor in China, p. 34.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

511

he was made bishop and was given the pastoral care of Puqi with four xian
and a population of 1.2 million. The Catholic population there was only
1821, but it had nearly 3915 catechumens, nine priests, and eighteen seminarians. There were thirty-six churches and chapels. Cheng also did not
live very long. He died two years after his consecration as bishop and was
buried in Puqi.
Chen (1875–1930) was born in Anyangcun, Shanxi Province. He also
had a brother who became a priest. He joined the Order of Friars Minor
(Franciscans) and was ordained a priest at age twenty-seven.60 After the
Boxer uprising, he was sent to investigate the religious situation in
Shanxi.61 For nine years he served as secretary to two Italian bishops, and
taught Latin and apologetics at the Taiyuan seminary. He also was a
member of the provincial board of education in Shanxi. He was fifty when
he was made a bishop and was given the care of Fenyang with fourteen
xian and 1.6 million people. Among them were 10,460 Catholics, 3000
catechumens, and fifteen priests. There also were eighty-eight churches
and chapels. Chen died at Fenyang in 1930. By then, there were fifteen
seminarians in his area—a promising development for the Church there.62
Sun (1869–1951) had been born in Beijing. He was ordained a priest
at twenty-seven and entered the Vincentian order two years later. For
twelve years he was a professor of Latin at the minor seminary in Beijing,
and for another twelve years he was a missionary in rural areas. He was
fifty-six when he was made bishop. His jurisdiction was Lixian (in presentday Hebei province), which had six xian and a population of 750,000. He
had under his care some 27,000 Catholics and catechumens. In 1927
Lixian had eight seminarians, fifteen priests, and 149 churches and
chapels. Sun resigned as bishop in 1936 and died fifteen years later.
Zhu (1868–1960) was from a prominent family in Shanghai, with a
Catholic tradition of some 300 years. His relatives had extensive business
interests throughout the region. That he was from a family of high social
status counted heavily in his favor, as he would command respect from the
Chinese civil authorities. The information-gathering letters sent to Propaganda Fide attest to this fact.63 Further, when his possible candidacy was
60. For further information on Chen, see Henrietta Harrison, The Missionary’s Curse
and Other Tales from a Chinese Catholic Village (Berkeley, 2013), esp. pp. 130–32.
61. D’Elia, Catholic Native Episcopacy in China, p. 82.
62. Camps and McCloskey, The Friars Minor in China, p. 34.
63. APF, NS, Box 907, p. 704.

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THE FIRST SIX CHINESE BISHOPS OF M ODERN TIMES

accepted, despite the fact that he was a priest from a European-based religious
order, he rose to the top of the list of candidates. Ironically, the letter of recommendation from Ledóchowski, the Jesuit Superior General, was bland.64
Zhu entered the seminary at thirteen, joined the Society of Jesus at
nineteen, and was ordained a priest at twenty-nine. He had served as a
domestic missionary in various parts of China. He was made bishop just
before his fifty-seventh birthday and was given the care of Haimen,
which—with more than 5.1 million people—had the largest population of
any of the six bishoprics. Haimen was located in the important Yangtze
delta. It included six xian with 32,618 Catholics and 1655 catechumens.
He had nineteen priests under his jurisdiction, fourteen seminarians, and
156 churches and chapels. Zhu wrote several books that showed his pastoral care for his flock. He died in 1960 while under house arrest.
Hu (1881–1962) was born in Dinghai, Zhejiang Province. Orphaned
at five, he was raised by Catholic missionaries. He became a Vincentian at
twenty-five and a priest at twenty-eight. He did missionary work for six
years and then taught philosophy and dogmatic theology at the theological
seminary in Ningbo. He was a consulting theologian at the Shanghai
synod. Ordained a bishop at forty-five, he received the care of Taizhou,
with five xian and a population of nearly 2.7 million. Taizhou had 5000
Catholics, 2000 catechumens, six priests, eighteen seminarians, and forty
churches and chapels. Hu died in 1962.
An analysis of this group uncovers some significant details. First, despite
Lebbe’s effective lobbying campaign, there was still an element of contingency. Only one of the four in Lebbe’s list to van Rossum would be
appointed as bishop at this time. Second, all six were uncontroversial candidates. They had been raised in devoted Catholic families and were well educated in their faith from an early age. They all spoke at least one Western
language, often well enough to teach it; in Cheng’s case, his facility in Italian
was such that he composed a Chinese-Italian grammar. The Italian fluency
of two candidates enabled them to serve as secretaries to Italian bishops.
They all entered the seminary in their youth and were ordained priests
in their twenties. Five of them were priests from religious orders, which
meant that their foreign superiors could attest to their good training and
solid seminary preparation. Five taught in seminaries, often teaching Latin
(the language of the Church). Four had years of pastoral experience, often
64. APF, NS, Box 907, pp. 742–45.

PAUL P. M ARIANI, S.J.

513

in rural areas. Rome also showed faith in the future of the Church as two
of the men were made bishops in their mid-forties. The oldest was fiftyseven. The six were posted widely throughout China.
Rome continued to be cautious. Chinese priests largely composed the
clergy in the bishoprics of these appointees. Perhaps neither officials in
Rome nor the missionaries from Europe were ready to have a Chinese
bishop lead a significant number of European priests. In most cases, the
areas they were given were rather small and marginal, or at best of average
size. Puqi (in Hubei Province) and Anguo (in Hebei Province) were originally prefectures apostolic that were upgraded to vicariates apostolic. The
remaining four vicariates apostolic were carved out of pre-existing ones. In
effect, these bishops were given parts of an already small pie. None of them
were given important sees such as Beijing or Nanjing. K. S. Latourette, the
great mission historian, notes that
to none of these bishops was a major vicariate entrusted. The most
important positions continued to be held by the foreigner and ninetenths of the bishops were still of alien birth and allegiance. However, the
Church had taken a momentous step, one which might well lead to other
and even greater ones.65

Conclusion
The indigenization of the Catholic hierarchy in modern times essentially began with the consecration of the six Chinese bishops in Rome in
1926, and it soon had ramifications for church leadership not only in
China but also throughout the entire Catholic world.
The naming of these six bishops began an inexorable process forward
for the entire Catholic Church. In 1927, the first native bishop was
appointed in Japan. In 1933, the first indigenous bishops were named for
Vietnam and Sri Lanka. In 1939 in Rome, Pius XII consecrated twelve
bishops from all the continents of the world, including the first sub-Saharan bishop (from Uganda) and the first bishop from Madagascar. In 1945
he named the first cardinals from mission lands. By 1951, there were forty
Chinese bishops and 100 native bishops in missionary lands. At the
Second Vatican Council (1962–65), indigenous bishops from all parts of
the world were present. But it was China that set the pace, serving as a gift
for the whole Church.

65. Latourette, A History of Christian Missions in China, p. 727.

Rev. John J. Burke,
the National Catholic Welfare Conference,
and the American Occupation of Haiti
(1915–34)
DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON*
In 1915, the United States landed marines in Haiti, a Catholic nation tied by
concordat with the Vatican. In 1921, Paulist priest John J. Burke, general secretary of the National Catholic Welfare Conference, began lobbying the federal
government on behalf of the Church in Haiti. From 1925 through 1931, he
served as official representative of the Vatican and Haitian hierarchy to that
government regarding the occupation. The author recounts Burke’s efforts for
the Church in Haiti that culminated in the American government’s decision to
withdraw from the island nation.
Keywords: American occupation of Haiti; Burke, John J., Msgr.; Forbes
Commission; Moton Commission; National Catholic Welfare Conference

I

n 1915, the United States sent marines into Haiti, ostensibly to restore
civil and political order, but in reality as part of a plan to control the
Caribbean. With construction of the Panama Canal (1904–14), American
hegemony over that sea assumed new importance. The Monroe Doctrine
of 1823 had proclaimed the Americas off limits to encroachment by European powers. In 1904, President Theodore Roosevelt enunciated his
famous corollary to that doctrine: the United States would exercise “international police power” against states in the Caribbean that failed to maintain good order or pay their debts. Thereafter, American banking and railroad interests in Haiti grew to offset existing French and German interests.
The violent overthrow of President Vilbrun Guillaume Sam and the need
to restore order to prevent French or German intrusion served as the pretext for the intervention. In typical fashion, this venture in American

*Dr. Slawson is professor of history at National University in San Diego, email: dslawson@nu.edu. A much abbreviated version of this article was presented at the spring meeting
of the New England Historical Association in October 2011 and at the annual convention of
the American Historical Association in January 2013. The author thanks Msgr. Robert
Trisco for alerting him to the existence of pertinent documents in the Vatican archives. He
also thanks the anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments.

514

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON
imperialism showed little respect for the culture of the inhabitants of the
country. The occupation forces were heavily tinged with the racism of the
day and took a paternalist view of the supposedly backward black peasant
population. Moreover, most were Protestants with little love for Catholicism; Haiti was a predominantly Catholic country tied by concordat to the
Holy See, although the common folk had syncretized their Roman faith
with vodou—traditional Afro-Haitian religious beliefs and practices that
were considered further proof of primitivism. Although the United States
promised to abide by the Vatican accord, in reality it ignored the pact.1
The concordat between the Vatican and Haiti dated to 1860. From
the time of Haitian independence in 1804 until that year, the condition of
the Catholic Church in that country was deplorable. The various civil
rulers asserted state control over it. There were relatively few priests, and
those that existed were not Haitian. Some were imposters, others were
swindlers, and most were dissolute. By and large, the peasantry openly
practiced vodou. As early as 1834, Rome and Port-au-Prince had entered
into negotiations to regularize the status of the Church in Haiti. President
Fabre Geffrard finally achieved that goal. The concordat recognized
Roman Catholicism as “the religion of the great majority of the Haitian
people.” As such, it was to “enjoy special protection … and the rights and
powers” that properly belonged to it. Dioceses would be supported out of
the public treasury. The pope had sole authority to appoint bishops, but
only after consultation with the governments. All clergy and headmasters
of Catholic schools were to swear allegiance to the Republic of Haiti. The
capital of Port-au-Prince became the archdiocesan seat of the country. An
amendment to the Concordat granted the Church “an important role in
1. Theodore Roosevelt, “Annual Message to Congress, 6 December 1904,” in Documents
of American History, ed. Henry Steele Comager, 2 vols., 9th ed. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1973),
2:33–34; Hans Schmidt, The United States Occupation of Haiti, 1915–1934 (New Brunswick,
NJ, 1971), pp. 1–81; David Nicholls, From Dessalines to Duvalier: Race, Colour and National
Independence in Haiti (New Brunswick, NJ, 1996), pp. 126–37, 142–46; Kate Ramsey, The
Spirits and the Law: Vodou and Power in Haiti (Chicago, 2011), pp. 1–10, 54–134, 139–47;
Brenda Gayle Plummer, Haiti and the United States: The Psychological Moment (Athens, GA,
1992), pp. 81–91; Mary A. Renda, Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Culture of U.S.
Imperialism, 1915–1934 (Chapel Hill, NC, 2001), pp. 10–181; Anne Greene, The Catholic
Church in Haiti: Political and Social Change (East Lansing, MI, 1993), pp. 82–84; MichelRolph Trouillot, Haiti: State against Nation, the Origins of and Legacy of Duvalierism (New
York, 1990), pp. 99–102; Leon Denius Pamphile, La Croix et le Glaive: L’Église Catholique et
l’Occupation Américaine d’Haïti, 1915–1934 (Port-au-Prince, 1991), pp. 21–50, 135–53; Leon
D. Pamphile, Clash of Cultures: America’s Educational Strategies in Occupied Haiti, 1915–1934
(Lanham, MD, 2008), pp. 1–37; George C. Herring, From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign
Relations since 1776 (New York, 2008), pp. 151–58, 367–71, 386–87.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

secular education.” Given the nation’s colonial and cultural ties with
France, the bishops and clergy came from Brittany. That fact had caused
no little stir among Haitian nationalists, who saw the concordat as the surrender of an important aspect of national life to foreigners. They also
feared that the clergy might support rule by the mulatto elite: an urban,
urbane, Catholic, Francophone, and Francophile minority.2
Many members of the elite—derisively dubbed “the shoe class” by
Major Smedley Butler, a marine who considered them little better than the
peasants who went barefoot—welcomed American intervention to restore
political stability and viewed it as an opportunity to reinstate mulatto rule.
Shortly after the invasion, the commander of U.S. forces, Rear Admiral
William Caperton, sought to establish a new client government. He turned
to the compliant Philippe Sudre Dartiguenave, president of the Haitian
Senate and a member of the elite eager for higher office. Under the protection of the American marines, the National Assembly met in August 1915
and elected him president of the country. The administration of President
Woodrow Wilson thought it best to give legal standing to the occupation
by entering into a formal treaty with Dartiguenave’s government. The treaty
formalized American control of customs houses, provided for the appointment of an American financial adviser with absolute control over the Haitian treasury, the establishment of a new gendarmerie under American officers, the right of the United States to settle foreign claims, and the authority
for it to conduct all public works. The treaty, however, gave the United
States neither control nor a voice in Haitian education.3
Because the existing Haitian constitution prevented foreigners from
owning property, in 1917 the occupier drafted a new constitution that was
more to American liking, one without such a stipulation. The anti-American National Assembly, which alone had power to revise the constitution
or create a new one, refused to endorse the American document and
drafted its own. Pressured by Butler into dissolving the assembly, Dar2. Concordat between Pope Pius IX and the Republic of Haiti, March 28, 1860, in
Enchiridion dei concordati: due secoli di storia dei rapporti Chiesa-stato, ed. Erminio Lora
(Bologna, 2003), pp. 304–14, nos. 581–603; Concordat of June 17, 1862, ibid., pp. 369–72,
esp. nos. 704–05. Nicholls, Dessalines to Duvalier, pp. 35, 70, 117–19; Greene, Catholic
Church in Haiti, pp. 84–89, 92–99; Ramsey, Spirits and the Law, pp. 54–117; Trouillot, Haiti,
pp. 50–51, 65–82; Plummer, Haiti and the United States, pp. 57–58, 63–73.
3. Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 64–81; Nicholls, Dessalines to Duvlier, pp. 146–47;
Ramsey, Spirits and the Law, p. 144; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 24–26; Trouillot, Haiti,
p. 107; Arthur C. Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, 1915–1930 (Boston, 1931), pp.
34–63 (the treaty is printed in the appendix on pp. 211–15).

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

517

tiguenave recommended ratification of the American-sponsored constitution by plebiscite, which occurred in June 1918 with only 5 percent of the
electorate casting votes. The new constitution permitted foreigners to own
property and created a new Council of State, which could exercise all the
powers of the National Assembly until a new one was elected, something
that would not occur until 1930.4
Haiti first came to the attention of the newly established National
Catholic Welfare Council (NCWC) in June 1921 when Secretary of the
Navy Edwin Denby publicly supported the Federal Council of Churches
of Christ (FCC) in sending Protestant missionaries to Haiti. After Denby
had made an inspection tour of that country, he met with a committee
from the FCC. Afterward, he wrote to E. O. Watson, secretary of the
FCC, to say that he had witnessed the good done by American missionaries in other countries, but he had met none in Haiti. He believed that such
church workers would not only be a boon to the Haitians but also restore
feelings of friendship between that country and the United States through
their deeds of kindness. He assured Watson that his department would “be
most happy to facilitate your work in every way.”5
This news disturbed John Burke, the general secretary of the NCWC
(see figure 1). A forty-six-year-old Paulist priest, he had been the principal
cofounder of the National Catholic War Council in 1917, which served as
a rough model for its peacetime successor, the NCWC. His vision for both
organizations came from St. Paul’s understanding of the Church as the
Mystical Body of Christ—the Church as a unified body; as a living,
breathing organism; as Christ alive in the world in the present day; and as
a community of members with a proper function and role to fulfill, from
the pope to the lowliest layperson. The Catholic Church everywhere was
part of this organic whole, including Haitian Catholics. As Paul had
pointed out, if any part of the body suffered, the whole body suffered with
it. Burke lived in a time before Catholic ecumenism, when the Church
militantly proclaimed itself the one true expression of Christianity and, at
least in United States, faced hostility from major sectors of Protestantism.
4. Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 96–100; Plummer, Haiti and the United States, p.
102; Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, pp. 71–77.
5. Washington, DC, American Catholic History Research Center and University
Archives (hereafter cited as ACUA), United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (hereafter cited as USCCB), Navy News Bureau, Press Release, June 13, 1921, 10:39:11 (copy also
in Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Delegazione Apostolica Stati Uniti, V:74 [ASV, DAUS]);
“Bibles and Troops Ordered for Haiti,” Washington Herald, June 14, 1921, 1; Pamphile, La
Croix et le Glaive, pp. 68–69; Greene, Catholic Church in Haiti, p. 104.

518

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

FIGURE 1. John J. Burke, C.S.P., general secretary of the National Catholic
Welfare Conference. Photograph courtesy of the American Catholic History
Research Center and University Archives, Washington, DC.

During World War I, Burke had taken it upon himself to establish an
interdenominational committee to ensure the spiritual welfare of servicemen of all faiths. The present situation, however, involved sending Protestant missionaries into an officially Catholic country experiencing hardships
under American occupation. Burke’s attitude was at once solicitous and
protective. In his view, if any missionary work was to be done in Haiti by
Americans, they should be Catholics.6
6. Douglas J. Slawson, “John J. Burke, C.S.P.: The Vision and Character of a Public
Churchman,” Journal of Paulist Studies, 4 (1995–96), 50–62; Douglas J. Slawson, The Foundation and First Decade of the National Catholic Welfare Council (Washington, DC, 1992), pp.
1–69; Douglas J. Slawson, The Department of Education Battle, 1918–1932: Public Schools,
Catholic Schools, and the Social Order (Notre Dame, 2005), pp. xi–xvi, 56–142, 179–206; Elizabeth K. McKeown, War and Welfare: American Catholics and World War I (New York, 1988),
pp. 88–89, 132–33; William M. Halsey, The Survival of American Innocence: Catholicism in an
Era of Disillusionment, 1920–1940 (Notre Dame, 1980), pp. 8–83, 138–68; Philip Gleason,
“In Search of Catholic Unity: American Catholic Thought, 1920–1960,” The Catholic Historical Review, 65 (1979), 185–205; David M. Chalmers, Hooded Americanism: The History of the
Ku Klux Klan (New York, 1976), pp. 66–197; John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns
of American Nativism, 1860–1925 (New York, 1975), pp. 86–99; Lynn Dumenil, The Modern
Temper: American Culture and Society in the 1920s (New York, 1995), pp. 235–45; Lynn
Dumenil, Freemasonry and American Culture, 1880–1930 (Princeton, 1984), pp. 120–26. See

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

519

Burke met with Denby to protest his action. Informing him that Haiti
was a Catholic nation, he said that the secretary’s notion of sending Protestant missionaries there would aggravate, rather than assuage, already
painful relations with the United States. Such an action would prompt
mistrust not only among the Haitian people but also among American
Catholics. Denby replied that the policy of the government was to support
and protect American missionaries without regard to creed. His support
for the FCC had not been based on sectarianism. He offered to issue upon
request a letter to the NCWC similar to the one given to the FCC. Two
weeks later, Burke advised Denby that the NCWC would be sending lay
missionaries to Haiti, who “will undoubtedly do great good in explaining
Americans methods and ways to social welfare work.” He asked for a letter
of support, which the secretary graciously gave.7
Burke was correct in his prediction of the effect of Denby’s letter on
Haitians. Shortly after its issuance, the chargé d’affaires at the apostolic
internunciature in Port-au-Prince reported to Cardinal Pietro Gasparri,
the Vatican secretary of state, that the dispatch had made “a most painful
impression” on the country and that the Haitian press had protested
against it, declaring that “Haiti is not and will not ever be a land for Protestantism.” The chargé said that Americans would soon learn of the protest
through a letter sent by Perceval Thoby, president of the Haitian Patriotic
Union, to America editor Richard H. Tierney, S.J. In fact, the letter did not
protest Denby’s action, but objected to the occupation itself, which Thoby
and his colleagues considered a tyrannical and brutal venture in imperialism in “violation of America’s own fundamental traditions.” They thanked
Tierney for the recent articles in the magazine that condemned the occupation in similar terms. When the Haitian bishops learned of Burke’s
protest to Denby, they expressed their heartfelt gratitude to him.8
1 Cor. 12:12–31 and Ephesians 4:1–16; also J. Duperray, Christ in the Christian Life: According
to Saint Paul, trans. John J. Burke (New York, 1927), pp. 38–47, 182–85.
7. Extract from the Minutes of the General National Committee, June 16, 1921, ASV,
DAUS, V:74; John Burke to Edwin Denby, July 1, 1921, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11
(copy in ASV, DAUS, V:74); Denby to Burke, July 7, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11 (copy
in ASV, DAUS, V:74); Burke, Memorandum, October 31, [1923], ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:11; Julien Conan, Jean-Marie Morice, François-Marie Kersuzan, and Jules-Victor
Marde to Burke, November 17, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11; Pamphile, La Croix et le
Glaive, pp. 69–71.
8. First quotation from F. Fioretti to Pietro Gasparri, July 15, 1921, ASV, DAUS,
V:74; second quotation from Perceval Thoby, H. Pauleus Sannon, and C. Sténio Vincent to
the Editor, America, June 25, 1921, 229; William McNeice [William Maloney], “America in
Haiti,” America, June 4, 1921, 150–52; McNeice [Maloney], “America in Haiti,” America,

520

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

Gasparri sent the chargé’s report to Archbishop Giovanni Bonzano,
apostolic delegate to United States, and asked him to intervene on behalf
of the people of Haiti. In September 1921, Bonzano asked the NCWC for
a copy of its file on the situation. Father James H. Ryan sent the information, and Burke explained that no lay missionaries had yet been sent to
Haiti. If the delegate desired, Burke would bring the matter to the attention of the NCWC Administrative Committee when it met the following
week. He felt certain that the committee would vote the funds necessary to
dispatch lay workers.9
Bonzano informed Gasparri of the steps taken by Burke with regard
to Denby’s letter to the FCC, which the delegate considered proof of the
“the political-commercial purposes which this [American] government has
in recommending Protestant missionaries” to foreign countries. He
explained that because Haiti was already Catholic, there was no point in
sending clerical missionaries there. Burke, he said, had requested from
Denby a letter of support for Catholic lay missionaries to Haiti to counter
Protestant propaganda on moral and social issues, but constraints on
NCWC finances rendered remote the possibility that any would actually
be sent.10
Hospitalization prevented Burke from bringing the matter to the
Administrative Committee. He had, however, included Haiti in the annual
report he had written on behalf of the committee’s chair for presentation
at the annual convention of the American hierarchy later in the month. It
summarized the actions taken to date regarding that country and expressed
the hope of sending at least lay missionaries, “for the situation there is serious.” When Archbishop Edward Hanna of San Francisco read the report
to the assembled bishops, they were too preoccupied with the structures of
the American Board of Catholic Missions and the NCWC itself to take
any interest in Haiti.11
June 11, 1921, 173–75; Julien Conan, Jean-Marie Morice, François-Marie Kersuzan, and
Jules-Victor Marde to Burke, November 17, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11.
9. Burke to Giovanni Bonzano, September 13, 1921, copy, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:11; James H. Ryan to Bonzano, September 13, 1921, ASV, DAUS, V:74.
10. Bonzano to Gasparri, September 18, 1921, ASV, DAUS, V:74. With regard to the
political, economic, and religious aspects of American foreign interests, see Emily S. Rosenberg, Spreading the American Dream: American Economic and Cultural Expansion, 1890–1945
(New York, 1982).
11. “Report of the Chairman of the Administrative Committee, NCWC,” National
Catholic Welfare Council: Reports of the Administrative Committee and Departments (Washington, DC, 1921), p. 5; Slawson, Foundation and First Decade of NCWC, pp. 129–31.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

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FIGURE 2. Illinois senator Joseph Medill McCormick, c. 1916. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, reproduction no. LC-USZ62-65163.

Soon thereafter, however, an opportunity presented itself to Burke for
further investigation of the situation. Haiti had become an issue during the
presidential campaign of 1920. Republicans used it as a club with which to
pummel Wilson for violating his principle of self-determination of peoples. After elections that placed the Republicans in the majority in Congress and Warren Harding in the White House, the Senate decided to
send a Select Committee on Santo Domingo and Haiti, led by Joseph
Medill McCormick (R–IL, see figure 2), to look into allegations of atrocities by the marines in the suppression of the cacos rebellion (1918–20), a
nationalist uprising against forced labor on road construction (the corvée)
and the occupation itself.12
While convalescing in Miami Beach, Burke authorized Michael
Williams, assistant editor of the NCWC news service, to accompany the
committee and sent McCormick a letter of introduction for him. It was
“most vital” for U.S. relations with that country, said the Paulist, “that
there be a proper understanding among the Catholic authorities there as to
12. William Kerby to James H. Ryan, Telegram, November 14, 1921, ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:19; Ryan to Kerby, Telegram, November 15, 1921, ACUA-USCCB,
10:98:19; Burke to Senator [Joseph] Medill McCormick, November 23, 1921, copy, ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:19; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 100–07, 119–22; Ramsey, Spirits and the
Law, pp. 124–40; Renda, Taking Haiti, pp. 131–64; Nicholls, Dessalines to Duvalier, pp. 148–
49; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 50, 59–60; Pamphile, La Croix et le Glaive, pp. 74–75.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

our attitude as Americans.” Burke had learned that American Protestant
missionaries had given the impression that the U.S. government was “a
sort of semi-Protestant institution,” with the effect that some in Haiti
believed that the American occupiers were not or would not be friendly to
Catholic interests. Therefore, he was sending Williams to explain to
church authorities there the position of the American government, “its justice, its religious tolerance, fairness, and scrupulous observance of all
rights.” Williams would also investigate the best ways to help the Haitian
people. Burke hoped that McCormick and Williams would cooperate with
each other in those purposes.13 The letter indicates that at this point, Burke
believed that the American government would deal fairly and honestly
with Haiti.
While in Haiti, Williams met with several bishops, the Vatican chargé
d’affaires, members of the clergy, and the religious brothers and sisters who
conducted Catholic schools. He reported to Burke that the occupying
forces were there to stay. The bishops and clergy welcomed American
intervention as a means of bringing order out of chaos. Both Bishop
François-Marie Kersuzan of Cap Haïtien and Archbishop Julien-JeanGuillaume Conan of Port-au-Prince had issued pastoral letters that had
been widely criticized for their insufficient defense of Haitian independence. If their support of the occupation became public and the United
States withdrew the marines forthwith, it “would make their position with
the politicos intolerable.” Indeed, Kersuzan went so far as to say that the
abrupt withdrawal of American forces “would be a death blow, possibly, to
the clergy.”14
Williams reported that the members of the clergy did have grievances.
They complained that the Wilson administration had established no
formal policy for the occupation nor had it appointed a supreme authority.
They considered the corvée a major blunder on the part of the United
States. Moreover, they resented that John McIlhenny, the American
financial adviser, refused to honor the Haitian government’s desire to
permit church articles to enter the country duty-free, as required by the
concordat. McIlhenny claimed that the American government could show
no favoritism to any religion, apparently applying the First Amendment to
Haiti. The clergy argued that the American government had nothing to
13. Burke to McCormick, November 23, 1921, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19.
14. Michael Williams to Ryan, December 2, 1922 [sic for 1921], ACUA-USCCB,
10:98:19; Williams to Ryan, December 12, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19; Greene,
Catholic Church and Haiti, p. 105; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 75–76.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

523

say about an accord strictly between Haiti and the Vatican. The job of the
American government was to honor and enforce it.15
In fact, the situation regarding the concordat and customs was more
subtle and complex. The agreement contained no mention of import
duties. In the spirit of the accord’s requirement to afford “special protection” to the Catholic Church, the Haitian government had exempted religious goods and equipment for church schools from such import fees. In
the first years of the occupation, American officials had honored that
exemption, but it ended when McIlhenny became financial adviser. The
Haitian government was prepared to legislate the exemption, but was prevented from doing so by American officials.16
Williams averred that the Church in Haiti was “bitterly impoverished,” and the bishops and priests there looked to the American Catholic
Church for financial aid for education and other religious works. He hoped
that the NCWC would be able to send a layworker or perhaps a lay couple
to open a school of social service in Port-au-Prince. He also argued that
the NCWC ought to bring pressure on Washington “to restore to the
Haitian clergy their full rights according to the concordat,” which included
increasing their salary to an acceptable level. The occupier permitted the
government to give priests a monthly subvention of only $20, a sum that
should at least be doubled. Williams found McCormick sympathetic to the
Church. The senator wanted to secure from the American government an
outright grant to Haiti, a portion of which was to be used to increase the
salary of the Haitian clergy “without having a squabble on the floor of
Congress.” Moreover, he was eager to meet with Burke and Bonzano to
discuss the situation there.17
For its part, the Senate committee recommended that the marines
remain in the country to maintain order and prevent a devolution into
chaos. Although it criticized Wilson for failure to centralize authority and
send personnel sympathetic to the Haitian people, it noted the good work
15. Williams to Ryan, December 12, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19; Williams to
Burke, December 23, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp.
75–76.
16. See Lora, ed., Enchiridion, pp. 304–14, 369–72. Conan, Requests of the Bishops of
Haiti, January 20, 1925, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12.
17. Williams to Ryan, December 2, 1922 [sic for 1921], ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19;
Williams to Ryan, December 12, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19; quotations in Williams
to Burke, December 23, 1921, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:19; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive,
pp. 76–78; Greene, Catholic Church in Haiti, pp. 102–03.

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done by Americans for the country’s infrastructure. The committee recommended the establishment of industrial and agricultural education and the
appointment of a high commissioner who would be both minister extraordinary and envoy plenipotentiary to supervise the marines, the gendarmerie, and all American treaty personnel. The government appointed
General John Russell, commandant of the marine garrison in Haiti, as
high commissioner. When Dartiguenave turned resistant, the occupier had
the sympathetic Louis Borno elected president in June 1922. An admirer
of Benito Mussolini, the pliable and authoritarian Borno fit in well with
American plans for domination.18
In January 1922, Ryan, acting for the still-convalescing Burke, relayed
to Bonzano the information in Williams’s report, with particular attention
to McCormick’s desire for higher salaries for clergy and religious. Unfortunately, that did not occur. Instead of making a grant to Haiti, the American government floated a $16 million loan to refinance the external debt
of the country. Although the Haitian bishops were given to understand
that a portion of that loan was to be used to increase clerical salaries, the
acting American financial adviser, A. J. Maumus, vetoed any raise on the
grounds that priests received additional income from marriage and baptismal stipends. Later, a new financial adviser, William W. Cumberland,
diverted two-thirds of the surplus funds from the loan to creating a cash
reserve and to paying off the Haitian debt sooner than was required.19
McCormick met with Bonzano twice about the investigation into
Haiti. It became abundantly clear to the commission that there was antipathy between the Haitian people and the marines. Despite the hopeful outlook of Russell, those agitating against the American occupation were not
at all mollified. The U.S. government was convinced that if it withdrew the
marines, Haiti would descend into anarchy and banditry. The most pressing concern of the occupiers was the need for education. Washington
encouraged any entities willing to undertake it, which explained the sup-

18. William F. Montavon, Haiti Past and Present (Washington, DC,1930), pp. 13–14;
Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 123–33; Plummer, Haiti and the United States, pp. 105–06;
Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, pp. 95–108; “Report of the Chairman of the
Administrative Committee, NCWC,” pp. 5–6.
19. Ryan to Bonzano, January 5, 1921 [sic for 1922], ASV, DAUS, V:74; ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:14; Washington, DC, Office for History and Archives, North American
Paulist Center (hereafter cited as AP), Burke, Diary of Puerto Rico Trip, January 8, 1925,
Burke Papers, Box 70; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 161–66. Regarding the Haitian hierarchy’s understanding of the loan, see Conan, Requests of the Bishops of Haiti, January 20,
1925, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

525

port offered by Denby to the FCC. McCormick believed that the federal
government would eventually fund education in Haiti. He thought that
now was the moment for the Church to expand its educational efforts
there, especially through the establishment of agricultural schools. He recommended that the American Brothers of the Christian Schools or the
Salesians do so, because one of these orders could most easily connect the
French clergy, the Haitian people, and American civilians and American
military personnel in Haiti. Bonzano recommended this course of action to
Gasparri, who promised to do what he could in support of it.20
Bonzano thought that stirring the American hierarchy to action on Haiti
would have little effect. All the bishops could do was urge their congressional
representatives to pressure the government for the withdrawal of Protestants
from Haiti or the termination of their future missions to Haiti. No American
politician would dare take such a course, “since it would raise a clamor among
the population, which would cry out immediately against this violation of the
principles of American liberty and tolerance for everyone everywhere.”21
Burke, however, was not so reticent. In mid-September 1922, he
learned from Williams that McCormick had visited Bonzano and advised
that unless Catholic authorities took action in the next few months to open
more schools in Haiti, certain Protestant denominations would. Burke
again used the annual report of the administrative chairman to place the
matter of Haiti before the American hierarchy at the end of the month. He
wrote that whatever the U.S. government did in that nation would either
promote or injure the Catholic Church there. He made a plea that
Catholics of the United States do “something” to aid the Church in Haiti.
“This is the more important and urgent,” stressed Burke, “because the
Protestant churches are already planning to introduce technical schools—
the evil effect of which is much feared by the Archbishop of Port-auPrince.”22 The bishops listened politely but took no action.
Although the hierarchy was indifferent to Haiti, the American government was not. Its attitude toward that country was one of racist, paternalist Progressivism. Administrators at home and onsite viewed Haitian
blacks as childlike, happy, harmless, generous, and uncivilized peasants

20. Bonzano to Gasparri, May 5, 1922, ASV, DAUS, V:74; Gasparri to Bonzano, June
18, 1922, ASV, DAUS, V:74.
21. Bonzano to Gasparri, May 5, 1922, ASV, DAUS, V:74.
22. “Report of the Chairman of the Administrative Committee, NCWC,” pp. 5–6;
Williams to Burke, Memorandum, September 22, 1922, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:12.

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incapable of self-governance. Yet those same innocents, under the influence of alcohol or vodou, were capable of savage barbarism, even cannibalism. To suppress the cult of vodou, the occupiers enforced Haitian laws
against sorcery, which had been more honored in the breach than the
observance. They also introduced modern technology and administrative
principles to create the infrastructure for the uplift of the Haitian people.
In the belief that blacks were fit only for manual pursuits, the Americans
intended to use vocational education to turn them into docile manual
laborers. Once white women joined their men in the occupation, the
Americans enforced Jim Crow–style racial segregation, which increased
hostility to them.23
Education was to become the cultural battleground between Haiti and
the United States, particularly the plans to introduce technical and agricultural schools there. By concordat, the Catholic Church was state-supported in Haiti and had a privileged role in public education. Schools in
that nation, both private and public, were to teach the Catholic faith.
Moreover, the Haitian system offered a classical education along the
French model, something valued by the elite. Because the treaty between
Haiti and the United States was silent about education, Haitians used this
silence as the basis for resisting American interference in the matter. The
treaty, however, conceded control of Haitian finances to the United States,
so the occupier attempted to assert direct control over the national school
system through funding. When Haitian officials successfully parried this
effort, the United States decided in 1922 to establish its own system of
industrial and agricultural vocational education. This was known as the
Service de Technique de l’Agriculture et de l’Enseignement Professionnel
(the Technical Service of Agriculture and Vocational Education, or Service
Technique for short). The schools in this system were formally secular and
emphasized the development of practical knowledge and skills. Haitians
resisted them as purveyors of Yankee materialism and utilitarianism. The
United States then used the power of the purse to starve the Haitian
system while fattening its own.24
Unsuccessful in rousing the American hierarchy to action, Burke went
over the heads of the bishops. He and McCormick visited Bonzano.
23. Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 135–50; Ramsay, Spirits and the Law, pp. 121–58;
Renda, Taking Haiti, pp. 89–130; Plummer, Haiti and the United States, pp. 74–80, 106–09.
24. “Report of the Chairman of the Administrative Committee, NCWC,” pp. 5–6;
Montavon, Haiti Past and Present, pp. 15–17; Greene, Catholic Church in Haiti, p. 98; Pamphile,
Clash of Cultures, pp. 26, 31–32, 40–58, 67–114; Pamphile, La Croix et l’Glaive, pp. 53–89.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

527

McCormick pleaded with the latter to do something for Haiti and suggested that since the United States occupied the country, it should be
placed under Bonzano in his capacity as apostolic delegate to the United
States. In fact, Archbishop Pietro Benedetti, apostolic delegate to Cuba,
was also the interim regent of the apostolic internunciature of Haiti.25
In fall 1923, Benedetti went to Washington, where Burke arranged for
him to meet with McCormick, the “best informed man on the U.S. in
Hayti [sic].” On October 31, Burke and Ryan accompanied the archbishop
to the conference. Sympathetic to the Haitian people and their plight,
McCormick told Benedetti that there was “no question” that the United
States would withdraw from Haiti, but he was silent about when. In the
meantime, that country needed technical education, instructors for
Catholic schools, and priests who could speak French. In the senator’s
view, the American Catholic Church should take charge of the problem in
that country, because if it failed to act, Protestant or secular forces in
America would. McCormick said that he would write to Russell asking
him to extend every courtesy to Benedetti during his visit to Haiti. Before
leaving the senator’s office, Burke called the State Department and set up
an appointment with Undersecretary William Phillips for 2:15 that afternoon. Once outside, Benedetti told Burke that “this Calvinist
(McCormick) was more interested in the Catholics of Hayti than the
Catholic bishops of America.”26
When they met Phillips, the latter was unwilling to say when the United
States would evacuate Haiti. Finally, he told Benedetti and Burke that the
occupation would definitely last until 1936—the date stipulated in the
treaty—and perhaps even longer. Burke asked Phillips to invite Secretary of
State Charles Evans Hughes to join them. Asked if he thought it advisable
to send French-speaking American priests to Haiti, Hughes explained that
he could not give a definite answer. He was predisposed to the idea, but the
matter should be examined carefully. If sending the Catholic priests would
cause ill will, none should be sent. Still, the idea was a step in the right direction. Burke remarked that Hughes “was clear cut in his talk, deliberate and
… covered his tracks well.” Still, he found the secretary of state sympathetic
and cordial to American Catholic action in Haiti.27

25. Burke, Memorandum, October 31, [1923], ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11; Giuseppe
De Marchi, Le Nunziature Apostoliche dal 1800 al 1956 (Rome, 1957), p. 141. Burke wrote
that this visit to Bonzano occurred about a year earlier.
26. Burke, Memorandum, October 31, [1923].
27. Ibid.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

On the way back to NCWC headquarters, Benedetti again “deplored
the indifference of the U.S. bishops to the crying needs of the Antilles and
the So. American countries.” He wanted Burke to prepare a report on
Haiti for the Vatican. The priest was disinclined to do so, because Rome
would not want to hear what he had to say nor would be prepared to implement his recommendation.28
Burke committed his thoughts to paper. In his view, the best approach
to Haiti was through lay missionaries. Family life, proper housing, public
health, education, just industrial conditions, decent standards of living,
political liberty, participation in government—“all these are duties, obligations that belong to the laity,” believed Burke. Where Catholic laypeople
took no interest in such matters and left them to the clergy, they inevitably
became the “plaything of shrewd, unscrupulous politicians.” Yet, when the
laity did become involved, they would “rise against the only masters they
know—the priests of God’s Church.” Benedetti admitted that clericalism
was the problem in Haiti. The Breton clergy there were clannish in the
extreme. They would not welcome non-Breton priests, even French ones.
Burke believed that lay missionaries stood a better chance of acceptance by
the Haitian people. Ordinary laymen and laywomen could meet them as
equals and through humble service help the Haitians improve their homes,
care for their children, learn nutrition, and obtain medical attention.
Through such activities, they would lead the people to knowledge of
redemption while teaching them dignity, self-protection, and self-assertion. The Haitians would be won over because “the tongue that spoke in
the same name as the hand that helped would not be denied.”29
However, Burke thought his idea was chimerical. American Catholics
prided themselves on their strength and progressive attitude, but “those
who so boast do not see deeply or think seriously.” Like the Haitian
Church, the American one was a clerical institution run by priests and religious. Exposition and defense of the faith was in the hands of the clergy.
Religious almost exclusively conducted Catholic education. Priests were
editors of almost every Catholic magazine and newspaper. They also ran
the Catholic charities in practically every diocese. Burke pondered why this
was so. “I think the fundamental answer is that we have forgotten the call
of perfection was issued by Christ not alone to priests and religious, but to
all without exception,” he wrote:

28. Ibid.
29. Ibid.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

529

We practically preach the contrary. We have taken to ourselves the interpretation of perfection. We have assumed that decision and direction of
all matters Catholic belong to the clergy. And the people have allowed
the assumption to rest with us.

He thought that if the laity were entrusted with the responsibility for
Catholic truth regarding familial, social, political, industrial, and literary
life, the Church and America would be a different reality. “All this may
seem far away from Hayti,” he wrote, “but I do not think it is.” The laity
in America and Haiti alike needed to be empowered. To put these
thoughts in a report to the Vatican “would be quite useless unless one could
also explain how de facto it could be done.” The obstacle to effective assistance for Haiti was quite simple: “We have not the vision, we have not the
machinery or organization to carry out this work. Last September it was
put before the bishops: but the answer was silence.” Burke concluded that
perhaps French-speaking American priests should, after all, be sent to
Haiti. Perhaps such men would see the need for lay action “and make their
appeal heard. But we ask, how long, how long.”30
Burke kept these dispirited thoughts to himself. Just before Christmas
he wrote to Benedetti in Haiti with word that after further inquiries, he
was able to confirm the truth of Phillips’s opinion that the United States
would likely remain there indefinitely. Burke again expressed his forlorn
hope of sending a few lay missionaries, who might later be followed by
French-speaking American priests.31
He also mentioned that Navy Lieutenant Ben Moreell, a staff officer
of the Civil Engineer Corps in Haiti who had recently returned from Haiti
(see figure 3), had come to say that the government would donate land for
the construction of twelve Catholic schools there if the NCWC would bear
the cost of construction at $20,000 per school. This offer is puzzling. Subsequent correspondence indicates that it came from the U.S. government,
but this seems unlikely. At that time, Russell was committed to the creation of Service Technique schools. Moreover, the United States had no
authority to donate Haitian land. If the offer were really from the U.S.
government, one wonders why such a junior officer was making it, rather
than one of Burke’s contacts in the State Department. On the other hand,
the Haitian government had passed legislation to extend its own school
system into rural areas, which the occupier refused to fund. Perhaps
30. Ibid.
31. Burke to Pietro Benedetti, December 22, 1923, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11.

530

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

FIGURE 3. Lt. Ben Moreell, future founder of the Seabees, in Haiti c. 1923. Photograph by Clara Moreell. Image courtesy of the U.S. Navy Seabee Museum, Port
Hueneme, CA, Naval History and Heritage Command.

Moreell was acting on behalf of the Haitian government or elements
within it.32 In any case, the NCWC followed up.
Burke explained to Benedetti that the NCWC lacked the funds to act
on the offer, nor was it authorized to raise any. So, he contacted the
Catholic Church Extension Society in Chicago, whose purpose was to
support missionary efforts in the United States, to see if it would pay for
the schools. Well aware of the condition of the Church in Haiti, Monsignor Francis Clement Kelley, head of the society, replied that he would
gladly give $100,000, even if he had to take it out of the endowment. The
society’s charter, however, prevented it from operating outside the United
States, so the Vatican would have to approve the exception. Kelley recommended that Burke urge the apostolic delegate to meet with Cardinal
George Mundelein of Chicago, who would have to be persuaded. Kelley
said that he himself should also be at the meeting between the two because
there was no chance of convincing the cardinal unless he was “there to tell
32. Burke to Pietro Benedetti; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 90–91; Pamphile,
Clash of Cultures, pp. 70–93. The sum $20,000 is equivalent in purchasing power to almost
$275,000 in 2013.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

531

[Mundelein] that the thing can be done.” “I know that the situation in
Hayti can be saved,” Kelley added. He wondered why the United States
did not simply annex both Haiti and Santo Domingo.33
Although it seems that Kelley wanted Burke to see Archbishop Pietro
Fumasoni-Biondi, the new apostolic delegate to the United States, Burke
misunderstood (perhaps due to another bout of ill health) and, through
Ryan, encouraged Benedetti to write to Mundelein. When the NCWC
Administrative Committee met in early May 1924, the chair, Archbishop
Hanna, said that he, too, would discuss the situation with the Vatican
when he went to Rome, and Bishop Peter Muldoon of Rockford (IL), who
was a member of the Extension Society’s board of governors, agreed to
bring the matter before that body at its next meeting.34 Nothing came of
these efforts.
Fearing a loss of the French cultural tradition and classical education,
Haitian elites in Port-au-Prince cast about for an alternative to the Service
Technique system that was about to open its first institution: École Centrale d’Agriculture, a normal college for preparing instructors for the Service Technique schools. They proposed bringing French Trappists to teach
husbandry. Such priests were monastic farmers who spoke the language
and would cost the Haitian treasury ten times less than American treaty
officials. Yet, as David Nicholls has remarked, even as these older elites
fought to maintain a French cultural heritage, hostility to the occupation
eroded that trend. Drawing on earlier thought about the equality of the
races, the African origins of civilization, and the significance of Haiti for
the regeneration and independence of the black race, Haitian intellectuals
and young literary revivalists were coming to see themselves and their
countrymen as more African than western in culture, attitude, and spirit.35
While the struggle over Haitian education continued, Burke was experiencing such significant heart trouble that physicians ordered extended rest.
Once he had recuperated enough to travel, he went on a lengthy vacation to
33. Burke to Pietro Benedetti, December 22, 1923, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11;
Francis Clement Kelley to Burke, March 11, 1924, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14; James P.
Gaffey, Francis Clement Kelley & the American Catholic Dream, 2 vols. (Bensonville, IL, 1980),
1:73–97; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, p. 91.
34. Ryan to Benedetti, April 24, 1924, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:11; Minutes of
the Administrative Committee, May 1, 1924, ACUA-USCCB, Box 64.
35. Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 76–77, 87–89, 115; Nicholls, Dessalines to Duvalier,
pp. 126–38, 152–64; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 150–51, 235–36. See also Plummer,
Haiti and the United States, pp. 121–30.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

the Caribbean in fall-winter 1924–25. During December and January, he
sojourned in Haiti for nearly three weeks. He found the vast majority of the
people desperately poor and uneducated. Almost no couples were legally
married because of the cost of the license, so they simply cohabited. He
found the French clergy deeply devoted to the people. In Burke’s view, no
American priests would do what the Breton priests did. The real problem
was the cultural conflict between the Haitians and the American occupiers.
The latter were “not against but certainly not with” the former, and, “in tendency,” they were “ultimately antagonistic.”36
The bishops of Haiti asked Burke to speak officially on their behalf
with Russell about the concordat. The priest met with Russell the day
before Burke’s departure from the country. Burke bluntly told the commissioner that the United States was not fulfilling its pledge to abide by the
accord with the Vatican. Foremost was the issue of pay for the clergy. “I
said the present salary was an insult,” Burke confided in his diary. Russell
explained that Maumus, a Catholic, had not approved an increase because
priests had other sources of income from stipends for sacraments. Burke
countered that for the majority of the clergy, those were negligible. He
then spoke of financial adviser Cumberland, who controlled Haitian treasury funds and refused to abide by the letter or spirit of the concordat. The
financial adviser was unsympathetic to religious education and refused to
permit religious goods and educational equipment for church schools to
enter the country duty-free. Russell responded that making distinctions
among imported goods was difficult and that “if the privilege was granted
to one it would have to be granted to all.” Burke countered that it was easy
to distinguish goods of an educational or religious nature. He asked the
commissioner if the Service Technique schools were teaching religion as
required by Haitian law. Russell answered in the negative, but said that he
would take care that it was. When Burke spoke about the construction of
church buildings, Russell denied that the concordat contained any obligation in that regard. Burke contended that a plain reading of the document
and the organic conventions pursuant to it proved otherwise. He suggested
“the need and advisability” of Russell’s consulting with the Haitian bishops
as a group about appropriations for the salaries of priests and the building
of churches and presbyteries as well as other matters pertaining to the concordat. Russell replied that he would do so in the future. After the inter-

36. Quotation from January 5, 1925, in Burke, Diary of Puerto Rico Trip, December
22, 1924, to January 7, 1925, AP, Burke Papers, Box 70. On the dedication of the Bretton
clergy, see also Montavon, Haiti Past and Present, p. 5.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

533

view, Burke gave an account of it to Archbishop Conan, whose only comment was that the assertion about priests not having other sources of
income was perhaps too strong. Clergy in long-established parishes did
receive stipends.37
On his return to Washington, Burke found a letter from Conan awaiting him. It contained a list of requests from the Haitian hierarchy to the
U.S. government, covering the same issues Burke had raised with Russell.
It also contained another plea that the American hierarchy provide financial assistance to the Church in Haiti. When Burke called on Hughes to
wish him well as the secretary of state was about to depart the administration, their conversation turned to Haiti. The priest informed Hughes
about the situation there and about his conference with Russell. Hughes
asked Burke to see Francis White, who had the Haitian desk at the State
Department. In mid-February 1925, Burke took the requests of the Haitian bishops to White and Dana Munro, the State Department’s regional
economist for the Caribbean. The three discussed the situation in Haiti,
particularly the matter of education, for about two hours. The two officials
were surprised to learn that all the schools were not conducting religious
instruction as the law demanded. Informing Burke that the department
had summoned Russell to Washington, White wanted the priest to draft a
comprehensive plan for education in Haiti that he would take up with the
commissioner. After the meeting, Burke had second thoughts about crafting such a plan. Given the concordat and Haitian law, he believed that the
Haitian bishops and the Vatican needed to comment on and approve any
such scheme. Indeed, he thought there should be a conference on the
matter presided over by the secretary of state and attended by Russell, a
bishop of Haiti empowered to act on behalf of both that country’s hierarchy and the Vatican, and Burke as a representative of the NCWC.38
Burke made this recommendation to Benedetti, who took the matter up
first with Cardinal Pietro Gasparri, the Vatican secretary of state, and then

37. Quotations from Burke, Diary of Puerto Rico Trip, January 8, 1925, AP, Burke
Papers, Box 70; Burke to Benedetti, February 16, 1925, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12;
Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 96–97.
38. Conan, Requests of the Bishops of Haiti, January 20, 1925, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:12; Burke, Interview with Francis White and Dana Munro, February 11, 1925,
ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12; Burke, Memorandum–Conference on Haiti, February 13, 1925,
ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12; Burke to Benedetti, February 16, 1925, copy, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:12; Burke to Conan, December 12, 1925, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14; Pamphile,
La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 99–100.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

with Pope Pius XI himself. Both Gasparri and the pontiff appreciated Burke’s
work and wanted him to proceed along the lines he had suggested. Benedetti
then conferred with the Haitian bishops, who also approved of the plan. He
then went to Washington in May 1925 to confer with Burke. The two met
with Senator Peter Gerry (D–RI) and several of his colleagues. The senators
agreed to secure information about the situation in Haiti; bring the matter to
the floor of the Senate; and write to the Navy Department, the State Department, and officials of the occupation. There is no evidence that any of them
followed through on this course of action. Convinced that only an American
could present the matter effectively to the federal government, Benedetti
commissioned Burke to act on his behalf. “Haitian matters are now in your
hands,” he told the priest. Specifically, Burke was to see that Catholic instruction was provided in every grade at every school in Haiti, that the salaries of
priests and religious in the country were increased, and that the final two dioceses specified in the concordat—Port-de-Paix and Gonaïves—were established. The Vatican had erected those two canonically, but the Haitian government had yet to provide the funds to make them a reality.39
Just before Christmas 1925, Burke saw President Calvin Coolidge.
“Tell it not in Gath [2 Sam. 1:20],” the priest divulged to Muldoon, “but
Mr. Coolidge thought we had withdrawn from Haiti.” Burke apprised the
president of the state of affairs there. Shortly after the New Year, he again
saw White and told him of the interview with Coolidge. Burke reminded
White of the concordat and expressed the wish to speak to White soon
about issues that hinged on that document. Unfortunately, other critical
matters—the persecution of the Church in Mexico and a proposal to
establish a federal department of education—diverted the attention of
Burke and the NCWC. Still, Burke’s efforts on Haiti had reaped some
results. The State Department apparently had ordered that students in the
Service Technique schools receive religious instruction according to Haitian law, and religion now was being taught in those institutions.40
In June 1926, Archbishop Conan and Bishop Jean-Marie Jan, coadju-

39. Quotation from Burke, Interview with Benedetti, May 18, 1925, ACUA-USCCB,
10:153, Interview Book; Benedetti to Burke, June 6, 1925, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12;
Burke, Report to the Administrative Committee, September 1925, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:12; Present Religious Situation in Haiti, [1921], ASV, DAUS, V:74.
40. Conan to Burke, October 22, 1925, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14; Burke to Peter
Muldoon, December 23, 1925, ACUA-USCCB, 10:152:30; Burke, Interview with White,
January 11, 1926, ACUA-USCCB, 10:153, Interview Book; Burke to George Caruana, April
20, 1927, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

535

tor of Cap Haïtien, attended the Eucharistic Congress held in Chicago.
After the event, they went to Washington and met with Burke. The three
conferred with Senator Gerry and some of his other colleagues about education in Haiti. Out of the meeting came a plan similar to the proposal of
two years earlier when Haitian elites advocated bringing French Trappists
to teach agriculture. Gerry summarized the outcome in a letter to Secretary
of State Frank Kellogg. He first stated that Haiti needed more schools,
additional hospitals, and better roads. However, his main emphasis in the
document was education. The Service Technique system was impractical
and wrongheaded, argued Gerry. He wrote that the vast majority of
Haitians were primitive, illiterate people who needed to be led to new ways
by those in whom they reposed confidence and trust. Virtually all the population was Catholic, he said, and the Church’s “fundamental hold on the
people should be utilized in our efforts to improve their condition.” There
were religious brothers and sisters conducting schools in Haiti already, and
their religious communities would certainly send more of them to expand
this endeavor. Agricultural training could be incorporated in all the
schools. The problem was money. Gerry proposed a simple solution that
would circumvent the need to raise taxes. He pointed out that Cumberland
was pursuing a policy of extinguishing the Haitian debt faster than
required. If a more graduated course of repayment was pursued, funds
would be available to raise the salaries of religious sisters and brothers and
to increase appropriations for schools, hospitals, and road facilities. This
plan, in Gerry’s view, was “the soundest public policy” that would make
friends of the Haitian people.41
Wanting to give the matter careful consideration, Kellogg delayed his
response until November. He stated that the treaty of 1915 with Haiti
made no mention of education, so the classical or academic branch of
schooling was under the aegis of the Haitian government. Kellogg correctly surmised, however, that Gerry’s real concern was with the Service
Technique system. He noted that the treaty committed the United States
to help Haiti develop its agriculture and put its finances in order. Pursuant
to those obligations, the Haitian government authorized the establishment
of the Service Technique schools. Kellogg noted that the agricultural
schools were giving instruction in the Catholic faith. Gerry’s proposal, he
said, represented a “fundamental change of policy” that would necessitate

41. Washington, DC, National Archives of the United States (hereafter cited as NA),
Peter Gerry to Frank B. Kellogg, August 11, 1926, RG59, 838.42/35; Burke to Muldoon,
July n.d., 1926, ACUA-USCCB, 10:104:13; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 87–90.

536

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

a reconsideration of the whole problem, require new legislation from the
Haitian government, and perhaps reverse progress already achieved. With
regard to the rapidity of debt retirement, Kellogg said that such a course
was consistent with placing Haitian finances on firm footing.42 Reporting
to Conan about the exchange of letters, Burke said that his own best course
of action remained the same—he would continue to appeal to American
government officials for “justice to the church in Haiti.” He commented,
“To make it a political issue on floor of Congress would avail nothing at
the present time.”43
In February 1927, the Vatican appointed Archbishop George Caruana as internuncio to Haiti. Caruana was a Maltese-born American citizen, who also was serving as apostolic delegate to Mexico and the
Antilles. Burke informed Caruana about efforts to obtain higher salaries
for priests and religious as well as pledged to do what he could to assist
the internuncio. Caruana asked Burke for “his frank opinion about American administrators in the Republic, so as to know how to conduct myself
with them” in the upcoming visit.44 The priest advised him to choose his
words carefully because they would be publicized in the United States
“and of course will be used as either for or against the American Occupation.” Burke noted that every Haitian government since the signing of the
concordat had supported the Church. The same could not be said of the
American administrators there. Occupation officials would, he said,
blame the present Haitian administration for the current refusal to support the Church adequately, but “there is no truth in the statement.” The
Haitian people were thoroughly Catholic. “I think you will also find the
people capable of a high degree of development,” wrote Burke. “The officials of the American Occupation will speak of their superstitions, their
filthy habits, etc., etc., but these are exaggerated and the work which the
Church is doing, long and tiresome as it is, is showing good results.”
Caruana would find that the Haitians were passionate, boisterous lovers
of liberty and despised the American occupation. They appreciated the
medical work being done for them, but they felt exploited by Cumberland
who controlled the treasury; used Haitian money to pay bloated salaries to

42. Kellogg to Gerry, September 17, 1926, NA, RG59, 838.42/35; quotations from
Kellogg to Gerry, November 18, 1926, NA, RG59, 838.42/35.
43. Burke to Conan, April 20, 1927, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14.
44. Burke to George Caruana, March 4, 1927, copy, ACUA-USCCB 10:39:12; Caruana to Burke, March 9, 1927, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12. An internuncio was the Vatican
diplomatic grade just below nuncio. A nuncio was equivalent to an ambassador, and an internuncio was equivalent to a special envoy and minister plenipotentiary.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

537

American officials; and offered miserable recompense to local teachers,
judges, priests, and religious.45
Even before Caruana reached Haiti, three newspapers belonging to
Haitian Protestants or radicals had attacked him as “a ‘jingoist and imperialist American,’” whose coming was to further the ambitions of the U.S.
government. He told Burke that one newspaper had linked their two
names: “We are birds in the same nest!!! Cave canes [beware of the dogs]!!!”
Caruana had found matters in Haiti to be just as Burke had described them.
Although Cumberland was a frank and honest man, he was an unbeliever
who viewed the concordat “as a commercial treaty rather than an agreement
among two friends seeking each other’s mutual benefit.” The internuncio
explained that his purpose was to depart Haiti on friendly terms with all
parties. He kept his speeches there to pious platitudes and “‘the usual sweet
nothings.’ The situation is such that I deemed it best to hold all my sentiments locked up.” Caruana urged Burke to do what he could to persuade
Cumberland to justice toward the claims of the Church.46
Although Burke thought there was little chance of influencing Cumberland to a more favorable disposition, the latter, shortly before resigning
as financial adviser, engaged in perhaps a parting act of kindness. In September 1927, Burke reported to the Administrative Committee that Cumberland had approved raises for religious brothers and sisters who taught in
Haiti, “but nothing like justice had been done in the matter as yet.” In
December, Arthur C. Millspaugh—“a different and better type of man,” in
Burke’s judgment—took over the position of financial adviser. Before
Millspaugh left for Haiti, Burke met with him and had a long talk about
the situation there. In the following year, Burke pressured the government
to approve Haitian funds for the erection of the final two dioceses:
Gonaïves and Port-de-Paix.47
45. Burke to Caruana, April 20, 1927, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12; Pamphile,
Clash of Cultures, pp. 106–15. See also Minutes of the Administrative Committee, April 23,
1925, ACUA-USCCB, Box 64, and Montavon, Haiti Past and Present, pp. 7–8.
46. First and second quotations from Caruana to Burke, May 4, 1927, ACUAUSCCB, 10:39:12; third quotation from Caruana to Burke, May 29, 1927, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:12; fourth quotation from Caruana to Burke, May 17, 1927, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:12, emphasis in original.
47. Minutes of the Administrative Committee, September 12, 1927, ACUA-USCCB,
Box 64; Joseph-Marie LeGouaze to Burke, November 16, 1927, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14;
Burke to LeGouaze, December 7, 1927, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:14; Burke to Pietro
Cogliolo, June 15, 1928, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12; Burke, Interview with Francis
White, July 12, 1928, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:12; Cogliolo to Paolo Marella, May 21, 1928,
ASV, DAUS, V:74; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 123–25.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

Meanwhile, Caruana had become persona non grata to the Haitian
people as well as to the Mexican government and took up residence in
Cuba, the largest of the Antilles for which he was apostolic delegate.
Believing that the Haitian government would not permit him to reenter
the country, he appointed his chargé d’affaires, Monsignor Pietro Cogliolo, as apostolic administrator to work in Haiti under his supervision.
Burke remained in direct contact with Caruana.48
In fall 1929, a confluence of negative events brought popular unrest in
Haiti to the surface. The State Department decided against holding elections for delegates to a National Assembly that were scheduled for January
1930. In October, President Borno announced the cancellation, but
blamed it on the plotting of opposition parties. Simultaneously, the market
for coffee—mainstay of the Haitian economy—collapsed, just as the occupation’s policy of new taxes went into effect. George Freeman, director of
the Service Technique schools, cut scholarship payments to students at the
École Centrale d’Agriculture at Damien so that grants could be offered to
those at new demonstration farm-schools. On October 31, students at the
École went on strike. A week later, students at the national schools of law
and medicine joined the strike in sympathy. Soon students at all schools,
both public and private, were in the streets. The Haitian people supported
them and turned to anti-American rioting.49
As these dramatic events were unfolding, Burke was again a semiinvalid. By mid-summer 1929, the strain of work had taken a toll on his
heart. Physicians ordered him to rest and refused to permit him to say
Mass because it was such an intense experience for him. They allowed him
only a few hours each day to direct the work of the NCWC from his home
in northwest Washington. By October, he was in the NCWC office every
other day for only an hour. For the NCWC Administrative Committee in
early November, Burke reviewed the situation in Haiti, especially in regard
to education. He recommended that a memorandum on the matter be prepared and presented in person, if possible, to President Herbert Hoover.
The committee authorized him to do so.50
48. Burke, Report of the General Secretary, April 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:62:10;
Douglas J. Slawson, “The National Catholic Welfare Conference and the Church-State Conflict in Mexico, 1925–1929,” The Americas, 47 (1990), 55–93, here 65–66.
49. Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 189–206; Trouillot, Haiti, p. 103; Pamphile, La
Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 137–39; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 124–34; Plummer, Haiti and
the United States, pp. 118–19; Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, pp. 176–79, 237–38.
50. Minutes of the Administrative Committee, November 4, 1929, ACUA-USCCB,
Box 64; Burke to Helen Lynch, June 28, 1929, AP, Burke Papers, Box 5; Burke to Lynch,

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

539

On November 27, the still convalescing Burke went to the White
House to discuss Haiti with Hoover. He explained that the United States
had been there since 1915 for the avowed purpose of “the betterment of the
Haitian people and the training of the Haitian people to govern themselves.” Yet, the United States had “no intelligent plans” for doing so. It
had permitted no elections since 1915. Borno appointed members to the
Council of State, which in turn reelected him president in 1926. “The
vicious circle is obvious,” noted Burke. Occupation officials had done
nothing to promote the Haitian educational system. They paid Haitian
teachers $5 per month, whereas Freeman was paid $15,000 a year, and his
assistants received $5000 annually. Similarly, nothing had been done to
improve the judicial system, which was corrupt because of the pittance paid
to judges. It had even been proposed that Americans take over the judiciary. “This is a very odd way to teach the Haitians to govern themselves,”
remarked Burke. “I respectfully submit that the situation is very serious and
that we, as a nation, ought to take the matter seriously in hand and
earnestly endeavor to promote the national well-being of Haiti.” Asking
for a memorandum on the matter, Hoover spoke of his intention to send a
commission to Haiti and wanted Burke to recommend a Catholic for
appointment to it.51
The president’s original plan had been to send a commission to Haiti
to investigate complaints made by the American business community. The
current anti-American unrest, however, caused Hoover to change focus. On
December 7, 1929, he asked Congress to fund a commission that would
make recommendations about American policy toward that country.52
Within days, Burke suggested that Hoover appoint to the commission
Charles Fenwick, a Catholic professor of political science at Bryn Mawr
July 10, 1929, AP, Burke Papers, Box 5; Burke to Grace Murray, October 15, 1929, AP,
Burke Papers, Box 12.
51. Burke, Memorandum, November 17, 1929, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; quotations
from Burke to Herbert Hoover, November [sic for December] 6, 1929, copy, with enclosure:
A Short Memorandum on Haiti, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; William Montavon, Memorandum no. 45, January 11, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Minutes of the Administrative
Committee, November 4, 1929, ACUA-USCCB, Box 64; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp.
182–83, 189–93; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 108–10. Burke was using figures from his
visit to Haiti in 1924 (see Burke to James Kerney, February 10, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:13). Pamphile indicates that in 1930, Freeman’s salary was $10,000 and that of his
assistants was $7000.
52. Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 201, 207–09; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp.
234–35; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, p. 139; Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control,
pp. 180–81, 238–39.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

who had gained a reputation in international law. A former collaborator of
Burke soon challenged this recommendation. As ambassador to Mexico,
Dwight Morrow had worked closely with Burke to resolve the church-state
conflict in that country. Morrow, now the Republican senator-elect for
New Jersey, telephoned Burke in January 1930 and informed him that
Catholic Democrat James Kerney, editor of the Trenton Times, wanted the
appointment. Morrow and his political allies supported Kerney, and the
senator-elect had already spoken to Undersecretary of State Joseph Cotton
about it. Morrow asked Burke to endorse Kerney to Cotton as well. Replying that he would give the matter consideration, the priest conferred with
Father Raymond McGowan, associate director of the NCWC’s Social
Action Department. McGowan, who lived with Burke, advised him to
remain neutral about any Catholic commissioner so he could take exception to the commission’s findings if necessary. Burke agreed.53
He did, however, write to Bishop John McMahon of Trenton to
enquire about Kerney. He informed the bishop that care of the interests of
the Church in Haiti before the U.S. government “rests upon my shoulders.” Burke told him that Kerney’s appointment to the commission
seemed likely. The government probably would be asking Burke’s recommendation, so he requested McMahon’s advice.54 In reply, the bishop
informed him that Kerney had been a close friend and supporter of Wilson
and was a well-educated, brilliant, and universally honored Catholic. He
hoped this information proved helpful.55
On January 20, Burke, now back at work, met with Cotton. He told
him of his interview with Hoover and of his recommendation of Fenwick.
He explained that Morrow had asked him to recommend Kerney. The
priest said that his sole interest was ensuring that a Catholic was on the
commission, because Haiti was a Catholic country. He had no preference;
the appointment of either man would meet the request of the NCWC.
Cotton commented that a settlement of the Haitian problem must necessarily take into consideration the Catholicism of the Haitian people,
although Burke found him rather uninformed about the Catholic history
of that country. The priest noted that the previous day’s Washington Post

53. Burke to Hoover, December 9, 1929, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Burke, Memorandum, January 9, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Raymond McGowan to Burke, January
9, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Slawson, “The National Catholic Welfare Conference
and the Church-State Conflict in Mexico, 1929–1929,” pp. 71–93.
54. Burke to John McMahon, January 9, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.
55. McMahon to Burke, January 11, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

541

had reported that a black professor at Howard University had been suggested for a position on the commission. Burke advised that “it would be a
mistake to regard the Haitian problem as a racial or colored problem: that
the Haitians would at once resent such an inference.” Cotton agreed. He
also expressed his strong opposition to the continuance of the military
administration of Haiti; it should be supplanted by civil administration.56
On February 6, 1930, Burke again saw Cotton, who informed him
that Hoover was about to appoint the commission. Kerney’s selection was
certain, said the undersecretary, and a second Catholic was to be named at
the urging of Senator Felix Hébert (R–RI). The latter had recommended
to the president a French-Canadian from his state, Élie Vézina, who was
a fluent Francophone. “At once I thought of possible complications with
the Canadian French trouble in Providence,” commented Burke. He was
concerned that Vézina might have been involved in the Sentinelle affair, a
highly publicized display of Catholic resistance in Woonsocket aimed at
maintaining traditional French-Canadian culture against seeming
attempts by Bishop William Hickey to Americanize the Francophones in
his diocese. The Sentinellists were militant, even combative, taking their
case to Rome; when that failed, they sued Hickey in civil court. The bishop
had excommunicated the leaders, suspended Sentinellist priests, and
refused Communion to Sentinellist followers. The appointment to the
commission of a Catholic associated with that trouble would be unfortunate. Burke wanted to ensure that Vézina did not have ties to the Sentinellists. He thought that Hébert probably would have been careful to select
someone unconnected with the affair, but he needed to be certain. Cotton
said he would check with the senator.57
Thinking “that no delay should be had on the matter,” Burke told
William Montavon, director of the Legal Department, to telephone
Hébert. The latter’s office sent word that Burke could meet him on the
Senate floor. Burke went to the Capitol and explained his concern. Hébert
assured him that Vézina had not been involved in the Sentinellist move-

56. Burke, Memorandum of Conversation with Joseph Cotton, January 20, 1930,
ACUA- USCCB, 10:39:13.
57. Burke, Interviews with Arthur Bliss Lane and Joseph Cotton, February 6, 1930,
ACUA-USCCB 10:153 Interview Book; Richard S. Sorrell, “Sentinelle Affair (1924–
1929)—Religion and Militant Survivance in Woonsocket, Rhode Island,” Rhode Island History, 36 (1977), 67–79; C. Stewart Doty, “‘Monsieur Maurras est ici’: French Fascism in
Franco-American New England,” Journal of Contemporary History, 32 (1997), 527–38, here
534–35; Delores Liptak, Immigrants and Their Church (New York, 1989), pp. 160–70.

542

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

FIGURE 4. The Forbes Commission gathers after submitting its report on Haiti
to President Herbert Hoover on March 21, 1930. From left: William Allen White,
Élie Vézina, W. Cameron Forbes (chair), Henry P. Fletcher, and James Kerney.
Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, reproduction no. LC-DIGhec-35762.

ment. The senator had been careful in that regard because he had no wish
“to bring the President into any such controversy.” Hébert was certain that
Vézina was a good Catholic because the pope had recently made him a
Knight of St. Gregory. On returning to his office, Burke informed Cotton
that he had seen Hébert and all was well. In fact, Vézina was a leader of
the French-Canadian moderates who opposed the Sentinellists because of
their tactics. Vézina sympathized, however, with their understanding that
their national culture, their French language, and their Catholic religion
were mutually interdependent—something that would give him a unique
ability among the commissioners in understanding how those same traits
were interwoven in Haiti.58
On February 7, 1930, Hoover announced the membership of the
commission (see figure 4). The chair was W. Cameron Forbes, a former
58. Burke, Interviews with Arthur Bliss Lane and Joseph Cotton, February 6, 1930,
ACUA-USCCB 10:153: Interview Book; Sorrell, “Sentinelle Affair,” p. 73.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

543

FIGURE 5. Robert Russa Moton, second president of Tuskegee Institute and
chair of the Moton Commission. Photograph from Racial Good Will: Addresses by
Robert R. Moton (Hampton, VA, 1916), frontispiece.

governor of the Philippines and an expert on colonial matters. Serving with
him were Henry P. Fletcher, a diplomat with ambassadorial experience;
William Allen White, editor of the Emporia [KS] Gazette; Vézina; and
Kerney. By this time, the purpose of the commission was to find a graceful
time and way to end the American occupation. Although Hoover had no
intention of appointing a black man to the commission, he recognized that
he needed to appease black Americans criticizing his decision, so he simultaneously announced that Robert Russa Moton, president of Tuskegee
Institute, would thoroughly investigate the Haitian educational system,
with the assistance of other educators he would recommend (see figure 5).
As White later told Montavon, this appointment was simply a political
“strategy for satisfying the demands of Dr. Moton and the negroes of the
United States.”59
59. “Hoover Names Five for Study of Haiti,” Washington Post, February 8, 1930, 2;
Montavon to Burke, Memorandum, June 7, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Montavon,
Haiti Past and Present, p. 13; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, p. 208; Pamphile, Le Croix et Le
Glaive, p. 147; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, p. 139; Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control,
pp. 183, 241.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

Once the commission was appointed, Burke wrote Kerney to apprise
him of affairs in Haiti. The priest reiterated much of what he had
explained to Hoover. He cautioned that Haiti was a poor country and that
“certain external things” might cause Kerney “to think the Haitians an
inferior and barbarous people.” Burke encouraged him “to look deeper.”
He explained that Haiti had a concordat with the Vatican. Whether or not
the Protestants on the commission liked the fact, it was “not a matter of
religious opinion; it is a matter of justice.” The United States had pledged
to uphold all Haitian treaties, and the concordat was one of them. Burke
told Kerney that military rule should be lifted. He argued that education
ought to be developed by the Haitian government, not the occupying
power. He asked Kerney to compare the salaries of those in the Service
Technique schools with those in the Haitian school system, which
included the Catholic schools.Kerney should keep in mind that the salaries
of both came from the Haitian treasury. Similarly, Burke spoke personally
with Vézina to emphasize the government’s obligation to honor the concordat. He had further information about Haiti prepared for both commissioners and sent it to them before their departure.60
McGowan recommended that Burke send Montavon to accompany
the commission. As a man with considerable foreign experience, he would
be able to assist the French bishops to interface effectively with the American commissioners. This latter purpose was crucial, as the Haitian hierarchy believed that the commission was simply investigating the situation
there with a view to continuing the occupation. The bishops needed to be
apprised of the commission’s changed goal of finding a graceful way for the
United States to exit. The bishops had already met and agreed that, if
called to testify before the commission, they would state that the occupation had given no offense to the clergy, although certain adjustments
needed to be made for the enforcement of the concordat. An alarmed
Burke felt that the time was now right for them to take a definite stand
with the Haitian people against the occupation. Fearful that American
officials in Haiti might be reading the communications between him and
the Haitian bishops, Burke agreed that it was best to send Montavon, who
could communicate personally with the bishops. He appointed him as the
NCWC’s news representative in the small press corps authorized to travel
with the commission. The Paulist thoroughly briefed and instructed his

60. Burke to Kerney, February 10, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Burke to
Caruana, February 18, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Report of the General Secretary to the Administrative Committee, April 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:62:10.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

545

“reporter,” whose primary tasks were to advise the Haitian hierarchy and
help the bishops with the commission. Burke understood that Montavon
would have to exercise independent judgment on the scene.61
The commission and press corps sailed from Key West, Florida, on
the cruiser U.S.S. Rochester. At sea, all the commissioners read the material
provided by Burke to the two Catholic members. Montavon reported that
“Kerney and White partially won over Fletcher and Vézina to their liberal,
anti-imperialist position.” In fact, Vézina was more sympathetic to that
position than Montavon understood. The latter found Forbes taciturn and
inscrutable. The ship was supposed to arrive in Port-au-Prince on Thursday, February 27, but Marine Colonel Frank Evans, commandant of the
Haitian garde, had ordered the vessel to reduce speed after a riot erupted
in opposition to Borno’s plan to have himself reelected president. The ship
docked on Friday afternoon, greeted by a crowd of 6000 carrying placards
denouncing the occupation.62
Immediately after disembarkation, a delegation of Haitian journalists
called on the commission to demand that it pledge to recommend the
restoration of self-government to the nation. The commission contacted
Washington and awaited reply. The situation was tense through Saturday
night. The commissioners won themselves goodwill during the weekend.
With Archbishop Conan away on a confirmation tour, Joseph-Marie Le
Gouaze, coadjutor archbishop of Port-au-Prince, had designated Sunday
as a day of prayer for the success of the commission. Regina Thoby, wife
of Perceval Thoby, arranged for delegations of women from every parish to
participate in a demonstration that day—an event forbidden by Evans. The
organizers appealed to Forbes, who intervened to overrule the commandant. Some 10,000 gathered at Sacred Heart church in the “‘Aristocratic’
section” of the city for a procession to the commission, with crowds spilling
into the streets for several blocks in every direction. White, Vezina, Montavon, and members of the press corps took part in the service. When the

61. McGowan to Burke, February 10, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Burke to
Murray, February 18, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Burke to Caruana, February
18, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Conan to Burke, January 7, 1930, ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:15; Jules Pichon to Burke, January 8, 1930, with enclosure, ACUA-USCCB,
10:98:15; Report of the General Secretary to the Administrative Committee, April 1930,
ACUA-USCCB, 10:62:10.
62. Montavon to Burke, February [sic for March] 3, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13;
Report of the General Secretary to the Administrative Committee, April 1930, ACUAUSCCB, 10:62:10; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, p. 208; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, p. 136.

546

REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

prayer meeting ended, the demonstrators marched to the monument of
Jean-Jacques Dessalines, laid their banners at the feet of the statue of the
liberator, and vowed to cooperate with the commission. Chanting the
Litany of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the women marched to the commission’s headquarters. White brought cheers when he blew a kiss to an elderly black woman. As Montavon summed it up: “No speech making, no
violence, no disorder, perfect discipline.”63
No doubt five days of anti-American testimony to the commission
had reinforced Haitian resentment. Montavon reported to Burke that the
inhabitants of the capital were unanimous in their agreement that the
Americans should depart. “I feel that the people of Port-au-Prince are in a
dangerous mood,” he wrote. “Unless something is done quickly to relieve
this situation there will be trouble.” In his view, a provisional government
should be formed to organize elections for representatives to a national legislature that “should be left wholly to the Haitians.” The National Assembly then could reestablish constitutional government and elect the president. The marines might stay for a while to maintain order, but the United
States should reestablish normal diplomatic relations with Haiti. Montavon said that he had already been of help to the commission. Moreover,
both he and Archbishop Le Gouaze thought that the hierarchy of Haiti
should make it clear that it stood with the Haitian people and distance
itself from Borno and the occupation. Le Gouaze was deeply grateful to
Burke for sending Montavon because of his thorough understanding of
Haitian problems, “his very judicious counsels,” and “the bond he has
established between us and the members of the Commission.”64
On March 6, Archbishop Conan, back from his confirmation tour,
proclaimed his solidarity with the Haitian people. When the Forbes Commission called on him at his residence, he read a statement declaring that
he and his clergy rejoiced that Hoover had sent the commission to investigate “the present painful situation of Haiti and to recommend the means
of bringing it to an end.” Haiti was rightly proud of its independence, but
had suffered the loss of that since 1915. Even though most of the clergy
were foreigners, they took “no less than the greatest interest in the wellbeing of the country” and shared “its joys and its sorrows.” When the occu63. Quotation from Montavon to Burke, February [sic for March] 3, 1930, ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:13; An Address Delivered by William F. Montavon, K.S.G., under the Auspices of the Catholic Study Club of Detroit, November 3, 1930, ASV, DAUS, V:74;
Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, p. 208; Pamphile, La Croix et Le Glaive, pp. 141–42.
64. Montavon to Burke, March 5, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Joseph Le
Gouaze to Burke, March 3, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:15.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

547

pation ended, they would sing a “solemn Te Deum [a hymn of thanks].”
Concluded Conan:
Ministers of the church who consider the occupation of a free country by
another nation as an aberrant and distressing event that ought to be
brought to an end as soon as possible, knowing how this dear people suffers in its national dignity to be held in tutelage, we with all our heart
make our own their sufferings, their complaints, and their hopes.

The statement was published by every paper in Port-au-Prince and
received favorable comment from nationalist papers around the country.65
Burke was pleased that Montavon had encouraged the bishops in this
matter. “It was the right line to pursue,” he told Montavon, “and I am very
glad the Bishops did issue the statement.”66
The precise role that Montavon may have played in crafting a solution to
the Haitian problem is unclear. As early as Wednesday of the first week, he
had reached the conclusion that the country should set up a provisional government, followed by elections for the National Assembly and the establishment of a formal government. Two days later, the commission arrived at the
same conclusion and sent that recommendation in a wireless communique to
Hoover on the night of March 7. It is likely that such a solution had been
under consideration for several days. According to the commission’s plan, the
nationalist opposition would nominate Eugène Roy to succeed Borno. In
April, the Council of State would elect Roy who, after taking office in May,
would call for national legislative elections to be held as soon as feasible. The
new National Assembly then would elect a president to replace Roy and serve
a full term. Borno agreed to the plan. Montavon cabled to Burke that he
should see officials in Washington—most likely State Department representatives and perhaps Hoover himself—to win support for the idea. Burke did
so and reported that officials thought the commission was on the right track,
although it seemed to be acting “very quickly.” “However,” Burke added,
“they say here they will support the action of the Commission.” Hoover communicated his approval on March 9.67

65. Statement made by Archbishop Conan to the Full Forbes Commission on March
6, 1930, in French, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Montavon to NCWC Press Department,
Cablegram, March 6, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Montavon to Burke, Memorandum, April 21, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.
66. Burke to Montavon, March 12, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.
67. Washington Star, March 9, 1930; Burke to Montavon, March 12, 1930, copy,
ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 210–11; Millspaugh, Haiti
under American Control, p. 184. Both Montavon and Burke were intentionally vague about

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

On that day, the commissioners began to tour the interior of Haiti.
Receiving word of Hoover’s approval when they reached Hinche, they
issued a formal announcement of the plan to the Haitian people. The next
morning, the devious Borno telegraphed a circular to all district prefects
denying that he had entered into any agreement with the commission and
insisting that whatever might be done should occur in accordance with the
Haitian constitution. A nationalist leader telephoned this news to Vézina.
Montavon, who was traveling with the commission, secured a copy of
Borno’s circular and translated it for the members. They conferred by
phone with James Dunn, their legal counselor who had remained in Portau-Prince, and instructed Russell to secure Borno’s formal agreement. The
president refused and argued in the press that the plan violated the Haitian
constitution—which was true, in fact. As Montavon saw it, these tactics of
Borno—apparent agreement with the commission followed by repudiation—perhaps were engineered with Russell in an attempt to portray the
Haitian president as the defender of the constitution against Hoover and
the commission. Borno’s action simply aggravated the unrest.68
At Cap Haïtien, the commission found nationalism to be even
stronger there than in Port-au-Prince. Speaking on behalf of the half million Catholics of his diocese, Bishop Jan declared that as much as he would
like to speak only about the good things accomplished by the United States
in Haiti, it was his duty as a pastor to advocate for his unfortunate flock.
“This is why as a loyal shepherd of souls I cannot remain deaf to the voice
of all the people who cry out their misery and sorrows,” he said. “I cannot
but take part in their sufferings, I cannot but sympathize with their just
aspirations.” Turning to the issue of education, Jan said that under the
Convention of 1913 with the Haitian government, the Church had established schools in the rural areas, towns, and cities. Other locales often
requested the erection of Catholic schools. Stated Jan, “What we have
done in the past with the moderate resources of the church we would be
able to do in the future on an even larger scale with the collaboration of a

whom they saw in the government because Burke suspected that U.S. officials in Haiti might
be reading the correspondence among Montavon, the Haitian bishops, and himself (Report
of the General Secretary to the Administrative Committee, April 1930, ACUA-USCCB,
10:62:10).
68. “Haiti Commission Suggests Solution,” Washington Post, March 10, 1930, 5; Montavon to Burke, March 16, 1930, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Constitution de 1918 de La
République d’Haïti: Amendée par la Plébiscite des 10 et 11 Janvier 1928 (Port-au-Prince, 1928),
Titre III, Chap. I, Sec. 3, Art. 42 and Sec. 5, Art. 107, and Titre VIII, Art. D; Schmidt, Occupation of Haiti, pp. 211–12.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

549

benevolent government.”69 This last remark was a none-too-subtle dig at
the stinginess of the occupation toward Catholic and even public education. The Haitian president was furious with both Jan and Conan for their
statements to the commission and declared that if Cogliolo had been in the
country, Borno would have denounced the two prelates to the chargé for
meddling in politics. Caruana, however, had summoned Cogliolo discreetly to Cuba before the commission had arrived.70
When the commission returned to Port-au-Prince, it found itself at an
impasse with Borno, who refused to budge. The day before the commissioners were scheduled to depart, Montavon telegraphed Burke, “My chief
here suggests you encourage highest authority there” to authorize the
immediate elimination of the Council of State and call elections as the
“only means [to] avoid dangerous developments.” It seems that Conan
wanted Burke to see Hoover. It is not known whether he did so. The situation in Haiti, however, was perilous. Montavon reported that many
people felt they had been deceived, with the commission promising one
course of action and Borno advocating another. When the commission
boarded the Rochester on March 16, “there was an ominous lack of any
manifestation of any kind,” reported Montavon. Whereas thousands had
welcomed the commissioners only weeks before, “not ten came to the
wharf to wish them bon voyage.” It is certain that the State Department
informed Borno that the United States would offer him no military protection if he failed to follow the commission’s plan.71
Montavon assured Burke that Kerney, Vézina, and White would vote
as a bloc on the commission and that Fletcher would support them “against
his will.” In fact, Kerney, Vézina, and White saw Burke on March 25 to
deliver the commission’s findings in person. The report recommended that
Hoover recognize the provisional president of Haiti when elected, “provided the election is in accordance with the agreement reached by your
Commission with President Borno and the leaders representing the opposition.” When a new national legislature formally elected a president to a

69. Montavon to NCWC Press Department, Telegram, March 11, 1930, ACUAUSCCB, 10:98:13; Déclaration de Monseigneur Jan Évêque du Cap Haïtien à la Commission Présidentielle Amérique, March 10, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.
70. Conan to Burke, April 16, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Caruana to Burke,
February 6, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Montavon to Burke, Confidential Memorandum, April 17, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13.
71. Montavon to Burke, Telegram, March 15, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13;
Montavon to Burke, March 16, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Schmidt, Occupation of
Haiti, p. 212.

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full term, the United States should recognize this president unless there
was electoral fraud. The report went on to state that Hoover should provide “for an increasingly rapid Haitianization of the services” carried out by
the occupation. The commission stated that the United States ought to
limit its involvement in Haiti strictly to the matters included in the 1915
treaty (which excluded education). In selecting any new American officials
to be sent to Haiti, “the utmost care [should] be taken that only those free
from strong racial antipathies should be preferred.” According to the
report, the office of high commissioner should be abolished once the new
government was in place, and a diplomatic minister should be sent to Haiti
who would assume the duties of Russell as well as those of ambassador.
The commission, however, considered the immediate withdrawal of the
marines “inadvisable” and recommended a gradual process that would be
decided between the United States and Haiti. Praising the work of Montavon, Kerney, and Vézina, Burke told his spiritual daughter, Sister Helen
Lynch, “This is an excellent step for the country and for the Church, and
will probably save religious education in Haiti.” On March 28, Hoover
announced his adoption of the commission’s recommendations.72
Events proceeded apace. In April, the Haitian Council of State elected
Roy temporary president of the country. Two months later, the new president announced that elections for delegates to the National Assembly would
be held in October 1930. Although the State Department had originally
planned to send the Moton Commission to investigate education in Haiti
after those elections, the department decided to allow the commission to set
out in June so that criticism from blacks at home could be quelled. In addition to Moton, the commission consisted of Mordecai Johnson, president of
Howard University; Leo M. Favrot, field agent of the General Education
Board; Benjamin F. Hubert, president of Georgia State Industrial College;
and W. T. R. Williams, dean of the College at Tuskegee Institute.73
The commission spent more than three weeks examining every aspect
of education in Haiti. It reported that the fundamental problems were too

72. Montavon to Burke, March 16, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Forbes Commission, Recommendations, March 21, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:98:13; Burke to Helen
Lynch, April 2, 1930, AP, Burke Papers, Box 5; Report of the General Secretary to the
Administrative Committee, April 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:62:10; Schmidt, Occupation of
Haiti, pp. 212–17; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 137–39; Millspaugh, Haiti under American
Control, pp. 184–87.
73. Montavon to Burke, Memorandum, June 7, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20;
Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, p. 139.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

551

few schools and too many inadequately trained teachers. Catholic elementary and secondary schools, which were closely affiliated with the Department of Public Instruction, received high praise. They were conducted in
“suitable buildings” in the cities and in “chapels connected with churches
in the country.” Reported the commission:
They are better equipped than the national schools. The teachers are usually better prepared and meet the state requirements. The Catholic
schools are not only the most numerous of the group of church schools,
but may be said to set the standard for elementary as well as the secondary school work in Haiti.

The only complaint registered by the commission about the Catholic
Church was that, aside from its many other beneficial works for the
Haitians, it had not yet been able to produce a native clergy. The commission questioned whether the Breton clergy and bishops would ever be able
to do so. “In the interest of the development of national solidarity,” stated
the report, “it would appear that the people of Haiti, in cooperation with
the Roman Catholic Church, must gradually produce the Haitianization of
the Church, through the development of a majority of native priesthood
and of native membership in secular orders.”74
The Service Technique system did not fare nearly so well. The commission noted that the system had been established in violation of Haitian
law that entrusted all education to the Department of Public Instruction.
It correctly determined that the intention had been to usurp public education in the country. The commission concluded that it had been a mistake
to establish “a distinct and separate system of schools for primary children
in the city and country, under a different and distinct State Department,
the Department of Agriculture.” The commission recommended that all
education be placed under the Department of Public Instruction, that
there be a more equitable distribution of funds for schooling, and that
underpaid teachers receive higher salaries.75
As historian Anne Greene has observed, the absence of an indigenous
clergy was not for lack of trying. Church law and Haitian preference had
conspired against it. Illegitimate birth was an impediment to ordination,
74. Report of the United States Commission on Education in Haiti, October 1, 1930 (Washington, DC, 1931), pp. 9–18, 28–29; Pamphile, Clash of Culture, pp. 140–42.
75. Report on Education in Haiti, pp. 53–61; Pamphile, Clash of Culture, pp. 142–46;
Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, pp. 188–90.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

and among the Haitian peasantry legal marriages were rare. Haitian elites
preferred the professions or politics over the priesthood. The French bishops recognized the need of a native clergy. In 1924, Bishop Jan had
remarked: “They’ve had enough of us, French and foreign priests. They
want a national clergy, especially leaders who are Haitian.” In fact, the
hierarchy had established a seminary in 1895, which failed to succeed and
was transformed into a lay college. By 1920, there were only ten Haitian
priests. Early in that decade, the bishops opened the Apostolic School of
Notre Dame, which ordained its first class of six in 1927.76
On learning of the report’s criticism about the lack of an indigenous
clergy, Archbishop Le Gouaze, who succeeded the retired Conan in Portau-Prince, acknowledged his regret at the paucity of Haitian priests, but
added that the Moton Commission did not recount the tremendous difficulties facing the Church in this regard or the massive efforts in the previous ten
years to overcome them. When Burke read a digest of the report in the press,
he considered the criticism “unfair.” In a letter to Cotton, he explained that
the Church had tried from the beginning to train an indigenous priesthood
in the face of “almost insurmountable” difficulties. At present, it was making
encouraging progress. The commission never visited the seminary of Notre
Dame in Port-au-Prince that had twenty-three Haitian students, including
nine in theological studies. Within the past few weeks, two natives had been
ordained to the priesthood, and two more were about to be ordained deacons
en route to their ordination as priests in a year. Burke argued that the silence
of the Moton report about this matter did “a grave injustice to the work of
the Church leaders in Haiti,” and he asked that the paragraph be deleted
from the final version. White forwarded the letter to the commission, which
informed him that the full report adequately set forth and commended the
many accomplishments of the Church in Haiti. White explained to Burke
that the State Department “did not feel it proper to make any suggestions or
recommendations in this respect,” because the commission was making the
report solely on its own responsibility.77
Unwilling to let the matter rest, Burke tried approaching two members of the Forbes Commission. He resorted to go-betweens—asking
76. Quoted in Anne Greene, Catholic Church in Haiti, p. 104; see also pp. 88–89, 103–04.
77. Burke to Cotton, January 17, 1931, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; White to
Burke, February 13, 1931, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Department of State, Confidential
Release for Publication in Morning Papers of Monday, December 1, 1930 (November 29,
1930), ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Statement of Archbishop Joseph-Marie Le Gouaze for
NCWC News Service, December 31, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20.

DOUGLAS J. SLAWSON

553

Hébert to convey the information to Vézina and requesting that Morgan
J. O’Brien, a former New York Supreme Court justice, contact Fletcher
about the matter. This effort came to naught because all channels led back
to the State Department, which had already made it clear that it could not
interfere in the issue.78 The commission’s final report contained the offensive passage.
Meanwhile, in July 1930, the State Department announced that
Munro would become the new American minister to Haiti and would
assume supervision of treaty officials. Two months later Burke explained to
Munro the organization of the Catholic Church in Haiti and the role of
the papal nuncio as Vatican ambassador to that country. He stressed that
education was the most important issue and that the United States must
honor both the Haitian constitution and the concordat with the Vatican.
It was a long, worthwhile interview.79
At virtually the same time, Monsignor Paolo Marella, auditor of the
apostolic delegation in Washington, was at the Vatican where he spoke
highly of Burke’s great interest in and work on behalf of Haiti. In mid-July
1930, Alfredo Ottaviani, deputy secretary of state for ordinary affairs,
asked the Paulist to submit “as full an account as possible of the actual
status of affairs” in that country. Burke sent a report recounting his
involvement with Haiti from 1921 to the present. He added that the Haitian bishops asked him to continue his intervention with the American government on behalf of the Church there during the period of transition to
Haitian home rule. Burke explained to Ottaviani that the protection of
Catholic education was paramount. “Generally, officials of the United
States do not understand its importance,” he wrote, “and are not sympathetic with our zeal for it and our constant defence [sic] of it.”80
In October 1930, elections were held for the Haitian National Assembly. Early the next month, Russell resigned as high commissioner, and

78. Burke to Hébert, February 13, 1931, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Burke to
Morgan J. O’Brien, February 14, 1931, copy, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Hébert to Burke,
February 20, 1931, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20; Henry P. Fletcher to O’Brien, February 21,
1931, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20.
79. Burke, Interview with Dana Munro, September 23, 1930, ACUA-USCCB,
10:39:13; Millspaugh, Haiti under American Control, p. 192.
80. Alfredo Ottaviani to Burke, July 19, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13; Burke,
Informal Report on Haiti, October 1, 1930, enclosure with Burke to Alfredo Ottaviani,
October 2, 1930, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:20.

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REV. JOHN J. BURKE AND THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION OF HAITI

Munro assumed his duties as minister. In mid-November, the National
Assembly convened and elected Sténio Vincent as president of Haiti.
Under pressure from Haitian nationalists, the Vincent government pressed
for rapid Haitianization, rather than the more gradual process preferred by
the State Department. Within months, the United States agreed to transfer all public works to Haitian control, only to encounter pressure to do the
same with the Haitian Garde and the Service Technique schools. In
August 1931, Munro and Abel Nicolas Léger, foreign minister of Haiti,
signed an agreement turning over public works, the hygiene service, and
the Service Technique system to Haiti as of November 1. The agreement
also ended martial law, the requirement of American approval of proposed
legislation bearing on the treaty, and the stipulation that the American
financial adviser approve draw-downs on the Haitian treasury. The financial adviser, however, maintained control over Haitian customs and the
national budget to ensure commitments to bondholders and to keep
spending in line with receipts. In August 1933, Vincent entered into an
Executive Accord with the United States to continue such oversight of
Haitian finances in return for complete Haitianization and withdrawal of
American troops by October 1934.81
It would be too much to claim that the American withdrawal from
Haiti occurred solely through the efforts of Burke and the NCWC.
Rather, the Haitian people and the unrest of 1929–30 were the catalysts,
although Burke and Montavon certainly assisted in the process. For nearly
a decade, Burke worked continuously on behalf of the Church in Haiti. He
became its official go-between with the American government. Through
persistent effort, he was able to win concessions from the latter, although
never to the extent he believed just. By the time of the Forbes Commission’s departure, American withdrawal was a foregone conclusion,
although the when and how had to be determined. As a trusted colleague,
Burke provided the commission with pertinent information. The two
Catholic commissioners did yeomen service, whereas Montavon encouraged and supported the idea of a provisional government as a transition to
a permanent one, whether or not the idea originated with him. It might be
argued that, with regard to the Catholic Church in Haiti, Burke was both
a thorn in the side of the American government and its conscience.

81. State Department Press Release, August 10, 1931, ACUA-USCCB, 10:39:13;
Schmidt, American Occupation of Haiti, pp. 219–37; Pamphile, Clash of Cultures, pp. 154–61;
Milspaugh, Haiti under American Control, pp. 192–93, 250–53.

Pope John Paul II, the Saints,
and Communist Poland:
The Papal Pilgrimages of 1979 and 1983
JAMES RAMON FELAK*
In his efforts to challenge Poland’s communist regime and shape the
thinking of his countrymen on a variety of spiritual, moral, and political issues, Pope John Paul II made generous use of the saints. This article examines Ss. Wojciech, Stanisław, Hedwig, and Maximilian
Kolbe, who figured prominently in John Paul’s addresses to Poles
during his dramatic visits to his homeland in June 1979 and June
1983, and the ways in which he employed them on behalf of his campaign to encourage, instruct, and succor his fellow Poles.
Keywords: communism; John Paul II, Pope; Poland; saints

A

mong the hallmarks of the pontificate of Pope John Paul II (1978–
2005), few have had more resonance than his employment of
Catholic saints in his ministry. John Paul canonized more saints than all of
his predecessors combined over the preceding two centuries (482 total), as
well as beatified 1341 individuals.1 John Paul’s canonizations and beatifications included many victims of anti-Catholic violence over the years—
hundreds of martyrs from the Spanish Civil War; more than 150 victims
of the French Revolution; 108 Poles killed during World War II; and
eighty-five martyrs from early-modern England, Scotland, and Wales.2
Moreover, he gave the Catholic gallery of saints, already broadly international, a global character. Among the pope’s canonized individuals were
103 Korean martyrs, ninety-five Vietnamese people, dozens of Chinese,
and a dozen Japanese; he also beatified Catholics in Thailand, Ethiopia,

*Dr. Felak is professor of history at the University of Washington, email: felak@u.washington.edu. Unless otherwise noted, the English translations in the article are the author’s.
1. “Table of Canonizations during the Pontificate of His Holiness John Paul II” and
“Table of Beatifications during the Pontificate of His Holiness John Paul II,” retrieved on
March 15, 2012, from http://www.vatican.va; see also National Catholic Register, April 1,
2000, “Vatican Saint-Maker Tells What It Takes to Make the Cut,” retrieved on March 15,
2012, from http://www.ncregister.com.
2. See “Table of Canonizations” and “Table of Beatifications.”

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and Uganda. A number of new saints were proclaimed from East Central
European lands, including Poland, Lithuania, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Croatia, along with the beatification of twenty-seven Ukrainian
and eleven Belorussian victims of twentieth-century violence. Canonizations as well as beatifications were bestowed on Catholics from Lebanon,
Sudan, Colombia, Chile, Papua New Guinea, and the United States. In
elevating candidates to sainthood or blessedness, John Paul displayed a
variety of religious purposes—to celebrate local religious heroes as part of
an indigenization process in non-Western parts of the world, to draw
attention to past persecution of the Catholic Church by hostile regimes, to
highlight certain virtues of exemplary individuals, and to use particular
saints to convey papal messages in particular contexts.3
Strategic use of saints is certainly nothing new for the papacy. Benedict XV’s canonization of Joan of Arc in 1920 was connected with Vatican
efforts to repair broken relations with France, and his declaration that same
year making St. Ephraim of Syria a Universal Doctor of the Church was
part of Catholic efforts to reach out to Eastern Christian communities in
the Middle East after World War I.4 In the 1930s, newly canonized
Thomas More and John Fisher stood as examples at a time when Catholics
were facing persecution in Nazi Germany, Soviet Russia, Mexico, and
Spain.5 In more recent times, Paul VI sought to recognize the neglected
role of women in the Church’s intellectual history by naming Ss. Catherine
of Siena and Teresa of Ávila as Doctors of the Church.6
John Paul’s use of saints was closely connected with, among other
things, his extensive travels. Apart from much travel within Italy, the pope
made 104 trips abroad, giving 2382 talks during his visits to 129 nations

3. Examples of saints and blesseds used by John Paul to convey his papal messages
include Bernard Lichtenberg, a German priest who openly spoke out against Nazi policies,
and Edith Stein, a Jewish convert to Catholicism and Carmelite nun who died at Auschwitz.
John Paul II spoke much about the Virgin Mary while he was in Poland, particularly in her
role as Our Lady of Częstochowa. Consideration of Mary is beyond the scope of this article.
For an extensive discussion of Mary’s place in Polish Catholicism, see Brian Porter-Szűcs,
Faith and Fatherland: Catholicism, Modernity, and Poland (Oxford, 2011), pp. 360–90.
4. John F. Pollard, Benedict XV: The Unknown Pope and the Pursuit of Peace (New York,
1999), pp. 156, 196.
5. For Pius XI’s homily on the occasion of the canonization of Ss. John Fisher and
Thomas More, see The Tablet, June 1, 1935, 694–95 (retrieved on March 10, 2012, from
http://www.thomasmorestudies.org/rep_canonization.html).
6. See Keith J. Egan, “Catherine and Teresa: Doctors of the Church,” Commonweal,
November 17, 1995, 10.

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557

and 617 cities.7 As he toured the world, he celebrated local and national
saints, canonized additional ones, and referred to a variety of saints in sermons and speeches aimed at ministering to particular national-historical
contexts. Perhaps nowhere was this more vivid than in his visits, or what
he termed “pilgrimages,” to his native Poland under communist rule.
Elected to the pontificate in 1978, John Paul visited his native land in
June 1979 and June 1983. In a pair of well-choreographed pilgrimages, the
pope visited sites of national, political, and religious significance that often
had direct connections to Poland’s saints. In addition, the pope referred to
these saints repeatedly throughout his pilgrimages, often in ways directly
pertinent to the situation faced by Poles living under communism. This
article will examine the role of four saints in John Paul’s travels, homilies,
and speeches during his visits to Poland—Ss. Wojciech, Stanisław, Hedwig,
and Maximilian Kolbe.
Almost immediately upon his election to the papacy, John Paul
expressed an ardent desire to return to Poland, where as Karol Wojtyła he
had served as auxiliary bishop of Kraków (1958–63), as archbishop of
Kraków (1964–78), and as one of the major figures in Polish Catholicism.
His first pilgrimage, then, was his triumphal return in June 1979, when he
visited Warsaw, Gniezno, Częstochowa, Kraków, and other areas over
nine days. This visit catalyzed the Polish population and helped prepare
the ground for the emergence of the “Solidarity era,” when massive labor
unrest forced Poland’s government to recognize an independent trade
union called Solidarity and liberalize and democratize Poland in other ways
as well. In December 1981, however, the Polish government abruptly shut
down the movement, interned thousands of Solidarity activists, and established martial law. When John Paul returned for an eight-day visit in June
1983, the mood was somber. As John Paul journeyed from Warsaw and
various stops in southern and western Poland to Kraków, he comforted and
encouraged a population on the verge of despair challenging—albeit indirectly—the government responsible for Poland’s miseries.
During these two pilgrimages, John Paul gave speeches or homilies at
nearly eighty public or semi-public events.8 The saints figuring most promi-

7. “Viaggi Apostolici del Santo Padre Sua Santità Giovanni Paolo II, Statistiche,”
retrieved on March 15, 2012, from http://www.vatican.va/news_services/press/documen
tazione/documents/viaggi/viaggi_santo_padre_statistiche_fuori-italia_globale_it.html
8. John Paul II’s addresses during his visits to Poland are collected in Jan Paweł II, Pielgrzymki do Ojczyzny; Przemówienia, homilie, ed. Janusz Poniewierski (Kraków, 2005).

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

nently in his addresses were (1) St. Wojciech, a Bohemian bishop who served
as missionary to the West Slavic tribes inhabiting Poland in the ninth century;
(2) St. Stanisław, an eleventh-century bishop of Kraków who was murdered
for challenging an unjust Polish king; (3) St. Hedwig, a duchess from Silesia
who founded numerous monasteries and lost her son in the defense of Poland
and Europe from the Mongols in 1241; and (4) St. Maximilian Kolbe, a
Polish Conventual Franciscan friar who laid down his life for another when
he volunteered to take the place of a married Pole with children in one of
Auschwitz’s starvation bunkers. This study will examine how John Paul
employed these saints during his first two visits to communist Poland. These
most important and dramatic pilgrimages of John Paul were the ones where
the great saints of Poland’s history figured most prominently.9
St. Wojciech
Along with St. Stanisław, St. Wojciech had a prominent place in John
Paul’s celebrated 1979 pilgrimage to Poland. In a carefully planned itinerary
loaded with religious and national symbolism, the pope first visited Warsaw
and then traveled to Gniezno, the seat of political and religious authority of
the first medieval Polish state and the site of the tomb of Wojciech.10 He
next visited Częstochowa and its Jasna Góra monastery—the site of Poland’s
greatest national-religious icon, the Black Madonna of Częstochowa. Finally
John Paul went to Kraków and vicinity, which included visits to his hometown of Wadowice, to the Nazi death camp at Auschwitz, and to the tomb
of Stanisław in the cathedral in Kraków’s Wawel Castle. The ethnically
Czech Wojciech (known in the West as St. Adalbert) was a Bohemian
bishop of the tenth century who evangelized the people of northeastern
Europe.11 Wojciech had sojourned at the court of Poland’s monarch of the

9. John Paul’s third visit to communist Poland in 1987 had a much different context
than 1979 or 1983. By then, the reformist Gorbachev era in the Soviet bloc was underway;
relations between church and state had radically improved; and John Paul could speak more
openly. In this context, he said less about Poland’s saints and much more about the past glories of Solidarity and the present failures of the regime.
10. St. Wojciech’s relics, however, are believed to be in Prague. According to medieval
accounts, Bohemians took the relics from Gniezno during their invasion of Poland in 1039 and
deposited them in the cathedral in Prague castle. The relics served as the center of Bohemian
veneration of the saint and former bishop of Prague under the Czech name Vojtĕch.
11. The classic biographies of St. Adalbert are the Vita sancti Adalberti episcopi Pragensis, dating from shortly after his death in 997 and attributed to John Canaparius; and the Vita
sancti Adalberti, dating from the early-eleventh century and written by Bruno of Querfurt. See
Saints of the Christianization Age of Central Europe (Tenth–Eleventh Centuries)/Vitae sanctorum
aetatis conversionis Europae Centralis (Saec. X–XI), ed. Gábor Klaniczay (Budapest, 2012), pp.

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559

time, Bolesław the Brave; he was killed in 997 during his trip to the north to
evangelize pagan Baltic tribes. His remains were brought to Gniezno.
In speeches at Gniezno and Częstochowa, John Paul connected Wojciech with evangelization, Slavic solidarity, the church hierarchy, and a
relationship to the West. First, John Paul linked Wojciech to Christianity’s
arrival in Poland and to the year of Poland’s “Baptism” in 966—the latter
traditionally regarded as the founding of the Polish state. John Paul presented Wojciech as one of the principal agents and heroes of the evangelization of the Slavs, portraying the saint as a missionary who preached “to
our ancestors,”12 made Gniezno his mission base, and lost his life evangelizing the pagan tribes of northeastern Poland.13 His death, the pope
explained, bore the fruit of which Jesus Christ spoke in the Gospel of John,
when he noted that “a seed must die before it bears fruit.”14 (Life coming
out of death would remain an ongoing theme in John Paul’s addresses to
his fellow Poles, a theme well suited to a people with both a sense of history’s tragedy and religious redemption.)
Speaking on Pentecost Sunday, John Paul broadened the notion of the
fruit of evangelization by missionaries such as Wojciech to include the
whole Slavic world.15 In an appeal to inter-Slavic solidarity, the pope noted
that Wojciech was “son and pastor of the kindred Czech nation”16 and
greeted the Czechs in his audience by quoting a banner that read in Czech,
“Father, remember your Czech children.”17 Seeing his selection as history’s
first Slavic pope as providential, John Paul celebrated the Christianity of
Europe’s Slavic peoples, affirming that his mission is to reveal the spiritual
77–182. For a discussion of the lives of saints in medieval Poland, including the three
medieval saints addressed in this article, see Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed
Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (New York, 2002) and Norbert Kersken,
“God and the Saints in Medieval Polish Historiography,” in The Making of Christian Myths
in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–1300), ed. Lars Boje Mortensen (Copenhagen,
2006), pp. 153–94.
12. Poniewierski, ed., Pielgrzymki, p. 30: “do naszych praojców.”
13. For John Paul’s speeches and homilies in Gniezno, see “Przemówienie do pielgrzymów zgromadzonych na błoniach w Gębarzewie,” and “Homilia w czasie Mszy św.
odprawionej na Wzgórzu Lecha,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 30–32 and 33–39,
respectively.
14. Jn. 12:24.
15. “Homilia w czasie Mszy św. odprawionej na Wzgórzu Lecha,” in Pielgrzymki, ed.
Poniewierski, pp. 33–39.
16. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 35: “syn i pasterz pobratymczego narodu
czeskiego.”
17. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 35: “Pamatuj Otče na své české deti.”

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

unity of Christian Europe, on which the two great traditions of East and
West are built.18 He directly appealed to Eastern Orthodox Christians for
ecumenical cooperation and listed a number of Slavic peoples and the
years, precisely or approximately, when they accepted Christianity.19
Both at Gniezno and at the Conference of Polish Bishops at
Częstochowa on June 5, the pope added another dimension to Wojciech’s
contributions.20 It was in the year 1000, in the presence of Wojciech’s
relics, that the Polish sovereign Bolesław the Brave, German Emperor
Otto III, and two representatives of Pope Sylvester met at the Congress of
Gniezno, where they agreed to establish the Polish ecclesiastical hierarchy.
Gnizeno became Poland’s metropolitanate, with supervision over the new
neighboring Dioceses of Kraków, Wrocław, and Kołobrzeg. This was an
enormously significant event for Poles and their Church, as John Paul
noted. As the natural consequence of the conversion of Poland’s Prince
Mieszko and other Poles in 966, it gave Poland the hierarchy that in later
centuries, including the periods of partition and wartime occupation,
embodied Poland in the absence of a Polish state.21 It also connected
Poland with its neighbors in the West (as evidenced by Otto III’s presence)
and with Rome (as evidenced by Pope Sylvester’s ambassadors). The latter
bond took on a deeper meaning with the accession of a Pole to the see of
St. Peter. Because the agreement that legally established the Polish hierarchy was concluded at the remains of Wojciech in Gniezno’s Cathedral, the
saint became patron of the Catholic hierarchy of Poland.
St. Stanisław
During his first trip to Poland as pope, John Paul linked Wojciech to
another great figure of medieval Poland, the bishop-martyr St. Stanisław.22

18. John Paul believed in an evangelizing mission for the Slavic nations; see Zbigniew
Stachowski, “The Polish Church and John Paul II’s Evangelization Mission in Slavic Countries,” Religious Studies and Theology, 27 (2008), 115–25.
19. John Paul’s list included Croats, Slovenes, Bulgars, Slovaks, Czechs, and “the Rusy
in Kiev”—the latter term encompassed Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarussians. He also mentioned such minor groups as Obodrzyci, Wieleti, and Lusatian Sorbs, as well as (interestingly)
the Lithuanians, who are not Slavic.
20. For John Paul’s speech to the bishops’ conference at Częstochowa, see “Przemówienie do Konferencji Episkopatu Polski,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 82–95.
21. John Paul went on to cite the Second Vatican Council’s Lumen Gentium, as it pertained to the Church’s hierarchical structure.
22. The chief medieval sources on Stanisław are the chronicles of Gallus Anonymous
(early-twelfth century) and Master Wincenty called Kadłubek (early-thirteenth century), and

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This link was evident both in the pope’s itinerary, which scheduled a visit
to Wojciech’s tomb in Gniezno before Stanisław’s in Kraków, and in his
papal homilies and addresses during his time in Poland. Stanisław of
Szczepanów was born in 1030 in a village in southern Poland. In 1072 he
was elected bishop in Kraków. In an episode clouded by legend, conflicting
accounts, and scarcity of sources, King Bolesław II allegedly attacked
Stanisław while the bishop was saying Mass at the church at Skałka (just
outside the walls of Wawel Castle in Kraków), hacking the martyr’s body
to pieces with his sword. Bolesław’s enmity toward the bishop has been
attributed to various causes—allegations that Stanisław criticized his king
for mistreating the wives of Polish army deserters who had returned home
to protect their lands from seizure, that Stanisław attacked Bolesław for
the king’s sexual immorality, or that Stanisław was involved in a plot by
Polish noblemen to overthrow the king. Pope Innocent IV canonized
Stanisław in 1253 at Assisi. Although the accepted date of his murder was
April 11, his feast day was celebrated in Kraków on May 8, so it would not
occur during Lent.23 Whatever the circumstances, the murder led to
Bolesław’s dethronement and exile.24
Preceding the 900th anniversary of Stanisław’s martyrdom were centuries of differences and decades of debates among Polish historians, writers, artists, and other commentators over the reasons for and circumstances
of Stanisław’s death.25 These debates pitted versions of the traditional
Polish Catholic narrative—that Stanisław was killed by Bolesław’s hand
for speaking out against the king’s immoral deeds in a conflict between
Church and state—against a variety of interpretations that portrayed the
the classic vita is Master Wincenty of Kielce’s Vita sancti Stanislai episcopi cracoviensis (thirteenth century). For a thorough discussion of representations of Stanisław through the centuries and related historiographical disputes, see Tadeusz Grudziński, Boleslaus the Bold,
Called Also the Bountiful, and Bishop Stanislaus: The Story of a Conflict (Warsaw, 1985).
23. The traditional practice in Poland was to commemorate the saint on the Sunday
following May 8.
24. For the complicated and questionable details of the conflict between Bolesław and
Stanisław, see Jan Kubik, The Power of Symbols against the Symbols of Power: The Rise and the
Fall of State Socialism in Poland (University Park, PA, 1994), pp. 133–37.
25. For a discussion of these debates (including the controversial 1904 hypothesis of
Tadeusz Wojciechowski that cast Stanisław as a plotter against Bolesław with the king’s
younger brother, Władysław Herman; the Holy Roman Emperor; and the Bohemians), see
especially Grudzinski, Boleslaus the Bold. See also Krzysztof Benyskiewicz, W kręgu Bolesława
Szczodrego i Władysława Hermana: Piastowie w małżenstwie, polityce i intrydze (Wrocław,
2010), pp. 85, 88–89. Znak, a Catholic monthly journal in Kraków, devoted its April–May
1979 issue to sources and scholarship on Stanisław in commemoration of the anniversary of
his martyrdom. See Znak, XXXI (1979), 298–99.

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death of Stanisław as the execution of as a traitor or a rebel rather than as
a holy martyr defending Church and morality.26 John Paul’s employment
of Stanisław definitely depended on the traditional interpretation—that
the saint lost his life because his position as a Church leader challenged the
king on moral grounds, not because he was involved in a political conspiracy.27 In his address to the Conference of Polish Bishops on June 5, 1979,
the pope acknowledged that medieval chronicler Gallus Anonymous had
indeed labeled Stanisław with the term traditor, but noted that the same or
similar designations were ascribed to other Church leaders of this period–
for example, St. Thomas Becket and Pope Gregory VII, who likewise suffered for defending the Church and God’s law.28
Stanisław was a particularly problematic saint for Poland’s communist
regime, given his association with criticism of a corrupt sovereign. Poland’s
governing authorities refused to allow John Paul to visit the country for
Stanisław’s feast day of May 8, preferring that the pope visit his native land
in August (presumably because universities would not be in session, and
many Poles would be on vacation). After much negotiation, it was agreed
that John Paul would visit in June, and the pope then exercised his prerogative to extend the celebration of Stanisław’s anniversary, set to culminate
on the saint’s feast day, for a few more weeks.29
Given Stanisław’s significance as one of Poland’s greatest saints and
the occasion of the 900th anniversary of his martyrdom, the Archdiocese
of Kraków had been preparing since 1972 for the 900th anniversary of
Stanisław assuming his office as bishop of Kraków. It planned a series of
commemorative events, including a tour of Stanisław’s relics around the
26. The Catholic narrative was based above all on the early-thirteenth-century chronicle of Master Wincenty called Kadłubek, who wrote decades after the events and presumably
drew from the oral tradition of the cathedral chapter in Kraków and the regime’s nobility, as
well as legend and hagiographic tropes. Those critical of this perspective drew mainly from
the earlier chronicle of Gallus Anonymous, who wrote a minimalist account of Stanisław’s
death about thirty years after it occurred and mentioned in just a few lines that Bolesław had
dismembered Stanisław for treason or rebellion and committed a sin in avenging a sin.
27. This is not to say that John Paul was unwilling or unable to distinguish fact from
fiction. For example, in the pope’s homily of June 18, 1983, at Niepokalanów, he noted that
whereas medieval legends exist about Stanisław, the facts speak eloquently for themselves in the
case of twentieth-century saint Kolbe. See Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 251.
28. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 92.
29. For more on the dates of the papal visit in conjunction with the Stanisław celebrations, see Kubik, The Power of Symbols, p. 136; George Weigel, Witness to Hope: The Biography
of Pope John Paul II (New York, 1999), pp. 301–02; and Paul Johnson, Pope John Paul II and
the Catholic Restoration (New York, 1981), p. 73.

JAMES RAMON FELAK

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archdiocese. To add to the festivities, John Paul announced during his visit
that Stanisław’s feast day would be elevated from a local and optional celebration to a universal and obligatory feast day in the liturgical calendar of
the Roman Catholic Church.30
As he toured Poland, John Paul mentioned Stanisław on repeated
occasions—such as at Wawel Cathedral in Kraków where the saint is
entombed, at the church at nearby Skałka (believed to be the site of
Stanisław’s murder), and at the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz. He
spoke most extensively about Stanisław, however, on the two occasions
when he addressed assemblies of bishops, first at the Conference of Polish
Bishops in Częstochowa on June 5 and then to a delegation of bishops from
Poland and abroad in Kraków on June 9, and finally at the open-air Mass
held in Kraków on June 10, the capstone of the anniversary celebrations.
In his speech to the bishops’ conference in Częstochowa, John Paul
noted how Stanisław was a martyr for bearing witness to the truth of the
Christian faith and the principles of Christian morality in the face of a hostile political authority.31 Noting that Stanisław is recognized as the patron
of the moral order in Poland, John Paul went on to affirm that the saint’s
example teaches us that the moral law is universally binding and that God’s
law is obligatory not just for the subjects, but for the ruler as well. For John
Paul, and in accord with Catholic teaching, this is a necessary corollary of
human dignity as well as a fundamental condition for the social order.
Stanisław, in uniting in his person and actions the hierarchical and moral
orders in Poland, helped establish a legacy that reminds Poland’s bishops
that episcopal service is sometimes tied to the risking of one’s life as the
cost of promulgating the truth and law of God.
John Paul put Stanisław to other uses as well. The pope noted that
Stanisław is also the patron of the unity of Poland. Canonized in 1253, a
time when a number of local feudal entities had replaced the earlymedieval Polish state, Stanisław’s intercession was sought by those members of the Piast dynasty who hoped to restore the lost unity of the state.
John Paul also credits the story of Stanisław’s martyrdom as evidence of
Poland’s place in Western civilization. Because Stanisław’s conflict with
state authorities paralleled that of other medieval European churchmen
30. “Słowo do księży i wiernych archidiecezji krakowskiej zgromadzonych w
katedrze,”in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 144–46.
31. “Przemówienie do Konferencji Episkopatu Polski,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 82–95.

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such as Becket (the English archbishop murdered under similar conditions
for standing up to an immoral king) or Gregory VII (the pope who challenged the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV over the issue of lay investiture in 1075), it was an indication that eleventh-century Poland very much
belonged to the West.32 John Paul used this facet of Stanisław’s martyrdom
to elaborate on the spiritual and ethical dimensions of European unity,
noting that Stanisław’s death thus had a European dimension.
In his address to the bishops at Kraków four days later, the pope reiterated a number of these themes, pointing out that Stanisław acted as a
“good Shepherd”33 defending the fundamental and inviolable rights of his
flock.34 He served for Poland’s bishops as a model of firm and untiring
courage in the transmission and defense of the faith, representing not only
the Church’s defense of its freedom to carry out its mission but also a constructive synthesis between loyalty to the Fatherland and fidelity to the
Church. John Paul noted that, after nine centuries, Stanisław’s message
remained unusually topical in Poland.
At the last big event of the pope’s 1979 tour—a Mass on Trinity
Sunday at Błonie, a huge park in Kraków—Stanisław also figured prominently.35 In his homily, John Paul connected Stanisław’s significance for
Poland with the Catholic sacraments. Specifically, the pope asserted that
just as the nation was baptized in 966 (when Prince Mieszko, the leader of
the Poles, accepted Christian baptism), so in 1079 it received in a certain
sense the sacrament of confirmation.36 Just as confirmation effects a rite of
passage as a child receives the gifts of the Holy Spirit and becomes a young
man or woman ready to defend the faith, so, too, did Stanisław’s martyrdom represent the coming of age of the Catholic Church in Poland. John

32. In a later talk, John Paul referred to a legend from this period that Stanisław’s dismembered body had miraculously reintegrated after his death—a prefiguring of the reintegration that Poland would experience through the saint’s intercession. See “Homilia w czasie
Mszy św.,” pp. 250–51.
33. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 196: “dobry Pasterz.”
34. “Przemówienie do delegacji Episkopatów zagranicznych,” in Pielgrzymki, ed.
Poniewierski, pp. 196–97.
35. “Homilia w czasie Mszy św. odprawionej na Błoniach,” in Pielgrzymki, ed.
Poniewierski, pp. 198–205.
36. It is common in the Catholic tradition to regard the date when the leaders of a
medieval state accepted Christian baptism as that people’s “baptism.” Hence, Poland was baptized when Prince Mieszko accepted the sacrament in 966, Kievan Rus when Vladimir was
baptized in 988, Hungary when Stephen was baptized in 1000, and so forth. John Paul may
be unique in adding to the discourse the symbolic “confirmation” of a nation.

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Paul then did something remarkable. He enacted a symbolic laying of
hands (“włożenia rąk”) on all those assembled, representing the laying of
hands by a bishop on the person being confirmed. He then quoted a series
of scriptural verses—the Gospel of John in which Jesus breathes on his
apostles and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit!”37; the First Letter to the Thessalonians, in which St. Paul writes, “Do not quench the Spirit!”38; and the
Letter to the Ephesians, in which Paul writes, “do not grieve the Holy
Spirit!”39 The pope was, in effect, bestowing the sacrament of confirmation
in a symbolic way on the Polish nation, on the feast when Catholics celebrate God as Holy Trinity, with the Holy Spirit as the Third Person of the
Godhead in orthodox Christian belief.
St. Hedwig
John Paul attached a different kind of drama and significance to yet
another medieval saint during his papal visits to his native land—St.
Hedwig of Silesia (c. 1174–1243). The daughter of an important Bavarian
family, Hedwig was married to Prince Henry the Bearded of Silesia, who
was a member of the Polish Piast dynasty and faced the situation of a fragmented kingdom threatened by invasion.40 Her husband acquired control
of the Duchy of Greater Poland, the heartland of the medieval Polish
state, and one of her sons died heroically fighting the Mongols in the
Battle of Legnica in 1241. John Paul spoke at length about Hedwig (or
Jadwiga in Polish) in 1979 at a Mass celebrated at Jasna Góra for pilgrims
from Silesia, who had brought Hedwig’s relics, and in 1983 at a Mass in
the cathedral at Wrocław in Silesia.41 The pope referred to Hedwig’s
saintly qualities and accomplishments—an exemplary wife and mother,
the foundress of a monastery who lived above all for God, and an example
of gospel love and trust. Most notably, however, he stressed two dimensions of the life and cult of Hedwig that had particular relevance for
Polish national identity: Poland’s place in Europe and Poland’s relations
to its neighbors.

37. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 203: “Weźmijcie Ducha Świętego!”
38. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 203: “Ducha nie gaście!”
39. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 203: “Ducha Świętego nie zasmucajcie!”
40. The classic medieval life of Hedwig is the anonymous Vita maior sanctae Hedwigis,
written by a Franciscan friar in the late-thirteenth century. For more on Hedwig, see Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 203‒04, 220‒24, 251‒55.
41. For John Paul’s references to Hedwig, see “Homilia w czasie Mszy św. odprawionej
pod Szczytem Jasnej Góry dla pielgrzymów z Dolnego Śląska i Śląska Opolskiego” and “Homilia
w czasie Mszy św.,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 103–07 and 319–26, respectively.

566

POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

The figure of Hedwig linked the German and Polish nations in a
number of ways. As a Bavarian German who married a Polish prince,
moved to Silesia, and gave birth to the children of Poland’s royal family,
Hedwig was (in John Paul’s words) a daughter of the German nation who
became a great mother of Polish Piasts. Moreover, as a member of the communion of saints, it was likely that she had been interceding on behalf of
reconciliation between nations for the past seven centuries. At Jasna Góra
in 1979, the pope used Hedwig’s role as mediator to note that a condition
for reconciliation between nations is the recognition of and respect for the
rights of every nation—namely, the right to exist, to self-determination, to
a distinct culture of its choosing, and to a “multisided development.”42 At
Wrocław in 1983, John Paul gave a Polish national twist to Hedwig’s intercession, crediting her with the “ecclesiastical normalization”43 of western
Poland after World War II. Specifically, this meant replacing German with
Polish control over the region’s church structures. John Paul also recalled a
1967 reference by Cardinal Bolesław Kominek of Wrocław on the eve of
Hedwig’s feast. Kominek noted how the statue of Hedwig—placed on the
Tumski Bridge in Wrocław that connects the eastern (Polish) and western
(German) banks of the Odra (Oder) River—reminds passersby that all are
brothers regardless of which side of the river is their home.44
Alongside her role in linking and reconciling Poles and Germans,
Hedwig also contributed to Polish self-understanding in a significant way.
As John Paul put it, by giving her son, Prince Henry the Pious, the courage
to fight the Mongols and commending the Battle of Legnica to Christ crucified, she played a role in the concept of Poland as “the bulwark of Christendom” (antemurale Christianitatis)—that is, the country that absorbs the
attacks of invaders from the East so as to spare the European Christians to
the west. Henry’s death in 1241 at the hands of the Mongols at Legnica
provided John Paul with an opportunity to draw an analogy between
Hedwig and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Both had sons who gave their lives
on behalf of salvation—Hedwig’s son died trying to save Christian Europe
from the Mongols, and Mary’s son died to save us from sin and death and
give us the chance for eternal life.45
42. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 16: “wielostronny rozwój.”
43. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 321: “kościelna normalizacja.”
44. The geography here is more symbolic than real, given that the Odra forms the
Polish-German border farther north than Wrocław and that the Tumski Bridge crosses only
part of the Odra, connecting the city with a small island in the river.
45. The traditional Polish national interpretation of Legnica is that Henry’s troops presented enough resistance to the Mongols to prevent their continued onslaught westward,

JAMES RAMON FELAK

567

St. Maximilian Kolbe
Maximilian Kolbe’s canonization in October 1982 occurred between
the first and second visits of John Paul to Poland. As John Paul liked to
point out, Kolbe was the first Polish saint canonized in the second millennium of Polish Christianity—that is, after 1966. He was born in 1894 in
the central Polish town of Zduńska Wola (part of the Russian Empire at
that time). Kolbe joined the Franciscan order in 1910 and was ordained a
priest in 1918, with a fervent—some could even say obsessive—devotion
to the Immaculata (Jesus’s mother Mary as conceived without original
sin). During his lifetime, Kolbe played a significant role in the Church in
several ways. First, he mastered the modern media, spreading the Christian message through editing, publishing, and broadcasting. Second, he
helped establish a community of friars at Niepokalanów near Warsaw,
where upward of 700 young men of religious orders worked together on
various educational, print, and broadcasting ventures. Third, Kolbe
engaged in similar work in Japan from 1930 to 1936, as he established a
sister town of the religious. These prolific and energetic accomplishments
pale, however, in comparison to Kolbe’s final contribution to the
Church—his arrest by the Gestapo in February 1941 and his sacrifice at
Auschwitz in August 1941.
When a prisoner in Kolbe’s cellblock escaped, the Nazis, according to
their usual procedure, randomly chose ten Poles to be starved to death in a
so-called starvation bunker. When a Polish man named Franciszek
Gajowniczek was selected for this grisly execution, he lamented for his wife
and children, and Kolbe immediately offered to go in his place. The Nazi
guards consented. Kolbe spent the next sixteen days in the starvation
bunker, ministering to his comrades as they perished. On the sixteenth
day, annoyed that Kolbe was taking so long to die, the Nazis injected him
with carbolic acid, thereby creating the latest Polish-Catholic martyr.46

thereby saving Western Europe from invasion. (John Paul, not surprisingly, presented this
interpretation when he spoke at Legnica on June 2, 1997.) Historians, however, have suggested other possible reasons for why the Mongols halted their advance and soon withdrew
to the east. Along with Western resistance, they have suggested limited Mongol objectives, a
deeply divided Mongol high command, insufficient pasturage for their horses, and a succession crisis prompted by the death of the Great Khan. For a discussion of possible reasons for
the Mongol withdrawal, see Peter Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 1221–1410 (Harlow,
UK, 2006), pp. 71–74.
46. For the life and death of Kolbe, see Patricia Treece, A Man for Others: Maximilian
Kolbe, Saint of Auschwitz, in the Words of Those Who Knew Him (San Francisco, 1982) and
Diana Dewar, Saint of Auschwitz: The Story of Maximilian Kolbe (San Francisco, 1982).

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

Renowned among Poles and others after the war for this act of courage,47
Kolbe was beatified in 1971 and canonized, under John Paul II, in 1982.48
John Paul referred to Kolbe repeatedly on his 1979 visit to Poland, including
at the dramatic Mass on Victory Square in Warsaw when he proclaimed to
hundreds of thousands of Poles that Christ is the meaning of Polish history
and during his poignant visit to Auschwitz, a place visited numerous times by
the pope in his pre-papal days. Kolbe was even more prominently featured
during the 1983 pilgrimage, when the pope visited Niepokalanów, consecrated a new church dedicated to Kolbe in Kraków’s industrial mega-suburb
of Nowa Huta, and celebrated Kolbe’s recent canonization.
It was at Auschwitz in 1979 and Niepokalanów in 1983 that the pope
spoke most eloquently and elaborately about Kolbe. John Paul associated
Kolbe’s offering of himself with the following statements drawn from
John’s gospel and letters:
“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends49;

47. Rolf Hochhuth’s 1963 play Der Stellvertreter (The Deputy), a scathing and tendentious attack on the wartime policies of Pope Pius XII, was dedicated in part to Kolbe.
48. Kolbe’s canonization was controversial. First, Kolbe was canonized as a martyr.
However, since he was not technically killed on account of his faith, a special advisory commission set up by the pope concluded that his death did not meet the traditional criteria for
martyrdom. John Paul II overrode the commission’s recommendation and canonized Kolbe
as a martyr. For more on this controversy, see Kenneth L. Woodward, Making Saints: How
the Catholic Church Determines Who Becomes a Saint, Who Doesn’t, and Why (New York, 1996),
pp. 144–47. Second, Kolbe’s canonization upset a number of Jewish leaders and organizations
worldwide, as well as anti-Catholic pundits like Christopher Hitchens, provoking an
(over)reaction bordering on defamation of the saint. It was true, as critics pointed out, that
the publishing operation headed by Kolbe in Niepokalanów produced the most antisemitic
Catholic periodical in interwar Poland and that Kolbe accepted the anti-Jewish propaganda
of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion at face value. Kolbe’s defenders noted, however, that only
thirty-one of Kolbe’s 1006 extant writings even mentioned Jews, that he admonished his colleagues on at least one occasion against stirring up animosity toward Jews, that he helped
shelter hundreds of Jews at Niepokalanów when the war broke out, and that his criticism of
Jews never endorsed violence and was not aimed at traditional or religious Jews but rather at
the modern, secularized ones whom Kolbe regarded as in league with Freemasons against the
Catholic Church. It also did not help Catholic-Jewish relations that Kolbe’s canonization
came less than one month after John Paul’s well-publicized private audience with Yasser
Arafat, leader of the violently anti-Israeli Palestinian Liberation Organization. For more on
this controversy, see Ronald Modras, “Pope John Paul II, St. Maximilian Kolbe, and Antisemitism: Some Current Problems and Perceptions Affecting Catholic-Jewish Relations,”
Journal of Ecumenical Studies, 20 (1983), 630–39.
49. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 246: “Nie ma większej miłości od tej, gdy ktoś
życie swoje oddaje za przyjaciół swoich”; no … greater love”: Jn. 15:13, New Rev. Standard
Ed. (hereafter NRSV).

JAMES RAMON FELAK

569

“This is our victory—our faith”50;
“The good shepherd lays down his life for his brother”51; and
“We have passed from death to life, because we love one another. … We
know love by this, that He gave his life for us. We also ought to give our
lives for others.”52

These verses underscored the point that love is stronger than death—
a fundamental Christian teaching of which the pope was particularly fond.
John Paul’s talk at Auschwitz applied aspects of Kolbe’s martyrdom
pertinent to the venue.53 First, the pope noted that the death of Kolbe and
others at Auschwitz—including nonbelievers—represented victories of
faith, love, and human dignity reminiscent of Christ’s victorious death on
the cross. The pope went on to refer to Auschwitz as “the Golgotha of our
times.”54 Second, John Paul referred to Kolbe as a victim of an “insane ideology” in which “the rights of man are subordinated to the requirements of
the system … subordinated ruthlessly, so that they actually do not exist.”55
The pope reinforced his message at Niepokalanów in 1983 during
another time of despair for Poles—the post-Solidarity period under the
martial law of General Wojciech Jaruzelski.56 John Paul used this occasion
to associate Kolbe with Poland’s long history of suffering, from its elimination from the map of Europe by Austria, Russia, and Prussia in the lateeighteenth century to its Nazi occupation in 1939, with all the partitions,
50. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 154: “To jest zwycięstwo nasze—wiara nasza.”
51. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 154: “žycie położyć za brata swego.”
52. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 247: “Przeszliśmy ze śmierci do życia, bo milujemy
braci. … Po tym poznaliśmy miłość, że On oddal za nas życie swoje. My także winniśmy
oddać życie za braci.”
53. “Homilia w czasie Mszy św. odprawionej na terenie byłego obozu koncentracyjnego,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 154–58.
54. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 156: “Golgota naszych czasów.” This phrase epitomized the thrust of the pope’s address, which was in effect to seize the memory of Auschwitz
from the communists and give it to Polish Catholics. Although this was in no way intended
as antisemitic, it is understandable how Jews might find it unsettling to have Jesus’s death at
Calvary (traditionally blamed on Jews by Christians) associated with the site where Jews were
killed in numbers reaching seven digits. For more on John Paul’s visit to Auschwitz, see
Jonathan Huener, Auschwitz, Poland, and the Politics of Commemoration, 1945–1979 (Athens,
OH, 2003), pp. 185–225.
55. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 154: “obłąkana ideologia”; p. 155: “w której prawa
człowieka są podporządkowane wymogom systemu … podporządkowane bezwzględnie, tak
że faktycznie nie istnieją.”
56. “Homilia w czasie Mszy św.,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 246–53.

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

deportations, concentration camps, and other brutalities that these events
entailed. In John Paul’s estimation, these struggles provided the context for
Kolbe’s great act of mercy, love, and courage.
John Paul, besides reiterating the themes of his Auschwitz talk at
Niepokalanów, pointed out that Kolbe did not “suffer death,” but rather
“gave his life.” 57 He was no passive victim, but someone who chose to give
his life for a blessed cause, demonstrating through his action that which
Christ regarded as “no greater love.” The pope affirmed this assertion of
agency by exhorting Poles not to be overcome by evil but to overcome evil
with good, quoting St. Paul to that effect.58
The tone and rhetoric of the papal homily at Niepokalanów was wellsuited to a nation facing dark days—if the love of Christ can defeat death even
in the heart of Auschwitz and if saints like Kolbe can bring the light of Christ
to one of the darkest times and places in human history, then it surely can
shine in Jaruzelski’s Poland. But, in John Paul’s estimation, Kolbe was not
simply a saint with significance for Poland’s past and present. He was one
who had meaning for a greater humanity; in fact, the pope called him “the
patron saint of our entire difficult century.”59 He noted that Poles were in the
minority at Kolbe’s canonization on October 10—part of an audience composed of people from all over the world, including the former Axis nations of
Japan and Germany.60 As the pontiff put it, “through his death he affirmed
in some eloquent way the drama of humanity of the twentieth century.”61
Conclusion
During his first two papal visits to his native Poland, John Paul used
Catholic saints to press Poland’s communist rulers on a number of fronts.
First, the pope challenged the regime’s atheism and secularism on several
levels. He celebrated Christian evangelization through the person of St.
Wojciech. He used Ss. Wojciech and Stanisław to assert the crucial impor57. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 247: “poniósł śmierć”; “oddał życie.”
58. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21,
NRSV).
59. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 251: “Patron . . . całego naszego trudnego wieku.”
60. John Paul might have added that the initial official request for beatification of
Kolbe was done jointly by the Catholic bishops of Poland and West Germany in 1963; see
Piotr H. Kosicki, “Caritas across the Iron Curtain? Polish-German Reconciliation and the
Bishops’ Letter of 1965,” East European Politics and Societies, 23 (2009), 213–43, here 223.
61. Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 246: “przez swoją śmierć . . . potwierdził w jakiś
szczególnie wymowny sposób dramat ludzkości dwudziestego stulecia.”

JAMES RAMON FELAK

571

tance of the ecclesial hierarchy in the spiritual and political history of
Poland, especially during those times when Poland’s independence was
compromised, and to encourage bishops to defend the Church and the
faith. Stanisław also served as a paradigm for the synthesis of patriotism and
faith that John Paul recognized, affirmed, and promoted. Moreover, the
900th anniversary of Stanisław’s murder provided the pope with an occasion
to proclaim the saint’s martyrdom as Poland’s “confirmation” as well as an
occasion to call down the Holy Spirit onto the Polish nation anew.
Second, John Paul employed the saints to contest the position of
Poland in the Soviet bloc, and the official eastward orientation and suspicion of the West that accompanied this situation. The pope relished the
connection to the West that Christian Poland enjoyed for a millennium
and used the saints to draw attention to that fact—citing the meeting of
Poland’s leader with the German emperor and papal emissaries at the tomb
of Wojciech in Poznań in 1000, the parallels between Stanisław’s fight
with his king and the confrontations of Becket and Gregory VII with secular rulers, and the role of the Bavarian duchess Hedwig who married a
Polish prince and encouraged her son to resist the Mongols as they invaded
the Western Christian world from the East. In fact, the place of the East
in John Paul’s discourse was particularly problematic for the communists.
On the one hand, his discussion of Hedwig celebrated the Polish role as
antemurale christianitatis, striving to protect Western Christian Europe
from anti-Catholic hordes from the East. In the thirteenth century these
were represented by the Mongols, but in later centuries, the term encompassed Muslim Ottomans, the Orthodox Russians, and the godless Soviets. On the other hand, in commemorating the missionary Wojciech, John
Paul celebrated the spread of Christianity to the Slavic peoples of the East
and spoke of the Christian unity of Europe, East and West. Such an appeal
cut across the cold war division of Europe in ways that communists would
be unlikely to find comforting. Nor did John Paul’s defense of the rights of
the nation and litany of Poland’s historic suffering62 offer the communists
much solace, given that, for many Poles, Russia past and present violated
these national rights and contributed substantially to Polish suffering.
Third, the pope confronted the exaggerated power of the state that
characterized the communist system, although obliquely.63 In his survey of
62. The pope stated these in his homilies on Hedwig and Kolbe, respectively.
63. It was during his 1987 pilgrimage, taking place in the middle of the Gorbachev era
when expression was freer in Poland, that the pope made his most direct attacks on communist policies and ideology.

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

Polish history “from Stanisław at Skałka to Maximilian Kolbe at
Auschwitz,”64 John Paul made some references that could be taken as digs
at the communist regime and its ideology. When the pope noted that
Stanisław died in 1079 at Skałka for defending the idea that the ruler is not
above the law, he was citing a principle that few, if any, communist governments could be said to honor. When John Paul professed that Kolbe
died in 1941 at Auschwitz as a victim of an “insane ideology” that subordinates the rights of the person to the needs of the system, such subordination could apply as readily to Marxism-Leninism as it could to Nazism.65
Fourth, John Paul challenged the pessimism, lethargy, and even despair
of Poles living under communism, especially in the wake of the suppression
of the Solidarity movement. For the pope, it was precisely out of suffering
and death that new life emerges, as Christ taught in his preaching and lived
out through his passion, death, and resurrection.66 Each of the four saints
featured by the pope exemplified good fruit coming out of suffering and/or
death. Wojciech gave his life evangelizing in hostile territory, resulting in
the Christianization of the Slavic peoples; Stanisław died defending the
moral order, demonstrating the maturity of the Church in Poland and
inspiring Christian and episcopal courage in Poland’s bishops from past to
present; Hedwig sacrificed her son to spare Western Europe from a hostile
invasion and occupation. Renewal out of suffering also was the story of
Poland itself, as Poles traditionally understand their past—a country partitioned in 1795, occupied for nearly 125 years until a rebirth in 1918 conquered by Hitler and Stalin in 1939, reoccupied during the war, and resurrected again in 1945. It was in addressing the life and death of Kolbe that
John Paul made these associations most forcefully, not only placing Poland’s
current sufferings within its long and tragic history but also featuring
Kolbe—a martyr to the worst period of Poland’s history—as a light shining
in the darkest of darkness, love amidst the most noxious of hatred, hope in
the face of the greatest of despair. Kolbe also served as an antidote to the
sense of powerless and futility plaguing Poles in the aftermath of the

64. Quotation from Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, p. 24: “Od Stanisława na Skałce do
Maksymiliana Kolbe w Oświęcimiu.” John Paul made his statements in his homily to an
enormous crowd in Warsaw’s Victory Square on June 2, 1979; “Homilia w czasie Mszy św.
odprawionej na placu Zwycięstwa,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 20–25.
65. For an analysis of John Paul II’s thoughts and teachings on relations between
church and state, applicable to both communist and postcommunist situations, see Paweł
Borecki, “Koncepcja relacji Kościoła o państwa w nauczaniu społecznym Jana Pawła II,”
Państwo i prawo, 7, no. 713 (2005), 5–21.
66. See, for example, Jn. 12:24 and Paul’s reiteration of this teaching in I Cor. 15:36.

JAMES RAMON FELAK

573

regime’s suppression of the Solidarity movement. Here was a man who
exercised agency while under pressures far worse than Jaruzelski’s martial
law, who chose to “give his life” at Auschwitz rather than have it passively
taken from him by his Nazi captors. As one who made the ultimate sacrifice
out of love, Kolbe also served as an antidote to the bitterness and hatred felt
by many Poles toward their regime and its leaders.
John Paul’s pilgrimages to Poland clearly demonstrate the importance
of the “communion of saints” to Catholicism. The pope not only held the
lives and deaths of the saints out as lessons to Poles about their faith and
their history, and as examples of virtues and principles worth emulating
and defending; saints were also intercessors. The pope repeatedly called on
these saints to pray for Poles and their particular needs as they faced the
trials of life under the fourth consecutive decade of communist rule.
John Paul’s visit also underscored some other dimensions of the
Catholic faith that served the Church well in its challenges to the political
authorities—the concepts of sacred time and sacred space. The Church
calendar of holy days gave the pope the opportunity to enhance his message and focus the attention of Poles on it in a special way—he could call
down the Holy Spirit on Trinity Sunday; he could draw attention to all
that Stanisław could teach Poles on the 900th anniversary of his death; he
could assert his special personal bond with Hedwig by noting that he was
elected pope on her feast day, October 16.67 The Catholic regard for
sacred spaces and places also added power to John Paul’s message—he
could speak of Wojciech before the saint’s tomb at Gniezno; he could
speak of Stanisław at the site of the saint’s murder at Skałka and at his
tomb in Wawel Cathedral; he could have Hedwig’s relics brought to
Częstochowa when he celebrated her accomplishments in 1979; and he
could speak of Kolbe at the community of friars that the Franciscan
founded to honor Mary Immaculate at Niepokalanów and venerate
Kolbe’s memory at the starvation bunker where the priest ministered to
the dying and was murdered at Auschwitz.
An examination of John Paul II’s pilgrimages to his native Poland
highlights a religion that places much emphasis on saints, led by a pope

67. John Paul made this point at both of his major addresses on Hedwig. See “Homilia
w czasie Mszy św. odprawionej pod Szczytem Jasnej Góry dla pielgrzymów z Dolnego Śląska
Opolskiego” and “Homilia w czasie Mszy św.,” in Pielgrzymki, ed. Poniewierski, pp. 103–07
and 319–26, respectively.

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POPE JOHN PAUL II, THE SAINTS, AND COMMUNIST POLAND

who considered saints a particularly significant part of his ministry and
addressed a nation that regarded saints as significant figures in its history
and self-understanding. As this article has attempted to show, John Paul
found much in the examples of the great saints of Polish history that could
challenge the country’s communist leadership and system, as well as bring
hope, comfort, and encouragement to his compatriots as they faced the difficulties of another chapter in Poland’s long and tragic history.

Book Reviews
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS
The Eucharistic Liturgies: Their Evolution and Interpretation. By Paul F. Bradshaw
and Maxwell E. Johnson. (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press/A Pueblo Book.
2012. Pp. xvi, 368. $39.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-8146-6240-3.)
Paul F. Bradshaw and Maxwell E. Johnson are longtime colleagues in the
liturgy program at the University of Notre Dame. At the end of their long association (Bradshaw recently retired from teaching), they have collaborated on this
book that draws together the strands of much of their work over the past decades.
The book is intended to serve as a textbook for graduate students in liturgical
studies. The use of extensive quotation and exegesis of primary liturgical texts,
especially Eucharistic prayers, from throughout the tradition serves as a hallmark.
Comparative charts ease the analysis of the structure of celebration in each era. The
chapters end with a summary of key themes of the chapter. The book is ecumenical
throughout: the liturgies of East and West, encompassing Orthodox, Catholic, and
Protestant. The authors describe the theology of the Eucharistic liturgies through
the dual lens of the Eucharistic real presence of Christ and the Eucharistic sacrifice.
Whereas the notes provide ample documentation for further research, the lack of a
bibliography is notable.
The book has eight chapters. Chapters 1 and 2 (“Origins” and “The Second
and Third Centuries”) lay out the basic contention that there is an “original diversity” rather than an original unitary practice in the celebration of the Eucharist,
whether in the scriptural tradition or in the pre-Nicene Church. This continues the
trajectory that Bradshaw laid out in The Search for the Origins of Christian Worship
(2nd ed., Oxford, 2002). The authors argue that the lack of the institution narrative
in some early Eucharistic prayers indicates the absence of Last Supper themes in
those communities. The work of Andrew McGowan, principally presented in his
book Ascetic Eucharists (Oxford, 1999), serves as the basis for exploring gnostic
Christian prayers and practices within the early Christian context of Eucharistic
celebration.
Chapters 3 through 5 are the heart of the book: the traditions of the fourth
and fifth centuries in East and West, looking both at the structures of worship and
the texts of the Eucharistic Prayers. The reader will discover masterful presentations of the current scholarship of this period.
Chapter 6 on the Middle Ages (600 to 1500) suffers somewhat from compression. Recent studies on the Frankish liturgy and its reforms have not been used
575

576

BOOK REVIEWS

(e.g., Yitzhak Hen’s Culture and Religion in Merovingian Gaul, AD 481–751 [New
York, 1995] and The Royal Patronage of Liturgy in Frankish Gaul to the Death of
Charles the Bald (877) [London, 2001]), which would have allowed for a more
nuanced presentation of the blending of Roman and Frankish elements in the
emerging medieval culture. Small errors creep in (e.g., Pope Gregory III as crowning Charlemagne rather than Pope Leo III [p. 194] and that Ratramnus had been
abbot of Corbie [p. 223]). However, the strengths established in the earlier chapters remain: good exegesis of the texts.
Chapter 7, on the Reformation and the Council of Trent, is another strength,
especially the sections on the Reformers. The analysis of the shape and prayers of
the Eucharist in the Lutheran, Reformed, and Anglican traditions is comprehensive. The treatment of the Roman Catholic response is judicious, but lacks nuance
in several places such as the proper weight to give Trent’s canons in relationship to
its doctrine. The post-Tridentine liturgy commission was established in 1563 by
Pius IV—not by Pope Pius V, who continued the commission in 1565 (p. 287).
Chapter 8 leaps from 1570 to the mid-twentieth century. The authors offer
some retrospection to contextualize the dynamic of reform that characterized the
century, but the start of the chapter seems abrupt. Once again, the authors present
the key texts and analyze the shape of the Roman, Lutheran, and Anglican liturgies of the twentieth century, with a shorter section on other Protestant liturgical
traditions. Their theological summary is well done, combining a variety of official
and ecumenical sources to present the current agreed understanding of the
Eucharist today. A final sentence expresses the book’s main interpretive key: “A
unity in faith does not necessitate a uniformity in eucharistic tests or eucharistic
practice” (p. 356).
Bradshaw and Johnson offer a fitting summary of the status of research into
the Eucharist in the early twenty-first century and a point of departure for future
research.
The Catholic University of America

MICHAEL G. WITCZAK

Sin in Medieval and Early Modern Culture: The Tradition of the Seven Deadly Sins.
Edited by Richard G. Newhauser and Susan J. Ridyard. (Rochester, NY: York
University Press in association with Boydell & Brewer. 2012. Pp. xvi, 338.
$99.00. ISBN 978-1-903153-41-3.)
Thirteen authors examine a variety of representations of the Seven Deadly
Sins over many centuries, in words, music, and art. Generalizations about the
decline of the heptad and its replacement by the Ten Commandments are accepted
or confronted and revised. The subjects range from the greats (St. Thomas
Aquinas, Dante Alighieri, Guillaume de Machaut, Jean Gerson, Hieronymus
Bosch, Edmund Spenser, Philipp Melanchthon) to the less famous and the
obscure. Richard G. Newhauser’s learned introduction provides a valuable

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overview, but there is a singular attraction in the diversity of the subjects and the
richness of the details—which this brief review can only list and suggest.
James B. Williams recounts the central role played by St. Benedict of Aniane
(and the Carolingian reformers) in expanding the definition of acedia from spiritual
to physical labor, and intimates a wider influence through Benedictine pastoral
work. Kiril Petkov believes that the seven deadly sins are now more likely to elicit
praise than condemnation—except for the “minor vice” of arrogance, whose
ancient and medieval identity as vainglory continues to arouse “moral indignation.”
Kate Gunn identifies traditional sources (Cassian, St. Gregory the Great) for the
twelfth-century dialogue Vices and Virtues. “Intended for use, not for show” (p. 84),
it occupies a transitional place among guides to confession prior to 1215 (with
comparisons to the more forward-looking De vera et falsa penitencia, which it
quotes, and the Ancrene Wisse). Eileen Sweeney compares Aquinas’s treatment of
the seven deadly sins in De malo (dependent on Gregory the Great) and the Aristotelianized Summa theologiae 2a 2ae. Abandoning ascetic dualism, the Summa
accepts the passions as natural (gluttony preserves life, lust promotes procreation,
anger can be righteous, etc.). Yet sexuality is the place where Aquinas “loses a little
of his unflappable detachment” (p. 95). Holly Johnson presents a fifteenth-century
Franciscan preacher’s ingenious interweaving of interrelated heptads—deadly sins,
diseases, Christ’s sufferings, and cures—in a meticulous analysis of the sermon’s
argument, logic, and rhetoric. Nancy McLoughlin describes Gerson’s application
of the deadly sins to defenses and critiques of medieval hierarchies, most particularly the Church, secular authority, and the university (which Gerson “equated with
charity, reason and divine wisdom” [p. 154] but also found prone to its own set of
vices) in a court sermon that does not spare the monarchy. Newhauser adds extensive documentation of the persistence of the seven sins after its putative abandonment, inspiring polemical satire (of Catholics and between Protestants), adapting
the late-medieval struggle between virtue and vice to the stage, and providing continuity among social critics from Langland to Spenser. Anne Walters Robertson
gives a close and revelatory analysis of the text, music, and political message of a
fourteenth-century motet based on the popular allegorical satire Fauvel (an
acronym of the seven vices). Peter S. Hawkins’s exploration of “The Religion of the
Mountain” delineates with precision the theological and literary qualities that make
Dante’s Purgatory a dramatic transition from a static hell up the transformative
mountain. Beginning with a dismissal of the death-of-the-heptad thesis, Hawkins
ends with a poignant appreciation of Purgatory 22’s “canticle-long celebration of
artists and poets”—suggesting that we moderns have a lot in common with Dante.
Comparing John Gower’s treatment of “The Tale of Constance” with those of
Chaucer and Nicholas Trivet, Carol Jamison shows that Gower has fashioned an
exemplum against envy that celebrates its remedy, charity. Gower’s version provides yet another example of the assumption documented throughout this collection that evil vices produce evil social consequences. Henry Luittikhuizen analyzes
each of Bosch’s seven sins of the Prado tabletop, but also focuses on the eye at the
center—rejecting a reductionist reading in the tradition of Foucault’s panopticon
and emphasizing instead the reformative and hope-filled assumption that Bosch’s

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art could teach Christians the patience and prudence to defeat the evils portrayed.
William C. McDonald introduces readers to Michel Beheim, a prolific fifteenthcentury author of pious, vernacular poetry and songs. His “Little Book of the Seven
Deadly Sins” (to be read or sung) identifies (with extravagant imagery) pride and
lust as the worst vices and preaches contrition rather than the cultivation of the
contrary virtues. Like Luittikhuizen’s Bosch, McDonald’s Beheim is optimistic
about rational humans’ ability to subdue sin. Hans Sachs’s 1553 drama “The
Unequal Children of Eve” features all seven vices after their alleged demise with the
Reformation. But Kathleen Crowther also shows that Sachs replaces the medieval
examination of conscience with a catechistically correct faith: passive righteousness
and passive acceptance of divine and secular authority.
University of Michigan (Emeritus)

THOMAS TENTLER

Les Clercs et les Princes: Doctrines et pratiques de l’autorité ecclésiastique à l’époque moderne. Edited by Patrick Arabeyre and Brigitte Basdevant-Gaudemet. [Études
et rencontres de l’École des Chartes, Vol. 41.] (Paris: École des Chartes. 2013.
Pp. 506. €30,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-35723-033-0.)
Historians have published a great deal about canon law in the medieval period,
but little about law and the Church in later periods; the twenty-six essays in this collection seek to address this gap by covering the years between 1400 and the promulgation of the 1917 Code of Canon Law. The essays resulted from two conferences,
held in 2010 and 2011, which brought together theologians, canonists, and historians to examine issues of power, law, and authority among the Church, the clergy,
and the secular rulers. Contributions focus primarily on the French Church, with
forays into Spain, Venice, Geneva, and the international Church as well.
As might be expected from a collection of this nature, the essays are varied in
subject and scope, but most do address common debates and themes. As Jean-Louis
Gazzaniga points out in his brief conclusion to the volume, the essays demonstrate
that the most important influence on the Church in this period, both in terms of law
and ecclesiology, was the Council of Trent. This is hardly surprising, but still an
important observation, especially in those essays covering the conciliarist movement.
Most significantly, Alain Tallon points out that Trent’s insistence on papal authority
effectively put an end to much of the debate over conciliarism within Catholic circles. On the other hand, conciliarism and Gallicanism remained inextricably tied
together even after Trent, as other authors are careful to note.
In many ways Trent superseded medieval canon law, but it also exposed the
necessity of practical arrangements between law and reality. In fact, another theme
of the volume is that church laws were remarkably flexible; doctrines and principles
often gave way to the needs of individuals. For example, the essay by Frédéric
Meyer on bishops’ officials in “frontier” areas of France (the Low Countries, Lorraine, Alsace, Savoy, Comtat-Venaissin, and the Pyrenees) shows that because
bishops were usually recruited from outside the region while their officials came

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from local families, the administration of the diocese became an important site of
negotiation and compromise. Essays by Giovanni Pizzorusso and Charlotte de
Castelnau-L’Estoile dealing with missionary work further demonstrate the flexibility of legal systems.
At the same time, another prominent theme of the essays is the progressive
strengthening of royal law over church law, in its many forms. Several authors indicate the complexity of overlapping jurisdictions while showing that, over time, the
state became the more important legal authority. For example, Olivier Descamps
documents the slow decline of the officiality in the face of royal courts. Other essays
show that the clergy were more and more integrated into state systems as well.
Olivier Poncet points out that parish priests became agents of the state by keeping
the parish registers. Bishops, too, in both France and Spain, became bureaucratized
and professionalized.
The focus on the relationship between law and religion has allowed the
authors to bring to light some little-known topics, making the collection especially
useful. For example, Brigitte Basdevant-Gaudemet focuses on bishops’ officials,
who often receive little attention in the literature. Jean-Louis Gazzaniga’s treatment of Gallican jurists who repeatedly denied having any involvement in theological matters while making many a pronouncement that was, in fact, theological,
also is a fascinating issue. Finally, Ninon Maillard’s essay examines how the
Dominicans used the appel comme d’abus as a way to impel the state to mediate the
internal affairs of their order. The clever use of the law by the Dominicans is interesting in itself, but it also shows that the progressive dominance of royal law was
not entirely unwanted, adding nuance to the topic as a whole. Overall, although
there is still a need for a volume that presents a more unified treatment of church
law in the early-modern period, the essays presented here are a welcome source of
inspiration for future research.
Brigham Young University

KAREN E. CARTER

Hungary and the Holy See of Rome (Sources and Perspectives): Studies in Honor of Cardinal Erdő. Edited by Péter Tusor. [Collectanea Vaticana Hungariae Series I,
Classis I, Vol. 8.] (Budapest: Gondolat Publishing. 2012. Pp. viii, 466. Paperback. ISBN 978-9-633-08063-4.)
Church history research nowadays does not examine only the past of religion
or the clergy; it also connects strongly with the history of politics, diplomacy, economy, culture, and lifestyle. Church history research in Rome about Hungary started
in the second half of the nineteenth century and continues today with many
remarkable results, such as those that appear in this collection of sixteen studies.
In the “Medieval” section of the book, Tamás Fedeles used the quitantiae of
the Apostolic Camera to gain information about the appointments to ecclesiastical
offices in Hungary. According to the author, future research should concentrate on
exploring and publishing all the Hungary-related material of the Apostolic

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Camera. Kornél Szovák chose to present a fascinating personality of the humanist
culture: Martin of Ilkus, astronomer to Pope Paul II and physician to King
Matthias I of Hungary. The author examines Martin’s political and ecclesiastical
career from a brand-new perspective. Gábor Nemes examined the situation of
Croatia and Dalmatia by using the breves of Pope Clement VII. The pope—as the
study points out—did not only support the resistance against the Turks financially
but also sent a large amount of grain and war material. Help was also spiritual—
the pope granted indulgence to the Frangepans and their soldiers.
In the “Early Modern Age” section, István Fazekas analyzes the papal confirmation of Hungarian episcopal appointments in 1554 on the basis of documents from
the archives of Vienna. In this case, the new bishops (and an archbishop) were
ordered to spend the annates on the fortification of the Hungarian border fortresses.
Antal Molnár writes about Hungarian relations with the Republic of Ragusa, especially through the Catholic missions promoted by Ragusan merchants in the Balkans.
These missionaries had to cope with both the spread of Islam and the Protestant
preachers. Tamás Kruppa examines and publishes the apology of Demeter Náprági,
bishop of Transylvania from 1601. The source found in the Vatican Secret Archives
was an answer to the several accusations against the bishop by the Transylvanian
orders. The apology discloses that Náprági supported Zsigmond Báthori and
intended to destroy the Protestant denominations. In the archives of the Magalottis
Péter Tusor found interesting letters from 1626–27 between Cardinal Péter
Pázmány, archbishop of Esztergom, and Cardinal Melchior Klesl, bishop of Vienna.
His thorough study of these documents proves that not only the Vatican Archives but
also the Italian archives can be useful for revealing the many-sided relationship of
Hungary and the Holy See. Tamás Tóth discusses the Collegium Germanicum et
Hungaricum. The Collegium Germanicum was founded in 1552 with the purpose of
educating future German clergy, followed by the establishment of a Collegium Hungaricum in 1573. In 1580 Pope Gregory XIII united the two institutions.
In the “Modern Age” section, Balázs Karlinszky presents two important
research projects conducted in Rome by priest-historians of the Diocese of
Veszprém. The first in the 1910s was splendidly successful, but the other in the
1980s had only modest results. Máté Gárdonyi deals with the heritage of Bishop
Vilmos Csiszárik that reveals important diplomatic issues between Hungary and
the Holy See at the beginning of the twentieth century. Krisztina Tóth and Tusor
emphasize the importance of the recent opening of the Vatican Archives; the
appendix of their study contains sources about the church policy of the successor
states of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Balázs Csíky outlines how Jusztinián
Serédi became the archbishop of Esztergom in 1927. His study makes clear that
Serédi was not the favorite candidate of the Hungarian government. In a separate
piece Krisztina Tóth reveals the background to the resignation of Count János
Mikes, bishop of Szombathely, and the appointment of József Grősz as apostolic
administrator of the same diocese in 1936. Tamás Véghseő presents the fascinating
story of how Miklós Dudás became the bishop of the Greek Catholic Diocese of
Hajdúdorog. Balázs Rétfalvi and Margit Balogh examine the Coalition years

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(1945–48) from different points of view. Rétfalvi chose the fate of the villa of the
Hungarian embassy in Rome as his subject, whereas Balogh focuses on the difficult
diplomatic relations of the Holy See and Hungary.
The detailed index at the end of the volume was created by György Sági, and
the summaries were translated into English by Ágnes Palotai. All in all, the volume
contains studies of high quality written by recognized researchers whose work is
precise and readable.
Péter Pázmány Catholic University
Budapest, Hungary

PÉTER BEKE

The Faith of Remembrance: Marrano Labyrinths. By Nathan Wachtel. Translated by
Nikki Halpern. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2013. Pp. xiv,
390. $59.95. ISBN 978-0-8122-4455-7.)
First appearing in French some thirteen years ago, this genuinely excellent
book, now in a very viable English translation, is scholarly and serious-minded, yet
replete with humanity and, on occasion, even subtle humor. Historically grounded
in a past that still profoundly informs the present, it is proffered to specialists and
laity alike in the best tradition of the humanities, with reserve and dignity, not to
mention vigor and verve. The author wends his way through mazes— the “Marrano labyrinths” of his subtitle—illuminating along the way the stories of real
people of Iberian extraction, who lived mostly during the sixteenth through the
eighteenth centuries. In some instances, however, Nathan Wachtel extends his
reach well into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. He brings to bear an
anthropologist’s cultural perspicacity, together with the narrative sensibilities of an
historian. In so doing, he comes to participate himself in the exercise of collective
and individual memory he describes. Faithfully evoking images from a fleeting past
that in most instances has yet to be recounted, let alone reconciled, he strives—with
noteworthy success—to know the lives and deaths of people who in his prose
become so much more than mere names and dates registered in an historical
archive. Whereas such peripatetic personalities may wander around the Iberian
world or at least across large tracts of it, Wachtel’s text, although itself generally
quite expansive, is closely and carefully focused. With precision, elegantly but still
effusively, he shows how such “lived-in” phenomena as modernity, secularism, and
globalization are not an exclusive purview of our time and place. His characters may
remain as representatives of categories and characteristics, moving in and out of
networks, affiliations, associations, and affinities, while remaining unique individuals. Paradoxically, their diverse loyalties and, curiously enough, multiple ethnicities could leave them in relative isolation, effectively bereft of any real recourse from
persecution or any refuge from prosecution by the Inquisition.
This is somewhat of a lengthy book, although nonetheless a captivating
read—one that is truly hard to put aside. Wachtel neither wastes nor minces words,
evincing comprehension and compassion for the misconstrued, as for the martyred,

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albeit without trivializing, minimizing, or otherwise obviating their foibles and
shortcomings. It is most assuredly not fiction that he writes, but rather the ultimate
expression of “fact,” detailing the typically dynamic dimensions of everyday experience. Such “realism” sometimes may be punctuated, highlighted even, by extraordinary deeds and daring-do, thereby revitalizing as well as recapitulating the Conversos’ condition. Their very “marginality” serves to center their stories: although
all are sprung from the Nación, Wachtel’s subjects are by no means “all the same”—
especially in the overall economy of their existence in an adverse world. Hounded
by the Inquisition across oceans and continents, these folk become a metaphor for
tolerance, for leaving well enough alone. The author’s narrative does not so much
evoke the pathos of bad memories, although his histories can well and truly harrow
up the reader’s soul, spanning a continuum from revulsion through rumination to
outright revisionism. His work betokens a memorialization of the ostensibly mundane, a remembrance of things past and present that adds up to much more than
the sum of the parts. Although condemned and in many cases judicially murdered
by the Holy Office, the Marranos’ presence persists, gathering currency and
renewed impetus in the (re)telling. Wachtel’s history does much to document his
dramatis personae’s “Faith of Remembrance,” as well as his own. Additionally, his
study can foment such a condition in the attentive reader’s heart and mind, as compounded with the other “theological virtues”—namely, hope and charity.
University of Wyoming

KEVIN S. LARSEN

The Global Diffusion of Evangelicalism: The Age of Billy Graham and John Stott. By
Brian Stanley. Edited by Mark Noll and David Bebbington. [A History of
Evangelicalism: People, Movements and Ideas in the English-Speaking
World, Vol. 5.] (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. 2013. Pp. 283.
$24.00 paperback. ISBN 978-0-8308-2585-1.)
Brian Stanley, professor of world Christianity at the University of Edinburgh,
provides a solid overview of both the advance of evangelical Protestantism around
the world in the past half-century and of the key issues that have divided the movement to the point of “diffusion or [possible] disintegration” (p. 235).
The advance has been led by world-renowned evangelists like Billy Graham,
a missions movement that has remained centered on evangelism, a small host of
scholars who have defended conservative biblical positions, and Pentecostal strains
of Christianity that have proved enormously attractive in the majority world. The
primary issue that has both united and threatened to divide evangelicals is the question of how to define the authority of scripture and, once defined, how to interpret
it in a rapidly changing world. This question has led to both profound and petty
quarrels over inerrancy (as scholars and pastors lose jobs over the smallest deviation
from orthodoxy) and to larger questions dealing with female leadership, homosexual relationships, and—most threatening in Stanley’s view—the challenge to biblical primacy by Pentecostal and charismatic Christianity that seems to exalt the
direct influence of the Spirit over the ancient text.

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Stanley’s text will be most useful to those already familiar with the story and
to scholars looking for a quick reference to names, movements, and places. Stanley’s scholarship is vast and well summarized, and his work will provide a useful
jumping-off point for those interested in a deeper inquiry. Those new to the story
will likely find Stanley’s approach daunting, however, as it often assumes an “Inside
Baseball” quality. Names and places can go by in a bewildering blur.
This is top-down history—a history of leaders and their quarrels, meetings,
position papers, and alliances. Such men—and the list is largely men—do, of
course, have influence, but the reader is rarely given a glimpse into the pews, or
provided the stories or even statistics to flesh the story out on the ground. One of
Stanley’s most interesting chapters, “Christian Mission and Social Justice,” provides a good example. The chapter focuses almost exclusively on the Lausanne
meeting in 1974—the back-room machinations in the years beforehand and the
passionate challenge delivered by spokesmen from Latin America, Africa, and Asia
to reorient the movement toward social justice. The story is well researched and
genuinely fascinating. Undoubtedly, Lausanne had a profound impact on evangelical leaders. But in the pews? Certainly, at least from an American perspective
today, a chapter dealing with the evangelical approach to social justice would have
to be written from a very different starting point.
One can imagine a completely different approach to this story, written from
the bottom up, and focused on connecting the history of evangelicalism in the
second half of the twentieth century more to the external history and culture of the
period rather than to internal debates. The movement of evangelicals in the United
States virtually wholesale into the Republican Party, where they now form the solid
base of a radicalized conservatism, would have to be a major chapter in the story, a
political movement that receives scarcely a mention in Stanley’s monograph. The
reaction by young evangelicals to the stances taken by their elders are threatening
to demonstrate, for example, that Stanley’s pages on the battle over homosexuality,
although they present fascinating exegetical and hermeneutical arguments, are,
even with a publication date of 2013, already out of date.
In Stanley’s last sentence, he notes that the battle over evangelicalism’s future
is currently being fought “not primarily in the lecture rooms of North American
seminaries but in the shanty towns, urban slums and villages of Africa, Asia and
Latin America” (p. 247). However, one suspects that, even in North America, the
battle is not being fought primarily in the seminaries but over dinner tables; in bars
and restaurants where friends gather and debate; at political rallies; on college campuses; and, of course, on Facebook and Twitter.
St. Mary’s College
Notre Dame, IN

WILLIAM SVELMOE

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ANCIENT
Slandering the Jew: Sexuality and Difference in Early Christian Texts. By Susanna
Drake. [Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion.] (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. 2013. Pp. viii, 176. $55.00. ISBN 978-0-81224520-2.)
Two major themes in recent analysis of the construction of Christian identities in late antiquity have been gender and anti-Jewish polemic. In this slim volume
(105 pages plus endnotes), Susanna Drake brings the two together through a series
of studies of patristic representations of Jews as characterized not just by “the flesh”
but by sexual lust and excesses. This is not a new finding, and Drake consciously
stands in the same tradition as Daniel Boyarin and Virginia Burrus (editors of the
Divinations series); thus the analysis works within the frameworks of cultural studies, postcolonialism, the exploration of hybridity, and gender studies (appealing to
familiar names such as Michel Foucault, Judith Butler, and Homi K. Bhabha). The
authors examined also are familiar ones: first, St. Paul (who is found to be innocent
of the later pattern), Justin, and Barnabas; then Origen, followed by a chapter
specifically on early Christian interpretation of the story of Susanna; and finally St.
John Chrysostom’s Sermons against the Jews, which is where the framing introduction started. A conclusion offers brief reflections both on the way that here, as elsewhere, the use of sexuality to produce difference also can be used to legitimate violence and also on the ambiguities inherent both in the hybridity characteristic of
such Christian discourse and in the potential sites for resistance. Although the
chronological ordering, and the attempt to trace the tradition back to Justin and
Barnabas, might suggest otherwise, the material is too diverse and scattered to
allow for any argument for continuity or development. Drake recognizes that other
second-century authors, including Ignatius, the Letter to Diognetus, and Melito, do
not combine sexual and anti-Jewish polemic, but she does not do the same for the
contemporaries of Origen or of Chrysostom. Indeed, what is disappointing is the
largely narrative account within its methodological framing of “identity discourses.”
Each of these authors has already been studied and in greater detail; in many cases,
the passages cited also are well worn and have come to consist of a catena of illustrative texts, inevitably taken out of their broader literary context. This means that
there is no analysis of their contextual rhetorical function, nor any assessment of the
proportion of such material, or its relationship to other nonsexualized polemic or
to polemic against other groups. Drake acknowledges the earlier Jewish roots of the
intersection of sexuality and personal and communal integrity, but does not ask
how this is transformed in this material. Further, it is notable that a majority of the
sources cited are homiletic and exegetical, but whether or not this might be worthy
of investigation is not seriously considered, other than noting the link with literal
interpretation. Drake notes, even in Chrysostom, the continuing appeal to the
destruction of Jerusalem, but does not ask how, 300 years after the event, such an
appeal worked and whether that should have consequences for how other elements
in the polemic would be heard. There also may be a danger of overinterpreting, so
that the vocabulary of “desire” is always assumed to be sexual (and translated “lust”)

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and is extracted from longer and more diverse catalogs of vices to be shunned. The
scholarly trajectory that Slandering the Jew represents has done an important service
in alerting us to the intersection of strategies of a polemic whose primary purpose
is the construction of identity, but which retains the potential for articulation in
violence. Yet, the risk of repeated accounts of these strategies is one of continuing
to operate with and so reproducing the rigid categories that they claim to detect,
rather than problematizing them, exposing internal variation and experimentation
or change, or situating them in the much more diverse early Christian discursive
practices. Perhaps this volume will provoke such further work.
Robinson College, University of Cambridge

JUDITH M. LIEU

Irenaeus: Life, Scripture, Legacy. Edited by Sara Parvis and Paul Foster. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2012. Pp. xvi, 274. $39.00. ISBN 978-0-8006-9796-9.)
It is no doubt unusual for a reviewer to suggest that readers should read the
penultimate chapter of a book first, but that is exactly what this review recommends.
Paul Parvis’s masterful summary of and insights concerning the various scholarly
editions of St. Irenaeus’s Adversus haereses demonstrates clearly that even the best
critical editions of ancient texts are never “value free.” This applies equally, if not
more so, to modern translations of Irenaeus’s extant genuine works—conveniently
listed on pp. xi–xiii. Parvis’s chapter (17) is a powerful reminder that the task of
understanding the literary and personal legacy of Irenaeus includes taking into
account the biases and contexts of the scholars who give us access to that legacy.
The “Irenaean legacy,” as Irenaeus Steenberg (chapter 18) points out, is also
shaped, somewhat inaccurately, by the way in which the earliest Church Fathers utilized his writings. They, at least until St. Augustine, portrayed Irenaeus primarily as
heresiologist, peacemaker, and “statesman” rather than as theologian (p. 205).
The contributors to this volume, the product of a conference held at the University of Edinburgh in 2009, examine Irenaeus’s life and work from a much broader
perspective. Part 2, “Scripture: Irenaeus and His Scriptural Traditions” (which
should be read after chapter 17), for example, commences with a fascinating study
by Denis Minns on Irenaeus’s exegesis of the “Parable of the Two Sons” (chapter 4).
This study also sheds light on the specific version of Matt. 21:28–31 to which Irenaeus had access. Other chapters in this section explore Irenaeus’s use of Hebrews
(chapter 5, by D. Jeffrey Bingham), the Song of Songs (chapter 6, by Karl Shuve),
and noncanonical gospels (chapter 9, by Paul Foster). This section also includes a
study (chapter 10) by Charles Hill on Irenaeus’s concerns regarding the unintentional (and even intentional) scribal corruption of texts, drawing insights from P.
Oxy. 405—the earliest known extant fragment of Irenaeus’s writings.
Chapters 7–8 of part 2 “debate” the identity of “the elder” in Adv. Haer. 4.27–
32, with Hill defending his position, against Sebastian Moll (chapter 7), that the
unnamed “elder” is, indeed Polycarp of Smyrna (chapter 8). These chapters could,

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perhaps, have fitted equally well in part 1, “Life: Irenaeus and His Context,” as each
of its current three chapters refers to Irenaeus and his relationship to Polycarp.
These chapters carefully nuance and add to what is known about Irenaeus’s life
(chapter 1, by Paul Parvis), his own Greek worldview within the Celtic/Latin context of Lyons (chapter 2, by Jared Secord), and his use of succession lists to emphasize continuity of apostolic teaching, rather than (as misunderstood later) episcopal
monarchy (chapter 3, by Allen Brent:; cf. chapter 1, by Paul Parvis).
The view that Irenaeus had personally been a student of Justin Martyr in
Rome, previously articulated by Michael Slusser, is deemed highly likely by Steenberg (p. 202). Most of the other authors in this volume acknowledge that Justin’s
writings at least influenced Irenaeus greatly on significant aspects of his theology:
e.g., the Trinity (chapter 15, by Stephen Presley)—but contrast Peter Widdicombe’s “Irenaeus and the Knowledge of God as Father” (chapter 12). Slusser himself traces “Recapitulation” to Justin and argues that, whether or not Irenaeus’s
understanding of the interrelationship of God’s magnitudo (greatness) and love
(dilectio) was also derived from Justin, it forms “The Heart of Irenaeus’s Theology”
(chapter 11).
The chapters that complete the theological section of “Part III: Legacy: Irenaeus and His Theological Traditions” also provide exciting new insights necessitating a re-evaluation of earlier perceptions. Alistair Stewart argues convincingly
that the Trinitarian component of the “Rule of Truth” derives from prebaptismal
catechesis and should not be taken as evidence for a threefold baptismal interrogation (chapter 13). Sara Parvis demonstrates that a crucial subtext of the Adversus
haeresus is a strong defense of the importance and legitimacy of the public roles of
women in the Church, including but not limited to women prophets (chapter 14).
Sophie Cartwright shows clearly that Irenaeus’s understanding of the “image of
God” centers on a “progressive ontological affinity between God and humankind”
(p. 176) and that, despite variations on the theme, Irenaeus’s theological anthropology left an enduring legacy.
It is refreshing to read a book on Irenaeus that refers only tangentially to
“Gnosticism” and “Recapitulation” but, instead, focuses on the significance of Irenaeus’s particular contribution to the understanding of scripture and on his broader
legacy as theologian.
Oklahoma Conference of Churches
Oklahoma City, OK

WILLIAM TABBERNEE

Ambrose of Milan: Deeds and Thoughts of a Bishop. By Cesare Pasini. Translated by
Robert L. Grant. (Staten Island, NY: St. Paul. 2013. Pp. xxiv, 323. $24.95
paperback. ISBN 978-0-8189-1341-9.)
Cesare Pasini’s biography of St. Ambrose of Milan was originally published in
Italian in 1996. In the foreword, translated here, Pasini expressed a desire “to let
the texts speak for themselves” and anticipated that readers might even find that he

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as author disappeared into the work (p. xii). Ambrose himself took a similar line in
his exegetical sermons, assembling a collage of biblical quotations and allusions that
seemed more to re-present than to interpret the biblical text for his audience. Of
course, neither Pasini nor Ambrose in fact relinquished control of his work, and
Pasini remains conspicuously present on almost every page of this biography. We
find him addressing the reader, weighing the evidence for its plausibility and its
degree of accordance with his idea of Ambrose, and unashamedly using imagination and tradition to fill in the gaps.
This is not unusual—historians always select, interpret, and comment on their
evidence, and biography in particular abhors a vacuum. The result in this case is an
Ambrose familiar in outline and often in detail from previous scholarship, but who
clearly reflects the sympathies of a humane, Catholic, and Milanese biographer.
We find a bishop who prefers consensus to confrontation, who avoided “personal
attacks on individuals” (p. 114), and who was “patient and understanding toward
[his] opposition but consistent and adamant in not yielding to any compromise” (p.
76). This latter stance, however, is trickier to pull off than Pasini allows; like his
Ambrose, he tries to be generous and even-handed in dealing with doctrinal controversy—and he does a better job than Ambrose of fairly characterizing opposing
views—but he cannot shrug off his own conviction that there was really nothing to
argue about. Hence, the homoeans are “obdurate and contrary” and pursue “strategies” to get their way, whereas Ambrose’s Nicenes are “conscientious” and “vigilant” (pp. 42–43).
This is problematic when it comes to dealing with events such as the Council
of Aquileia, at which Pasini’s scruples require him to admit that Ambrose “effectively abused the situation” (p. 88), and especially in the ill-conceived attempt to
defend Ambrose against the charge of antisemitism. The case made by Ambrose in
response to the burning of a synagogue in Callinicum by Christians was not merely
that church and state should be kept separate, as Pasini would like to think, but that
individual clergymen should be beyond the reach of secular justice even when
implicated in violent criminality. This is misguided in itself, but it also cannot be
disregarded that Ambrose founds his case on the imagined iniquity of the Jews as
a people. This cannot be dismissed as mere rhetoric, as if it were therefore inconsequential; nor is it best justified by reference to Jewish “obduracy” (p. 178) or to
paranoia regarding an unlikely conspiracy of “Arians, pagans and Jews” (pp. 87,
174). Ambrose’s small-minded intolerance indeed can be understood in the context
of his time, but it is not on that account to be minimized or legitimated.
The translation captures Pasini’s original tone, although sometimes at the cost
of sounding awkward in English. The only really confusing parts are the initial discussions of doctrine, where in addition to the usual homoeanism we find the unattested homeoism (p. 42) and homiois (p. 2), and “the phrase homeo” (p. 2). There also
is some uncertainty over the role of a late-antique Praetorian prefect (pp. 16, 20)
and frequent errors and Italianisms in names. Thus “Leonitus” and “Secundus”
appears throughout for Leontius and Secundianus, and (among others) “Vittricius”

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and “Alipius” for the more familiar Victricius and Alypius. Nevertheless, Pasini’s
Ambrose emerges clearly and is, for the most part, a likable figure. It is evident that,
for both author and translator, this project represented a labor of love, and that is
a thing that Ambrose himself would recognize and doubtless approve.
National University of Ireland Maynooth

MICHAEL STUART WILLIAMS

MEDIEVAL
Geschichte des Kardinalats im Mittelalter. Edited by Jürgen Dendorfer and Ralf
Lützelschwab. [Päpste und Papsttum, Band 39.] (Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann,. 2011. Pp. xiv, 608. €198,00. ISBN 978-3-777-21102-2.)
This book, produced by a team of ten scholars coordinated by Jürgen Dendorfer and Ralf Lützelschwab, is an ambitious and successful attempt to provide a history of the cardinalate from the eleventh through the fifteenth centuries. The editors note that, although there are many studies of individual cardinals, the only real
precedent for such an undertaking are some old legal-historical surveys that did not
flesh out the cardinals in full. And so decades of French, German, Italian, and
English scholarship are synthetized in this book that serves as both a readable history and a comprehensive reference work. Fundamental questions addressed here
are the following: Who became a cardinal? How did collaboration (whether by
consensual affirmation or collegial limitation) between pope and cardinals develop
in the form of consistories and administrative offices? In what way were the roles
of the cardinals legitimized through explicit arguments by canon lawyers and theologians, and how did the theory of normative texts correspond to day-to-day reality? Where did the money come from, and how did the cardinals spend it? Since
the answers to these questions changed over five centuries, the editors have divided
the book chronologically into seven sections, preceded by a survey of primary
sources and modern historiography.
The first period begins in 1049 with pontificate of Leo IX and the initial formation of the College of Cardinals with its new exclusive right to elect a pope. The
second section, running from 1143 to 1216, charts the ascent of the cardinals in
step with the institutional rise of the Roman Church itself. The third period
(1216–1304) contains a high point for the oligarchical ambitions of the college in
Nicholas IV’s 1289 concession of half the curial income to the cardinals. The fiscalization of the papacy in Avignon (treated in the book’s fourth section) and new
sources of revenue gave the cardinals still more power, enabling some to become
patrons of the arts and giving the whole group the gumption to produce the first
conclave capitulation in 1352. The rejection of Urban VI by the French cardinals
and the ensuing Great Western Schism from 1378 to1417 (section 5) altered the
college by internationalizing it and enhanced its status by confirming its role in
conciliar discussions. The sixth period (1417–71) saw the cardinals grapple with
reform ideas in the time of the councils of Constance and Basel, and witnessed ever
more conclave capitulations. It is only in the final section of the book that one sees

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decline: the college’s loss of significance as a corporation in the face of a restored
papacy, combined with its negative image as part of a decadent Roman Curia at the
dawn of the Reformation. The book ends with an annotated bibliography and, usefully, a list of cardinals. Geschichte des Kardinalats im Mittelalter is an excellent addition to the Päpste und Papsttum series. It also is an apt one, since a main contention
of the editors and authors is that the history of the medieval papacy cannot be
understood without the cardinals.
University at Albany, SUNY

PATRICK NOLD

When Ego Was Imago: Signs of Identity in the Middle Ages. By Brigitte Miriam
Bedos-Rezak. [Visualizing the Middle Ages, Vol. 3.] (Boston: Brill. 2011. Pp.
xxix, 295. €127,00. ISBN 978-90-04-19217-1.)
The study of seals is not ordinarily a topic that arouses great enthusiasm, least
of all among scholars likely to read this journal. But everyone should be enthusiastic
about the publication of Brigitte Bedos-Rezak’s long-awaited book, including students of medieval Catholicism. For especially in its central chapters, When Ego Was
Imago makes a number of very important arguments about the way eleventh- and
twelfth-century bishops and schoolmen thought about the Eucharist and the Trinity. Although most of the chapters present material published in earlier articles, the
author has so thoroughly reworked it that the old articles no longer provide a suitable entry into her complex thought. In brief, Bedos-Rezak shows that the use of
seals in so-called “private” charters first began with the bishops of northern France
after c. 1040, and that even when the use of seals spread to the charters of the kingdom’s lay aristocracy shortly thereafter, the practice was still consistently mediated
by churches and abbeys closely associated with bishops, their schools, and their
chanceries. She further demonstrates, quite convincingly, that the bishops and episcopal chancellors who introduced and promoted the sealing of charters were the very
ones most deeply involved in the Eucharistic controversies surrounding Berengar of
Tours. Accordingly, Bedos-Rezak argues that the sealing of nonroyal charters did
not result from any of the reasons usually alleged (such as the revival of commerce
and Roman law or the need of new administrations to authenticate documents) but
from a relatively sudden conjuncture that led to a complete rethinking of the relationship between signs and signified. If one probes Bezak-Rezak’s sometimes elusive
prose, one finds a crucial technical argument stemming from diplomatic that many
readers unfamiliar with that discipline might miss, so it should be underscored here.
The growing use of private charters written in the first-person singular in eleventhcentury northern France made increasingly visible a long-standing problem: the “I”
in whose name a charter was issued was a diplomatic convention. The use of seals—
whether of bishops, abbots, or lay donors—made that Ego’s agency concrete, literally materializing it (pp. 132–39). At the same time, the use of seals to give presence
to absent agents made it possible to reimagine and reformulate the sacraments in
terms of sign, presence, and generativity. Those possibilities were realized in
eleventh-century debates about the Real Presence and then in twelfth-century discussions of what it meant for human beings to be made in the image of God while

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Christ was the image of God. Later chapters offer an important analysis of the language of “deformity” in the polemic of the papal schism of 1130 and a very original
argument linking the appearance of individuation to the desire of urban collectivities
to differentiate their cities (illustrated in plate XXXII by a remarkable seal from
Soissons). This is a difficult book, but also a splendid and important one.
University of California, Berkeley

GEOFFREY KOZIOL

Prêcher la croisade. XI–XIII siècle. Communication et propagande. By Jean Flori.
(Paris: Perrin. 2012. Pp. 526. €25,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-262-02658-5.)
This book by Jean Flori on crusade preaching follows the book by Penny Cole
(Cambridge, MA, 1991). It covers both centuries of the crusades to the Holy Land
in chronological order, taking into account the main achievements of scholarship,
including recent works by Christian Grasso on the preaching of crusades. A rich
collection of sources on the history of crusade preaching in French translation
accompany Flori’s text.
The author starts with an introduction on the prehistory of crusades; this is
based on his previous research. He summarizes the many arguments of Pope Urban
II and discusses the sources for what we know about the preaching of the First Crusade (p. 69). The chapters dedicated to the subsequent crusades do not contain a
similar discussion—an unfortunate situation, as this would have been very useful
for further scholarship about crusade preaching.
The author emphasizes that propaganda of the First Crusade as well as the
Second Crusade is highly concentrated on Jerusalem (pp. 96–97, 120). Although
the Second Crusade occurred because of the fall of Edessa, it was still concentrated
on Palestine because of the danger of the latter’s possible loss.
In the thirteenth century, crusade preaching was transformed into preaching
on the cross in general (p. 327). Flori also points out that the eschatological element is present practically in all of the expeditions (p. 384). He makes some interesting observations about indulgences. For example, he notes that in the 1198
encyclical Post Miserabile (p. 188) and the 1213 bull Quia maior (p. 235), Pope
Innocent III declares that he promises a full indulgence to the crusaders (as was
customary) as well as an “increase of eternal salvation as a retribution to the just
people” (in retributione iustorum salutis eterne pollicemur augmentum).” This important aspect of the encyclical, although noted by Cole, has not been discussed at
length. Since it is clear that all the crusaders had a plenary indulgence, Flori admits
that here the pope meant that the surviving crusaders would have received a sort of
“discount” in heaven for the sins committed after they returned from crusade—
ones not covered by the indulgence (p. 189). This formula was repeated in the constitutions of the councils of Lateran IV (1215), Lyon I (1245), and Lyon II (1274).
Flori also points out that when someone took the cross, he was seeking not
only his own salvation but also the salvation of his relatives who were detained in

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purgatory (pp. 270, 285, 317, 388). This idea obviously appeared in tandem with
the idea of the existence of purgatory itself. Furthermore, from the pontificate of
Honorius III onward, popes granted partial indulgences to ordinary people who
assisted at crusade sermons (pp. 281, 299, 308, 360, 388). Both innovations have
been mentioned in preceding scholarship, but Flori provides further examples that
demonstrate their presence in the crusade preaching of the thirteenth century.
One conclusion concerning indulgences seems not quite correct. Describing
the indulgence accorded to the participants of the Second Crusade in the 1145 bull
Quantum predecessores, the author states that it is identical to the indulgence of the
First Crusade (p. 110). However, Flori misses an important detail. Only from the
Second Crusade onward do papal letters specify clearly that the indulgence is
granted for all participants of the crusades, whether or not they died during the
expedition.
Novosibirsk State University, Russia

VALENTIN L. PORTNYKH

The Theology of Peter Damian: “Let Your Life Always Serve as a Witness.” By Patricia
Ranft. (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press. 2012.
Pp.xii, 258. $64.95. ISBN 978-0-8132-1997-4.)
St. Peter Damian often has been characterized as a man who struggled to balance the demands of withdrawal from the world and engagement in it. A passionate advocate of the superiority of the contemplative life and especially the eremitical
life, he viewed his own career as cardinal-bishop of Ostia in the service of the
reform papacy as being at odds with his role as a hermit and monastic reformer.
This new book by Patricia Ranft challenges this characterization by arguing,
through close readings of Damian’s letters, that a theology of witness lay at the
heart of Damian’s thought.
Following the introduction, where Ranft sets out her ideas that a theology of
witness best explains Damian’s thought, chapter 1 provides the historical context. In
chapter 2, Ranft looks to explore the nature of Damian’s early thinking on the witness
of the solitary life and its connection with the salvation of society, and in chapter 3
she addresses his mature theological thought. In chapter 4, on standards of monastic
reform, Ranft explores Damian’s thinking on simony, hierarchy, and the institutional
Church through the prism of witness. In chapter 5, on renewal in religious life, Ranft
considers Damian’s position on regular canons, hermits, and monks, focusing here in
particular on his clash with the Florentine hermit Teuzo and the case of the Vallombrosans who stepped beyond the lines of monastic propriety by condemning the
simonist bishop of Florence, Peter Mezzabarba. In the final chapter Ranft addresses
Damian’s thinking on the relationship of secular and ecclesiastical power, the spirituality of the laity, and the value of secular knowledge. The book includes a series of
appendices indexing key themes in Damian’s letters and sermons.
Given that the language of witness, especially testimonium and its derivatives,
is rarely found in Damian’s extensive corpus of letters (something that Ranft does

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acknowledge, pp. 9–10, 36ff.), one may well question the usefulness of this concept
to explore Damian’s theological thinking. Ranft first developed her idea of witness
in her master’s thesis on twelfth-century monastic renewal and has since applied
these ideas to different periods and individuals across the western Christian tradition, here extending that with close readings of Damian’s letters. She makes a persuasive case, although sometimes her linkage of discrete aspects of Damian’s
thought and his position on key issues such as simony and hierarchy under the
umbrella of “witness” is perhaps tenuous, and we do often lose sight of “witness” in
chapters 3, 4, and 5. Concept-led studies can be excellent, and some of Ranft’s
readings are insightful, but to reduce the complexity of such an exceptional thinker
as Damian to one overarching concept is not without its problems. There are other
shortcomings for this reviewer. There is little direct engagement with recent historiography, and the historical contextualization in chapter 1 is dated. Moreover,
given that Damian’s letters are readily available in an excellent modern translation,
the almost line-by-line paraphrasing of many of the letters seems unnecessary, and
one wonders about the intended audience for this book. In the end, Ranft offers
some intriguing insights into a complex and, indeed, pivotal player in eleventh-century reform but perhaps in terms of a framework and language that were not necessarily part of the worldview of Damian (and his audience).
Keele University

KATHLEEN G. CUSHING

Papst Urban II. (1088–1099), Teil 3: Ideen, Institutionen und Praxis eines päpstlichen
regimen universale. By Alfons Becker. [Monumenta Germaniae Historica,
Schriften, Band 19,3.] (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung. 2012. Pp.
lxxxvii, 750. €95,00. ISBN 978-3-7752-2200-6.)
This magisterial work appeared a few months after the death of its author, who
had devoted most of his scholarly life to the study of Pope Urban II. It concludes a
trilogy: part 1, published in 1964, dealt with the early life and career of Odo of
Châtillon until his election as Urban II; part 2 followed in 1988 and addressed
Urban’s relationship with the Byzantine East and the crusades. On the basis of an
exhaustive analysis of all of Urban’s known correspondence and documents, with
particular attention to recently discovered texts and canons from Urban’s councils as
published by Robert Somerville1 and from canonical collections such as the Collectio
Sinemuriensis attributed to Reims, Becker investigates here in this third and final
volume the pontificate as a whole, with a special focus on the innermost ideology of
Urban and the motivation that made the former canon of Reims, monk and prior at
Cluny, a very successful pedissequus of Pope Gregory VII, whose pontificate had
ended in seeming failure. It was Urban II, as Becker shows convincingly, who rescued the ideals of the eleventh-century church reform and carried them forward on
a sounder foundation to the threshold of the twelfth century.

1. Robert Somerville’s Pope Urban II’s Council of Piacenza (Oxford, 2011) unfortunately
appeared too late to be included.

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The volume is divided into five chapters, beginning with Urban’s conception of
his office and analyzing (often on the basis of arengas) the interchangeable relationships among Petrine papacy, Ecclesia Romana and Sedes Apostolica, the papal primacy,
and the papal universal episcopacy. The subtle shadings and cautious judgments
found here and throughout Becker’s arguments are illustrated, for instance, in his
brief discussion of whether the emphasis on hierarchical obedience, inherited from
Gregory VII and insisted on by Urban on innumerable occasions “almost as a kind
of ecclesiastical constitutional principle” (pp. 92f.) could be described as creating a
monarchical papacy. Becker rejects this terminology despite obvious analogies to
political monarchies, because we are dealing in the case of Urban with an ecclesiological concept that did not have dominium as its aim. Urban II certainly never considered himself as above the law, notwithstanding the fact that he unhesitatingly
assumed the right of the papacy to issue new laws whenever necessary (p. 94). As
the representative of St. Peter and his earthly vicar, the pope is at the head of a
strictly ordered hierarchy, where not only priests but all clerics down to the lowly
doorkeeper rank above all members of the laity, including emperors and kings, as
Urban declares most clearly in his interpretation of the Gelasian statement Duo sunt
(JK 632) in a letter to King Alfons VI of Castile (JL 5367; pp. 607–09).2
Chapter 2 deals more concretely with the papal administration in Rome such
as the connection between pope and cardinals, at a time when the cardinalate was
still very fluid in its composition and its duties, the Curia, legates and vicars, and
papal councils. More significant from the perspective of the particular characteristics of the pontificate of Urban II is chapter 3 with a focus on the relationship
between the papacy and bishops, because it has been generally assumed that Urban
strengthened the episcopate in particular. Becker shows that Urban indeed focused
on the episcopate, chief recipient of papal letters and privileges, but in the context
of the schism when a loyal episcopate subordinate to Rome was absolutely essential
to the pope. One interesting contrast to the policy of Gregory VII, among others,
is Urban’s prohibition for legates to depose bishops. Legates may suspend a bishop
but a final decision is to be left to the pope, a policy that returns to ancient canon
law (Anhang 2, #11, pp. 694–95). Urban also limited the exemption of monasteries, emphasizing episcopal rights and jurisdictions in dioceses whenever circumstances permitted (pp. 274, 279, 280, 303, 412, 441). Nevertheless, as chapter 4
(“Papst, Mönche, Kanoniker und neue religiöse Bewegungen”) shows, Urban was
open to the wave of new piety that expressed itself in the formation of various
stricter Benedictine observances; the establishment of reformed, regular canons following the rule of St. Augustine; and the appearance of new forms of eremitical
life. However, with exception of the two Carthusian foundations of Bruno of
Cologne (p. 506), Urban’s friend and old teacher, he reserved his privileges for

2. JK/JL=Philippus Jaffé, Regesta Pontificum Romanorum ad annum 1198, 2nd ed. by S.
Lowenfeld, F. Kaltenbrunner, and P. Ewald, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1885–88; 1st ed., 1851; repr.
Graz 1956). Cited from the initial of the editors in the 2nd ed. as JK to the year 590 and JL
for 883–1198.

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Benedictine monasteries and chapters of canons. This was an effort that was typical
for his entire pontificate in providing monastic quies and stability for both as
catholicae ecclesiae episcopus—a new papal title that Becker applied to Urban,
although Urban II did not yet use it in his rota as his successor, Pope Paschal II,
was to do (pp. 83–87, 667).
The final chapter, chapter 5, discusses Urban’s attitude toward and dealings with
the laity, where Becker’s careful attention to the relationship with the lower nobility
is particularly enlightening since usually so much emphasis is placed on the highest
ranks of the nobility. It will have become obvious that Becker’s book presents such a
wealth of details and observations that it is impossible to refer here to specifics. However, it still should be noted that Becker insists that the canonization of Empress
Adelheid was a canonization not of an imperatrix, but of the individual, of Adelheida
(p. 622). Urban II did accept rulership as granted by God, as a divinum beneficium,
but his ecclesiology left no room whatsoever for anything like its sacrality (pp. 618–
20). The volume concludes with two very valuable appendices (I: Papal Ceremonial;
and II: new texts of letters and privileges, and a list of completely revised references
to Urban’s lost register). Throughout the book Becker updated the two earlier volumes of his Urban studies, and the excellent index covers all three of the books.
The Catholic University of America (Emerita)

UTA-RENATE BLUMENTHAL

Sacred Authority and Temporal Power in the Writings of Bernard of Clairvaux. By
Alice Chapman. [Medieval Church Studies, Vol. 25.] (Turnhout: Brepols.
2013. Pp. xii, 237. €70.00; $124.00. ISBN 978-2-503-54105-1.)
The Investiture Controversy of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, although
specifically concerned with the question of who would invest new bishops with
their symbols of office, quickly turned to a broader question: in a Christian empire,
what was the correct relationship between the Church and imperial power? In this
book Alice Chapman examines how St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Cistercian abbot and
theologian (d. 1153), addressed this thorny issue.
She argues that Bernard sought to create separate spheres of influence in which
church and state could each operate, without necessarily being in conflict with each
other. Through a close analysis of his writings, she suggests that he distinguished
between the authority (auctoritas) of the Church and the power (potestas) of the
emperor, indicating that each was necessary. Bernard wrote at a time when nearly
everyone hoped that church and state would be able to collaborate, and Chapman
sees Bernard’s use of these two terms as providing the basis for an end to conflict.
Bernard’s distinction between power and authority mirrored that of Gelasius,
pope at the end of the fifth century, who famously told Emperor Anastasius,
“There are two that rule the world, sacred pontifical authority and royal power.”
Chapman begins with Gelasius, who was himself using Latin terms with specific
legal and political meaning in the late Empire. His distinction, which was ultimately combined with the metaphor of “two swords” (material and spiritual,

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derived from Luke 22), was very influential over the next six centuries, even
though Bernard never quoted him directly. Chapman then traces Bernard’s use of
the words auctoritas and potestas through his complete writings, as digitized and
made electronically searchable through CETEDOC (the Centre de traitement
electronique des documents).
Following Bernard’s example, the book has much more to say about ecclesiastical authority than imperial power. Potestas is treated in three chapters (including
the introduction and conclusion), always in relationship to auctoritas, whereas auctoritas gets three chapters all to itself, one of which is devoted specifically to the
monastic order. However, as Chapman notes, the term potestas could and did have
a much broader meaning than royal or imperial power, as it could be used to refer
to God’s power, the power of the saints, even the power of the devil. Indeed, potestas is found frequently in the Vulgate, auctoritas essentially not at all.
The book’s principal purpose is to gain a better understanding of the relationship between ideology and politics through a close textual study of one influential
author’s use of language. Chapman concludes that Bernard never intended to make
the pope the supreme authority in secular cases, as was once argued (in particular
by Walter Ullmann), but emphasized instead the papacy’s spiritual function.
This may all sound rather dry and, to some extent, it is. But Chapman
enlivens it with the political context within which Bernard wrote, especially the
schism of 1130 (relying primarily on the analysis of Mary Stroll) and Bernard’s
stern admonitions to Eugenius III, his own pupil turned pope. The Investiture
Controversy has not received much attention in recent years, compared to the days
when “church and state” essentially defined medieval history. But this book shows
that there is still much there to be learned.
University of Akron

CONSTANCE B. BOUCHARD

Honorius III et l’Orient (1216–1227). Étude et publication de sources inédites des
Archives vaticanes (ASV). By Pierre-Vincent Claverie. [The Medieval
Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–1500, Vol. 97.]
(Boston: Brill. 2013. Pp. xiv, 502. $228.00. ISBN 978-90-04-24559-4.)
Sandwiched as it is between the pontificates of two of the greatest popes of
the Middle Ages, Innocent III and Gregory IX, the reign of Honorius III has
tended to be given scant attention. So far as the Crusades and the Latin East are
concerned, that is unjustified, not least because Honorius’s registers are a major
source of information for the Fifth Crusade (1217–22); the marriage of Emperor
Frederick II to Isabella of Brienne, the queen of Jerusalem (1225); and much else
besides. Pierre-Vincent Claverie has provided us with both a useful study of Honorius’s dealings with the East and a full edition of the texts of 150 papal letters,
most of which have only been published previously in summary form. The study is
divided into five chapters dealing with the necessarily distant papal supervision of
the Fifth Crusade; the defense of the Latin East, including the Latin Empire of

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Constantinople that during Honorius’s pontificate was in sharp decline; relations
with the Latin Church in the East; relations with the Oriental and Greek Churches
where, for example, in Cyprus we see the end during Honorius’s pontificate of what
Christopher MacEvitt would call “rough tolerance” and its replacement by the subjugation of the Greeks to the Latins; and the patronage of the military religious
orders. Claverie has provided a thorough and wide-ranging analysis of the pope’s
approaches to the problems confronting him that arose in the East.
The publication of the complete texts of the papal letters is much to be welcomed. There is some overlap with Christophe Schabel’s Bullarium Cyprium
(Nicosia, 2010), which gives the full texts of papal letters relating to Cyprus for the
period 1196–1314 and includes seventy-six letters of Honorius III. However, it
would seem that rather less than twenty letters appear in both collections. Schabel
and William Duba intend to publish what they term the Bullarium Hellenicum—
Honorius III’s letters for Frankish Greece and Latin Constantinople—and they
allowed Claverie to consult a draft version of their work. These three publications
together will constitute a major resource for the study of the Latin presence in the
Eastern Mediterranean at this time.
It is unfortunate, therefore, that Claverie does not always remember to cite Schabel’s Bullarium Cyprium at appropriate points. There are several examples of him failing to do so, notably around pages 102–03, where he gives the manuscript references
and then refers his readers to the nineteenth-century summaries as published by Pietro
Pressutti. Indeed, the referencing is rather erratic—the manuscript references cease
after the second chapter. Also, there are a number of minor but irritating errors such
as the following: the future Hugh I of Cyprus was not affianced to Philippa, daughter
of Henry of Champagne (p. 79); Aimery of Lusignan was older than Guy of Lusignan
and so not his “cadet” (p. 100); the knight who was lynched for asserting his loyalty to
Queen Alice was Baudouin “de Bellême” and not Baudouin “de Bethléem” (p. 104).
In addition, it is sad to see the perpetuation of the baseless idea that the anonymous
author of the work that goes by the name of La Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Trésorier was “Ernoul de Gibelet.” The index, too, contains an oddity. The names of
modern historians whose works are discussed should be included in the index, but listing them by their first names—so that, for example, Joseph Donovan and Joshua
Prawer appear under “J”—is not normal practice.
Cardiff University

PETER W. EDBURY

Indulgences in Late Medieval England: Passports to Paradise? By R. N. Swanson.
(New York: Cambridge University Press. 2008. Pp. xiv, 579. $120.00. ISBN
978-0-521-88120-3.)
Indulgences may have been recognized as the catalyst for Martin Luther’s Reformation, but in all other respects they have been curiously neglected by historians.
This is particularly true in the case of England, where even the Reformers of the sixteenth century had little to say on the subject and where subsequent historians have
given them only passing mention. Yet as R. N. Swanson demonstrates in this lengthy

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and impressively detailed study, indulgences were an extremely important part of
late-medieval religion, central to the understanding of penance, charity, death, and
commemoration. It appears that they may have been one of those features of preReformation belief and practice that have been overlooked precisely because of their
ubiquity and the extent to which they were taken for granted by contemporaries.
An “indulgence” could mean many things, since the word signified forgiveness
of all sorts, and indulgences which were obtained for money came in many different
guises. This book charts every aspect of their existence, surveying the official definition of “pardons” and how they evolved over time, exploring the different categories,
uncovering the mechanics and the economics of the indulgence trade, evaluating
how they were perceived and received by those who obtained them, and charting
how they were finally abolished during the reign of Henry VIII. With profound and
delicate scholarship, Swanson uncovers a complex array of sources, teasing out their
signification whilst acknowledging their difficulties. His modest ambition, to show
“that indulgences had a lively and eventful history in late medieval England” (p. 7),
is comprehensively fulfilled—this is a major contribution to the field.
Swanson underlines that the acquisition of an indulgence went beyond a mere
monetary transaction, and was conditional on a certain level of commitment to be
demonstrated by the purchaser. It was part of a process of penance in which there
were no guarantees: nobody knew how long anyone would be in purgatory, and
pardons would not work without contrition and devotion. The right to issue an
indulgence was granted in a huge variety of circumstances. What emerges from this
study is that this was less the exploitation of the credulous laity by duplicitous clergy
than an example of the pragmatism with which the medieval Church encouraged
charitable giving and pious practice, and strengthened the social fabric. It should be
noted that in almost all cases, the papacy was not the beneficiary of the sale of
indulgences. Indulgences helped raise money to pay ransoms for prisoners of war,
to found hospitals, and to repair churches; they encouraged attendance at sermons
and participation in pilgrimages. Indulgences encouraging donations to fund roads
and bridges were frequently sought by the hermits who did the work.
Swanson’s work does not aim at the rehabilitation of indulgences, being chiefly
a very convincing argument that they should be given greater historical prominence.
Nonetheless, a much more positive assessment seems possible on the basis of this
extensive and nuanced study. Indulgences may have been bought and sold, but this
process was understood in terms of charitable giving and remained indissolubly
linked to the necessity of prayers and penance. The extravagant grants of thousands
of years’ remission of the pains of purgatory should be seen in the context of devotion to Christ’s Passion with its emphasis on the boundless generosity of Christ’s
sacrifice; the contrast between divine love and human weakness was reflected in the
numbers. Contemporaries were wary of false indulgences, and duplicitous pardoners
were satirized by Geoffrey Chaucer, William Langland, John Bale, and others. Yet
there is clear evidence of church authorities dealing successfully with miscreants and
engaging in lively debate about indulgences and their proper application. There also
is arresting evidence of just how popular they were. This becomes particularly evi-

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dent after the arrival of print; in 1522–23 Richard Pynson supplied 4000 parchment
“letters,” 4000 “briefs,” and 2000 “Jubilees” for the Boston guild of Our Lady. Indulgences clearly had a far greater role to play in late-medieval society than we have
appreciated until now, providing an indication of charitable obligation, personal
piety, and devotional practice that would prove difficult to replace.
King’s College London

LUCY WOODING

Marsilius of Padua at the Intersection of Ancient and Medieval Traditions of Political
Thought. By Vasileios Syros. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2012. Pp.
x, 305. $70.00. ISBN 978-1-4426-4144-0.)
The meaning of Marsilius of Padua’s political thought is highly contested.
Two central problems have characterized the ongoing scholarly debate concerning
the Paduan’s political writings. First, scholars have failed to ascertain conclusively
the etiology of Marsilius’s political thought and, second, scholars have been unable
to posit the exact locus of the Italian thinker in intellectual political history. The
attendant consequences of these shortcomings are the proliferation of numerous
rival and mutually exclusive interpretations of the Paduan or a recent crop of complexity interpretations, perspectives that emphasize the indebtedness of Marsilius
to numerous intellectual traditions without privileging any of these traditions. The
first set of interpretations characterizes Marsilius as a distinct and active political
thinker (e.g., Aristotelian, secular) within a particular historical locus (e.g.,
medieval, modern). The latter set of interpretations focuses on the intellectual traditions that appear to have influenced the Paduan’s thought characterizing Marsilius more as a political receptor than a distinct political actor.
Vasileios Syros’s erudite monograph belongs to the complexity genre of Marsilian scholarship. Syros is primarily interested in positing Marsilius more as a
receptor of numerous intellectual traditions—a “purveyor” of ideas—than as a distinct intellectual with a definite progeny. This is evidenced in one of the central
arguments of the book—Marsilius is not Aristotelian. Syros presents a lengthy and
weighty treatment of Marsilius’s political thought in the Defensor pacis (1324) in
comparison to Aristotle, Plato, Cicero, and various Islamic and Latin thinkers. He
concludes that the Paduan is more indebted to numerous non-Aristotelian intellectual traditions than he is to “The Philosopher” calling for a “drastic reassessment of
the notion of political Aristotelianism” (p. 114). Syros plows no new ground here.
Other scholars, particularly Cary J. Nederman, have for some time called into question the essentialist approach to interpreting Aristotle in the moral and political
thought of the Middle Ages. Nederman and other scholars also have provided significant evidence concerning the various intellectual lineages (e.g., Cicero, Augustine) that may have influenced Marsilius. Syros’s important contributions are in
expanding the range of sources important for this discussion as well as in introducing a comparative dimension to Marsilian studies through an exploration of the
relationship between the Defensor pacis and medieval Arabic and Jewish intellectuals. It is here where Syros’s work is exemplary.

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The complexity approach to interpreting Marsilius does not prohibit Syros
from venturing into affirmations characteristic of interpretations that focus more
on Marsilius as a political actor than simply a receptive purveyor. Syros suggests
that Marsilius advances the secularization of politics and that his political thought
anticipates modern political ideas. This is both surprising and disappointing. It is
surprising because the complexity paradigm emphasizes intellectual lineages in an
effort to deconstruct reductionist perspectives; and yet one finds Syros advancing
such a perspective about Marsilius. It is disappointing because, in his deconstruction of a reductionist perspective (e.g., Marsilius the Aristotelian), Syros uses certain intellectual lineages to reconstruct a secular and anticipatory Marsilius while
ignoring other lineages that raise significant challenges to this reconstruction. One
of these lineages is Marsilius’s clear and consistent identification with the Christian
faith and his extensive use of biblical sources, ecclesiastical history, and theological
concepts in the Defensor pacis—particularly in discourse II. Any serious interpretation of Marsilius’s political thought must take this into account. This is sadly not
the case in Syros’s interpretation.
Marsilius of Padua continues to garner attention, reminding one that the Italian political thinker has earned an important place in the history of political
thought. Syros’s volume is a vital and welcomed addition to Marsilian scholarship
and deserves careful consideration.
Regent University
Virginia Beach, VA

GERSON MORENO-RIAÑO

All’indomani del grande Scisma d’Occidente. Jean Le Fèvre canonista al servizio dei
Valois e il trattato De planctu bonorum in risposta a Giovanni da Legnano. By
Alessandro Fabbri. (Florence: Edifir Firenze Edizioni. 2013. Pp. 317. €22,00
paperback. ISBN 978-88-7970-625-4.)
The Great Western Schism (1378–1417) began with disputed papal elections
but soon erupted into pamphlet warfare. Urban VI (1378-1389), the Roman
claimant, secured support from the jurists Baldus de Ubaldis and Giovanni da Legnano. An early reply on behalf of Clement VII (1378–94), the Avignon claimant,
was written by Jean Le Fèvre, a Benedictine with training in canon law at the University of Paris. Le Fèvre became abbot of St. Vaast and entered the service of the
French crown during the reign of Charles V (1364–80). His De planctu bonorum,
completed in 1379, was specifically directed against the De fletu ecclesiae of the
Bolognese professor Giovanni da Legnano. In this book, Alessandro Fabbri provides an overview of the origins of the Schism, the French response to the disputed
papal election of 1378, and Le Fèvre’s own career and his polemical work. An
important part of this book is Fabbri’s edition of his subject’s tract.
Fabbri sketches the controversial conclave of 1378, the role of the French
crown in ecclesiastical politics, and Le Fèvre’s earlier life before settling into his
study of the polemics about the papal election. An important part of this study is

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an outline of the differing casus, or summaries, on which the polemics were based.
Giovanni da Legnano used summaries open to an Urbanist interpretation, whereas
Le Fèvre used one favorable to Clement. It included an accusation that Bartolomeo
Prignano, who became Urban VI, was involved in whipping up the Roman mob to
demand choice of a pope from Rome or at least from Italy. Le Fèvre used a dialogue format, with Bononiensis presenting Giovanni’s argument and Parisiensis
replying point by point. Among the issues addressed were whether fear of the mob
cancelled Prignano’s election as coerced, whether the temporary acceptance of
Urban by the cardinals validated the election, and whether the cardinals’ actions
should be interpreted from the viewpoint of moral courage or its lack. Giovanni
downplayed the element of fear and underlined the temporary acceptance of Urban.
Le Fèvre argued the opposite case, describing Prignano as a mover of mob violence
and its beneficiary. He did have to find excuses for the cardinals, who had not
risked martyrdom on behalf of the Church, preferring their own safety.
Le Fèvre’s tract was not widely circulated. Fabbri’s edition, thoroughly documented, is based on a single manuscript (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale Latin
1472). One apologist for Clement VII, Pierre de Barrière, made use of the work of
the venerabilis abbas, although differing with him on some matters. Fabbri was
rewarded for his service to the crown, including his work as an apologist, with promotion to the bishopric of Chartres in 1380. Charles V died in the same year; and
Le Fèvre passed into the service of Charles’s brother, Louis of Anjou. The bishop
undertook diplomatic missions for Louis and then for Yolande of Aragon, his
widow. He remained faithful to the Angevins, who had a claim to the crown of
Sicily as well as a role in French politics, to his own death of January 11, 1390. As
a loyal servant of Anjou, he even occasionally opposed the interests of Jean, duke
of Berri and another brother of Charles V, and even of Clement VII, the man he
had argued was the true pope. Fabbri’s book gives us insight into the Clementist
case in the Schism.
Rutgers University

THOMAS M. IZBICKI

Reviving the Eternal City: Rome and the Papal Court, 1420–1447. By Elizabeth
McCahill. [I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History.] (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press. 2013. Pp. 302. $49.95. ISBN 978-0-674-72453-2.)
Reviving the Eternal City is a very welcome addition to the limited number of
studies in English that consider the first half of the fifteenth century in Rome. Here
the focus is the humanists, men devoted to classical learning and generally frustrated at having to earn a living to support their habit. Through an array of the
works they produced at the papal court, Elizabeth McCahill has produced a rich
and rewarding insight into the relationships that made the Roman papal machine
work. The problematic papacies of Martin V and Eugenius IV are established as
the threshold between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Well before Nicholas
V, there were signs that the city would be reborn, its future deeply rooted in its classical past.

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Each of the six chapters views papal Rome through the work of writers or
humanists. Niccolò Signorilli’s Descriptio urbis Romae, the main focus of chapter 1,
flatters Martin V by stressing Rome’s permanence. As a member of the upwardly
mobile nobiles, Signorilli had a great deal to lose if the popes deserted their city
again. Chapter 2 turns to humanists’ attempts to ingratiate themselves with powerful patrons at the papal court by celebrating—and selling—their new humanist
curriculum. At the same time they bemoaned their lot at the papal court: Aeneas
Silvius Piccolomini (later Pope Pius II) described the inferior wine served to curialists while the pope enjoyed the best. Who would want to be a prince, Matteo
Vegio argues, when all they can do is make enemies? Overall, whether prince or
servant, the human condition finds more failure than fortune. It was ever thus.
Humanists did not merely observe but helped shape the reforming agenda led
by Pope Eugenius IV. But very often they appear as both partisans and as critics.
In chapter 3 Leon Battista Alberti and Poggio Bracciolini represent “the curial
humanist as an elegant tightrope walker” (p. 96). They were, at one and the same
time, irreverent critics and loyal servants of the Church. Chapter 4 examines the
thorny issues of reform. Although humanists described clerical abuses and
immorality, they also celebrated and promoted models of the personal reform (in
membris) that balanced conciliar focus on the pope (in capite). But as a result,
McCahill suggests, reform was destined to fail at an institutional level. Chapter 5
turns to the rich area of papal ceremony, and in particular the void it often filled
between the myth and reality of the Renaissance papacy. Codifying and preserving
the long tradition of curial ceremonial, the humanists improved the liturgies and
protocols that continue to bear on the public performance of papal power to this
day. Chapter 6 continues the argument that papacy and humanists were interdependent: the popes needed Rome’s classical past, and the humanists needed the
popes to believe in their agenda.
Reviving the Eternal City is a great deal more than the story of the scholars
who sought to earn a living at the papal court. It provides a useful overview of two
neglected papacies, a rich insight into the key sources for Renaissance Rome and
an astute analysis of humanist writings. McCahill wears her erudition lightly; her
book is a pleasure to read and will be as essential to students as it is to professors.
University of Edinburgh

CAROL M. RICHARDSON

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EARLY MODERN EUROPEAN
Les Livres des procurateurs de la nation germanique de l’ancienne Université d’Orléans
1444–1602. Troisième Livre des procurateurs de la nation germanique de l’ancienne Université d’Orléans 1567–1587. Texte des rapports des procurateurs. Edited
by Cornelia M. Ridderikhoff and Hilde de Ridder-Symoens with the collaboration of Chris L. Heesakkers. [Education and Society in the Middle Ages
and Renaissance, Vol. 45.] (Boston: Brill. 2013. Pp. xvi, 808. $267.00. ISBN
978-90-04-23211-2.)
The publication of the four volumes of the Livres des Procurateurs de la Nation
germanique de l’ancienne Université d’Orléans was decided upon at a meeting of
scholars in Orléans in 1964. Although the procurators’ books are extant for the
years 1444–1732, the fundamental differences between the registers composed
prior to 1602 and those afterward led to the decision to begin with the publication
of the registers for the years 1444–1602. Thus the Premier Livre des Procurateurs
(1444–1546) appeared in four volumes, the first in 1971 (the text of the register)
and its three companion volumes (a biographical register of the students mentioned
in the text) in 1978, 1980, and 1985. Cornelia M. Ridderikhoff edited the text of
the Premier Livre with the collaboration of Hilde de Ridder Symoens. The two
aforementioned scholars, along with Detlef Illmer, compiled the biographical register. The text of the Deuxième Livre des Procurateurs (1546–67) was published in
1988, edited by Ridderikhoff and Illmer; for various reasons, the biographical registers for the Deuxième Livre were never published.
Ridderikhoff and De Ridder Symoens, joined by Chris L. Heesakkers, have
now completed editing the Troisième Livre des Procurateurs (1567–87). A fortypage introduction to the volume discusses the situation of both the University of
Orléans and its German Nation during these two decades, framed as they were by
the drama of the French Wars of Religion (1562–98). After a brief description of
the responsibilities of the procurator to his register, the editors then describe each
of the four books of the procurators’ registers. The nation’s cartulary is discussed
next, with its constituent parts (statutes, indexes, the receivers’ books, and the
assessors’ books). Finally, they list the lost registers that appear to relate primarily
to the nation’s library. Their statement of editorial principles is followed by three
useful annexes: texts of oaths taken by officials of the nation; the text of a diploma
issued on May 10, 1583, for a graduate in civil law; and a register of law professors
at the University of Orléans teaching between 1567 and 1587.
The editors then proceed to the edition of the Troisième Livre. The entries of
twenty-six procurators, each serving four months, are presented in chronological—
although not continuous—order, since there are three lacunae in the register ranging
from two-and-a-half years to just over three years. These are the result of disruptions caused by the Wars of Religion. A typical trimester’s entries include the armorial crest of the procurator followed by his name and titles, as well as the names of
the rector, the quaestor, and the assessor and prefect of the nation’s library. After

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these, the entry relates the election of the procurator. Important events—both happy
and unhappy—occurring during the trimester are then noted. From July 1 to September 1, 1567 (pp. 111–19), for instance, we find entries related to violent deaths
as a result of religious conflict and subsequent calls for revenge, internal and external
embassies on behalf of the nation, collection of debts, and hostile attitudes on the
part of the French toward foreigners. Each procurator’s entry concludes with lists of
the trimester’s graduates followed by the names, regional origins, and payments
made for those registering in the nation during the trimester.
The editors promise that the publication of the Quatrième Livre des Procurateurs will follow rapidly after the Troisième Livre. It is to be hoped that this is the
case and that the biographical notices for the second through the fourth books will
follow just as closely. This important project that offers historians a unique look at
a university’s professors and students grappling with the effects of the Wars of Religion and the confessionalization of Europe deserves a successful completion.
Conception Abbey
Conception, MO

THOMAS SULLIVAN, O.S.B.

La Vita e i Sermoni di Chiara Bugni Clarissa Veneziana (1471–1514). Edited by
Reinhold C. Mueller and Gabriella Zarri. [Temi e testi: “Scritture nel
chiostro,” 89.] (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura. 2011. Pp. xxxix, 452.
€64,00 paperback. ISBN 978-88-6372-270-3.)
In this wonderful volume, Reinhold Mueller and Gabriella Zarri have provided carefully edited documents detailing the life and actions of the famous Franciscan beata Chiara Bugni, plus a set of studies about her life, her teachings, and
her bio-hagiographers. The contents of the volume have deep roots, as the key primary document—the Vita of Bugni by the Observant friar Francesco Zorzi (1466–
1540)—was edited in 1990 by Stefania Cavalli, then under the guidance of Zarri
and others. Soon after, a small team began analyzing not just various versions of the
Vita but also Bugni’s “sermons” and another life of Chiara composed by an anonymous fellow nun. All these texts are included in the Libro della beata Chiara, a manuscript composed between 1562 and 1563 that appears in the present volume. The
team also investigated the physical, religious, and intellectual context in which
Chiara lived and then shared findings at a conference organized by Zarri in 2008.
To describe the primary texts as “fascinating” would be an understatement.
Every historian interested in female devotional experience in the early modern
period will want a copy of this book. Whereas the primary documents may provide
a heroic and idealized portrait of Bugni, they simultaneously supply a good deal
more. They are a window into devotional traditions of the late-fifteenth and earlysixteenth century, and the lengths to which contemporary spiritual authors would
go in maintaining them. We learn more than just the story of Chiara’s conversion
to a religious life of self-imposed austerity and strict penance, predictably after
hearing a sermon that inspired her. We hear also about the fabulous prodigies

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demonstrated over the course of her convent life, her visions, her oozing stigmata,
her subsistence on the Eucharist, and her mystical marriage with Christ, following
the typology of spiritual heroism identified in predecessors (like St. Catherine of
Siena), contemporaries (like Camilla Battista da Varano), and successors (like
Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi). In addition, Zorzi revealed something of his own
commitments to Marian devotion and of his determination to spread the fame of
Chiara and of her monastery of San Sepolchro in Venice.
Some might find the droplets of blood from her stigmata the key to fascination
with Chiara. Once preserved on a linen handkerchief, after all, they apparently possessed the power to heal demoniacs, plus those suffering with headaches,
toothaches, and even herpes. Others may be more impressed with the content and
significance of the exhortations she apparently delivered as abbess at San Sepolchro.
Chiara’s subjects included charity, patience, humility, obedience, and preparation for
a holy death. All are studded with scriptural quotations; and in some, she took on
the voice of Jesus himself, exhorting them to “love one another as I have loved you”
(p. 247). These exhortations constitute further reason to expand the list of latemedieval and early-modern women considered in possession of valuable teachings
and to recognize that some contemporary males highly prized that value.
Essays by members of the analytical team precede the primary texts, and they
are excellent. There are pieces on the Vita and its construction by Simone Rauch,
on the Latin version of that composition by Giacomo Della Pietà, on the church
and convent of San Sepolchro by Matteo Ceriana, plus a prosopographical contribution covering the persons named in the Vita by Mueller. Zarri’s thirty-nine-page
essay in the front matter, on Chiara and Zorzi, is an added bonus. This fine
volume, which will surely provoke much discussion, deserves a wide readership.
Bloomsburg University

WILLIAM V. HUDON

Savonarola and Savonarolism. By Stefano Dall’Aglio. Translated by John Gagné.
[Essays and Studies, 24.] (Toronto: Centre for Reformation and Renaissance
Studies, University of Toronto. 2010. Pp. 190. $24.50 paperback. ISBN 9780-77272-061-0.)
The Dominican preacher and reformer, Girolamo Savonarola (1452–98), is
known for his fiery preaching, morality campaigns, and equally fiery death. He
turns up occasionally in modern popular and even educated culture as a typical
example of the worst of intolerant and reactionary “medieval” religious culture: a
recruiter of teenage vigilantes who turned up the heat on blasphemers, sodomites,
and indulgent clerics, and turned his torches against the entire Renaissance in two
Bonfires of the Vanities that consumed canvases, books, playing cards, and many
more products of humanist culture in Florence’s main civic square. What is often
lost in these brief depictions is any appreciation for Savonarola’s political republicanism; his opposition to absolute-power mongering in church and state; and his
advocacy of political and social justice for the poor, women, and children. These

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were in the foreground in nineteenth-century histories that cast Savonarola as a
hero fit for Italian nationalists and ecumenical Protestants alike. Outside the ranks
of a relatively small number of experts, they are almost entirely forgotten now,
replaced by the rather more easily dismissed cardboard-cutout figure of Savonarola
as the prototypical intolerant religious fanatic.
Savonarola was just as polarizing in his brief heyday (1492–98) and over the
century that followed. Historians like Donald Weinstein, Lorenzo Polizzotto, and
Tamar Herzig have done much to recover both the career and the movement that it
spawned in a series of influential English-language articles and monographs. While
Italian scholarship has been even more extensive, little of it reaches English-speaking
audiences. One of the most productive Italian scholars is Stefano Dall’Aglio, who
has produced a number of important monographs on the reformer and his movement and editions of some key texts. This translation by John Gagné makes his brief
and helpful survey of the movement available to English readers, together with an
extensive bilingual bibliography of classical and recent works.
Dall’Aglio’s approach resembles Polizzotto’s more than Weinstein’s in its careful discussion of the events that marked Savonarola’s time in Florence and then the
series of texts that set out the movement’s evolution through the subsequent century.
He writes as an intellectual historian whose firm grasp on Savonarolan literature and
Florentine politics allows him to contextualize the extraordinary series of works that
followed the friar’s execution. Former allies like Marsilio Ficino quickly cleared their
own reputation by writing works condemning Savonarola’s errors, whereas the
movement’s remaining partisans wrote boldly during those periods when Florentine
republicanism held power against Medici absolutism (chiefly from 1501–12 and
1527–30). The Medici grip on power became ever firmer after establishment of the
duchy in 1532, and in response the Savonarolan movement metamorphosed into
something distinctly more spiritual and less political. Dall’Aglio tracks the vibrant
battle for Florentine hearts and minds that dominated local intellectual life from the
1490s through the 1550s and the gradual emergence of a more disengaged and
pietist Savonarolism after mid-century.
His account is informed, assured, and valuable as an intellectual and political
history of the Savonarolan movement. What one misses is the dynamic social dimension of the movement—particularly the work of the many laity, ranging from poor
men to elite and widowed women who worked to realize the Savonarolan ideal of a
holy city characterized by charitable activity. There are, in fact, almost no women in
this account apart from a few nuns. This is largely the result of a decision to focus on
the texts and authors defining the intellectual side of Savonarolism, rather than on
the institutions and largely female figures active until the late-sixteenth century and
featured more prominently in recent English-language scholarship.
University of Toronto

NICHOLAS TERPSTRA

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Christ Transformed into a Virgin Woman: Lucia Brocadelli, Heinrich Institoris, and the
Defense of the Faith. By Tamar Herzig. [Temi e Testi, Vol. 114.] (Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. 2013. Pp. xix, 330. €48,00 paperback. ISBN 97888-6372-526-1.)
Witch or saint? Bound to the Father of Lies or beloved of the Son of God?
This facile antithesis was a commonplace in the typology of the feminine in vogue
at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. But it was not infrequently gainsaid by the remarkable lives, allegedly miracuolous deeds, stunning ascetic excesses,
and bizarre mystical experiences—and at times unseemly pretensions and even
pretenses—of those celebrated religious women of Renaissance Italy who were
commonly known as beate or sante vive. The task of determining the classification
of these women, and their corresponding level of denunciation or acclaim, fell
mostly to the putative specialists in the matter—the ubiquitous inquisitors of
heretical depravity. These individuals, however, did not always arrive at their verdicts by entirely dispassionate, objective evaluations of the religious phenomenology of the subjects of their investigations, for at times they could be swayed not
only by their own credulity but by other considerations as well—the desire to
employ these women as examples to foster popular devotion; the need to earn the
favor of their powerful princely patrons; and, perhaps most of all, the intention to
use them as resources in one way or another for their principal concern, the repression of heresy.
That this could indeed be the case is illustrated very well by Tamar Herzig’s
study of the Italian Dominican tertiary and reputed santa viva Lucia Brocadelli da
Narni (1476–1544), for it focuses on the attention paid her by the German
Dominican inquisitor Heinrich Kramer “Institoris” (c. 1430–1505), indefatigable
witch-hunter and author of the Malleus Maleficarum. Aware of her reputation as a
second St. Catherine of Siena and of her alleged possession of stigmata, Kramer
met Brocadelli in March 1500 in Ferrara, where she had become the household
living saint of Duke Hercules I D’Este, who had her smuggled out of Viterbo and
installed in a new monastery constructed by him expressly for her and her community. After assisting at a further examination of the authenticity of her stigmata
conducted at his insistence by the Dominican inquisitor of Bologna, Giovanni
Cagnazzo of Taggia, Kramer became convinced of the phenomenon’s supernaturality. Herzig interestingly suggests that this might also reflect the marked fascination with Brocadelli of Pope Alexander VI, Kramer’s patron at that time.
In 1501 Kramer moved to Moravia, where he took part in the inquisitorial
campaign against the Bohemian Brethren. In September of that year he published
in Olomuc a brief tract recounting his encounter with Brocadelli and her stigmata,
as well as invoking other contemporary sante vive associated with the Dominican
order such as Colomba of Rieti and Osanna Andreasi of Mantua. Herzig presents
a critical edition of this pamphlet, Stigmifere virginis Lucie de Narnia aliarumque
spiritualium personarum feminei sexus facta admiracione digna; traces its editorial history; and contextualizes and analyzes Kramer’s employment of it in his defense of

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the Catholic faith, not only against the Hussite heresy but also against the Jews and
the perceived Turkish menace.
Herzig’s work is an important and welcome contribution to the series of scholarly studies on the sante vive inaugurated by Gabriella Zarri some thirty years ago
and subsequently added to by other specialists (especially E. Ann Matter), who
have brought to the fore the rich depths of this significant and intriguing aspect of
the feminine presence in the religious and wider social context of Renaissance Italy.
University of Divinity, Melbourne

MICHAEL TAVUZZI, O.P.

The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation. Edited by Alexandra
Bamji, Geert H. Janssen, and Mary Laven. (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. 2013. Pp. xix, 488. $149.95. ISBN 978-1-4094-2373-7.)
This excellent volume begins with an interpretation of a Latin American
Madonna and child and progresses through four major areas of research into earlymodern Catholicism (twenty-four articles divided unevenly among the sections
“Conflict, Coexistence and Conversion,” “Catholic Lives and Devotional Identities,” “Ideas and Cultural Practices,” and “Religious Change,” with the largest
number of articles in the first part), covering roots and branches, Europe and the
world, gender, music, science, literature, art, printing, material culture, sanctity, lay
and clerical spirituality, persecution, bureaucracy, everyday life, and community. As
Mary Laven explains in her thorough and scholarly introduction, the purpose of the
contributions to the book is “to demonstrate the varieties of Catholic experience”
(p. 3), not to create a new grand narrative, posit a new system, or offer definitive
interpretations. Instead, the reader finds a discussion of terminology, a controversy
about periodization, a debate about geography (both in terms of “the sacred landscape” (p. 203) and of the physical reach of Catholicism and the Counter-Reformation), a challenge to accepted understandings of agency, and, the icing on the
cake, a veering away from the how-did-it-happen questions to the what-does-itmean-to-the-average-person questions. Readers will benefit simply from reading
the introduction, which is a synthesis of the volume that places it in historiographical context, and from the select bibliographies that follow each article, but the articles themselves are of great value individually as well as grouped together.
The limits of this review allow for only brief comments on the contents. At first
glance, having Simon Ditchfield’s chapter “Tridentine Catholicism” come first, long
before chapter 22, “Catholic Reformations: A Medieval Perspective” (John A.
Arnold) seems a curious choice—yet the organization is an excellent move; Ditchfield’s largely historiographical study sets the stage for the rest of the book by putting
on the table some very important questions of what, exactly, was the CounterReformation; what role the Council of Trent played in it, whether in reality or in
myth; what might distinguish Trent from “Tridentine,” a question asked too infrequently; and what was the role of the papacy in both the council and the reforms.
Without at least considering such questions, historians cannot properly proceed to

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find the “roots” of the Catholic reform that are examined in Arnold’s chapter. However, Arnold is not simply tracing lines of reform proceeding from medieval Europe
to the Council of Trent; he is challenging the “grand narrative” by acknowledging
the existence of precursors to the reform, but putting it in the context of a rich and
varied set of medieval pieties and intellectual traditions. What is particularly important in this chapter is the emphasis on the everyday, not simply the conciliarist tradition, the reigning interpretation of Gratian, or even the heresy du jour. As Arnold
observes, real changes occurred at the parish level—in particular during periods of
cooperation between secular and ecclesiastical power to enforce discipline.
Three chapters cover global Catholicism: “Catholic Missions to Asia” (Tara
Alberts), “Catholic Missions to the Americas” (Karin Vélez), and “The Globalization
of Reform” (Karin Melvin). As with the Ditchfield/Arnold pairing, these form bookends, with the first two in part I and the third in part IV of the book. Alberts discusses both the missionaries and those whom they sought to convert, raising issues of
Jesuit identity, “sincere” Catholic conversion, and postcolonial historiography. Vélez,
on the other hand, addresses the need for a new understanding of missionary studies;
rather than see missionaries as creating a permanent new culture in the Americas, she
argues that missionary work was chaotic, characterized by constant movement, and
provisional—and was in its time understood to be such. Melvin’s more comparative
study focuses on the popular missions outside Europe and situates them firmly within
the historiography of global changes associated with the spread of European religion,
asking why the study of such changes so often has excluded the local histories of nonEuropean regions within the larger context of Catholic reform.
The volume mixes a focus on the traditional (e.g., disciplinary issues, as in
Nicholas S. Davidson’s chapter “The Inquisition,” and devotional issues, as in
Clare Copland’s chapter “Sanctity”) with topics seen less frequently in studies of
early-modern Catholicism (e.g., Geert H. Janssen’s “The Exile Experience”). As
the editors note, however, the purpose of the book was not to stake out new territory or simply to trod over well-worn paths. Each chapter has a balanced approach,
asking new questions while treating more familiar issues with care. One example of
how carefully and successfully this approach is employed can be found in Noel
O’Regan’s “Music and the Counter-Reformation,” which addresses the thorny
issue of how to research something so impermanent—and yet so commonplace, so
critical to worship, and so difficult to define and to control. Nicholas Terpstra’s
“Lay Spirituality” issues some broad challenges both to traditional periodization
and to the assumptions that laypeople were only genuinely Catholic if they followed all the clerical instructions.
Despite its many accomplishments and broad scope, this is not a perfect book
and leaves some subjects unexplored such as diocesan seminaries, Africa, warfare, and
diplomacy. These are significant omissions; seminaries appear only in passing in the
discussions of professionalization of clergy in Terpstra’s chapter, in Simone LaquaO’Donnell’s chapter on “Catholic Piety and Community,” and in Michael Edwards’s
chapter on “Intellectual Culture.” Chapters on Asia and the Americas should be

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accompanied by one for Africa (which does appear briefly in the “Globalization”
chapter). Individual examples of war and diplomacy are sprinkled throughout, but
there is no synthesis. Nonetheless, the inclusion of so many topics, along with maps
and a large number of illustrations, make this a book that should be required for graduate students and that will be of great help to established researchers as well. The
scope perhaps is intimidating for undergraduates, but the writing certainly is not—
the articles are approachable in tone as well as rigorous in scholarship.
Georgia Southern University

KATHLEEN COMERFORD

The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church. Edited by Marcia B. Hall and
Tracy E. Cooper. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2013. Pp. xv, 339.
$99.00. ISBN 978-1-107-01323-0.)
As Protestant iconoclasm denuded churches in the North, Catholic bishops
reaffirmed the traditional place of art in worship in the decree on the “Invocation,
Veneration and Relics of Saints and on Sacred Images,” concluded at the last session
of the Council of Trent in 1563. The art-historical studies in the present volume—
edited by Marcia Hall, well-known expert on art and Catholic Reform, and her colleague, architectural historian Tracy Cooper—attest to the ensuing, intense discussion about the form and function of the religious image. A newly invigorated sacred
art, appealing to the viewers’ senses, sought to inspire devotion and eliminate potential abuses lurking in overly carnal representations of saints and the divine.
Several papers stand out in a strong collection that addresses the sensory in the
making and reception of ecclesiastical art during the Council of Trent and its
immediate aftermath. Complementing the editors’ introductory essays, John
O’Malley contributes a masterful summary and analysis of the Tridentine decree,
which serves as a corrective to pervasive misconceptions and is mandatory reading
for all art historians. In his subtle analysis of Florentine artistic debates, Stuart
Lingo demonstrates that a surprisingly wide range of opinions guided the making
of altarpieces for local churches, negotiating between the ideal of the nude in art
and the requirements of decorous devotional imagery. In Rome, however, official
censorship threatened artistic license, as documented in Opher Mansour’s comprehensive and informative account of Pope Clement VIII’s personal inspection of
altarpieces in local churches during his apostolic visits in the 1590s. Peter Lukehart
offers instead the artists’ vantage point by examining the Academy of St. Luke,
founded in the aftermath of Trent, whose mission statement and activities revolved
around its members’ professional identity as virtuous Christian artists. Richard
Schofield’s paper, a welcome exception to the Roman and Florentine emphasis of
the volume, tells a colorful story of Milan, where Archbishop Carlo Borromeo rigorously interpreted the Tridentine decrees in his parish, reinstating earlier practices—the use of the veil for women, partitions, separate entrances, controlled
access and contact—informed by prevailing gender biases. The strict separation of
the sexes in worship evokes analogous rules in observant Muslim and Jewish religious communities today.

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One of the strengths of this volume lies in the careful coordination of the contributions. When raising key concerns, authors refer in many instances to their colleagues’ essays, stimulating the reader to reflect further, for example, on the theme
of decorum in art—whether on its imperative to reconcile “sensuous form and spiritual content” (Bette Talavacchia) or its place in a long rhetorical tradition (Robert
Gaston). Nonetheless, the narrow geographical scope of the collection is regrettable. What of Bologna, home of the great reformer and art theorist Archbishop
Gabriele Paleotti, or Venice, with its distinctive state-church relationship, its tensions with Rome, and its famous encounter between Paolo Veronese and the tribunal of the Inquisition over the very issue of decorum in his monumental Feast in the
House of Levi? Yet the volume offers an indispensable reference for all students of
religious art in the second half of the sixteenth century.
Rutgers University

CATHERINE R. PUGLISI

Sins of the Fathers: Moral Economies in Early Modern Spain. By Hilaire Kallendorf.
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2013. Pp. xiv, 446. $90.00. ISBN 9781-4426-4458-8.)
In 1532 François Rabelais wrote a letter to his friend, the magistrate André
Tiraqueau, and asked this question:
How comes it, most learned Tiraqueau, that in the present great enlightenment of our age, wherein we see all the better studies rehabilitated by a singular and almost divine blessing, there are everywhere found persons so
strangely affected, that they cannot, or will not, lift their eyes from the dense
and more than Cimmerian darkness of the gothic times to the bright light of
the sun?1

With these words, Rabelais characterized the transition from the Middle Ages to
that cultural revolution called the Renaissance. The use of the symbolic “darkness
of times” to describe the period that preceded that new birth or revival finds a parallel in Petrarch’s conception of the Middle Ages as “an age of darkness” (Africa,
IX, lines 453–57) in which human nature and ideals were explained exclusively in
relation to the Divine Creator. Conversely, the image of the “bright light of the
sun” epitomized for Rabelais and for his contemporaries what modern historians
have called the “discovery of the world and of man.” What the words of the French
humanist, the Italian poet and the modern historians depict is the conception of
the Renaissance as a distinct break from the Middle Ages. Indeed, some scholars
have applied with relative ease such a vision of the Renaissance to France and Italy.
It is difficult, however, to employ such a theory to understand the literary creations
of the Renaissance in Spain.

1. Œuvres Complètes, ed. Jacques Boulenger and Lucien Scheler (Paris, 1955), p. 954.
Reviewer’s translation.

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Gilbert Highet’s reference to paganism in some areas of Renaissance literature
and Arturo Graf’s association of the Renaissance with mundane goals and
immorality—“che, se l’una non fosse stata nemmeno l’altra sarebbe stata”2—certainly cannot be applied to Spain where, on the whole, her uniquely profound
Christian sentiment and Catholic consciousness was never interrupted. This has
been eminently emphasized by Otis H. Green who, in his study of the Spanish
Renaissance and its relation to other European countries, has clarified the special
character of the Renaissance in Spain—its idealism, humanity, and attachment to
Christian aspirations.
The reflection of moral-didactic concerns and of ethical values in literature is
seen in all of the major literary genres of the Spanish Golden Age and in particular
in the comedia of the time, as the present book written by Hilaire Kallendorf brilliantly demonstrates. This hefty volume is indeed the first to consider Spanish
Golden-Age drama “as an archive of moral knowledge” (p. 200). With considerable
historical, theological, literary, and critical insight, Kallendorf delves into the vital
existential concerns with food, sex, work, money, and moral thought and behavior
in the early-modern period of Spain as she examines the broad spectrum of humanistic drama from Lope de Vega and Guillén de Castro, to Tirso de Molina and
Calderón de la Barca.
History in several and specific historical events provides a rich and informative
background to much of what Kallendorf discusses in the work at hand. Her
research in these and other relevant topics is thoroughly meticulous as is her interpretative and analytical examination of myriad issues of cultural complexity that
enrich our understanding and appreciation of the comedia and its fundamentally
instructive nature. In fact, as the author states in her concluding remarks, one possible way of summarizing her findings could be that theatrical representations of
the time fostered a system of morality based on the Ten Commandments. This is
a superb scholarly accomplishment.
The Catholic University of America

BRUNO M. DAMIANI

The English Martyr from Reformation to Revolution. By Alice Dailey. [ReFormations Medieval and Early Modern.] (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame
Press, 2012. Pp. xvi, 332. $38.00 paperback, ISBN 978-0-268-02612-7;
$26.00 e-book, ISBN 978-0-268-07778-5.)
When Archbishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador was saying Mass on March
24, 1980, witnesses say he flinched as he saw a gunman at the door of the church,
just before a single, high-velocity bullet went cleanly through his chasuble and
expanded inside his chest. When Jan Graffius came to examine his clothing under a
2. Highet, The Classical Tradition: Greek and Roman Influences on Western Literature
(New York, 1949), p. 169; Graf, Attraverso il Cinquecento (Turin, 1926), p. 88.

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microscope, she found salt crystals, “the residue of a sudden and profuse sweat.”
There was a moment of intense fear as the archbishop realized what was about to
happen; yet he stayed at the altar. In 1996, Christian de Chergé and his fellow Cistercians decided to stay in their monastery at Tibhirine, Algeria. They were seized
on the night of March 26 and beheaded on May 21. De Chergé left a testament that
ends with forgiveness of the man who might murder him and the hope that, God
willing, they would meet “like happy thieves” in paradise. Both Romero and the
monks of Tibhirine bore witness to their faith before anyone told their story.
It is necessary to say this, because the starting point of Alice Dailey’s book is
that “the martyr is a retrospectively constructed figure created in and through literature” (p. 3); her interest is in the “dialogue between history and literary form” (p.
2). Dailey challenges the “limitations of historicist readings of martyrology” (p. 5).
Brad Gregory, through “inattention” to literary form, “reads martyrology as a transparent record of early modern Christian belief” (p. 5), whereas “genre structures the
history that the genre in turn narrativises, and vice versa” (p. 5). Dailey surveys
martyrdom across the confessional divide from the medieval models in the Golden
Legend and John Foxe’s great Actes and Monuments (London, 1563) to St. Edmund
Campion and King Charles I. Because martyrs rehearse a “paradigmatic story” (p.
3), Acts and Monuments best fits her thesis. She is not the first to be gripped by the
physical detail or convinced that Foxe allows “the hideous facts to speak for themselves” (p. 67).
When she comes to the Catholic martyrs, she sees their deaths as the “fractured performance of conflicting scripts” (p. 114); Campion is forced into “a delicate medial space” (p. 107) between competing discourses of treason and martyrdom, having “failed in one of the necessary acts of Christian martyrdom, the
confession of the tenets of the faith” (p. 108). This is despite the fact that, just
before the cart was pulled away beneath his feet, Campion asked those Catholics
present to join in reciting, “with as much fervour as they could,” the Symbolum
Apostolorum: one of the oldest expressions of faith in the Church. Campion, at the
moment of “his agony,” transformed the crowd around the scaffold into a community of faith. When Lord Charles Howard returned to the Court, he told Queen
Elizabeth I that he thought the three papists “had died for no fault.” The queen,
apparently stunned, said, “Is that so? Well, let those who are responsible look to it.”
Howard was unconvinced by the treason narrative, and the queen disowned it, but
Dailey sees Campion as “compromised” (p. 114) by his prayer for the queen. Campion revealed at his trial that he had told the queen that he accepted her authority
and that the deposition of monarchs was not part of the potestas ordinata of the
pope; it was certainly not an article of faith.
Those who look at the early-modern period with postmodern detachment will
like this book; others will find the idea that martyrdom is a literary genre, created
posthumously, profoundly surprising. The past may be “a foreign country,” but
these men and women sweated with fear, stood their ground, and bore witness with
their blood, long before anyone constructed the narrative. Henry Walpole wrote his

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fine poem, “Why doe I use my paper, ynke and pen?” after he had been splashed
with Campion’s blood.
University College London

GERARD KILROY

Michelangelo and the English Martyrs. By Anne Dillon. (Burlington, VT: Ashgate
Publishing. 2013. Pp. xxviii, 356. $134.95. ISBN 978-0-7546-6447-5.)
This engaging book deals with a broadsheet published in 1555. Engraved in
Rome probably by Beatrizet, it visually and verbally reports on events that happened twenty years earlier in England during the reign of King Henry VIII. The
Carthusian monks in London refused to acknowledge Henry’s role as head of the
church in England and were condemned for treason. They were dragged from their
charterhouse and hanged but cut down before they expired; they were then
stripped, castrated, and disemboweled while still alive. Their bodies were dismembered and the parts publicly displayed. The murders caused an outcry at the time,
but it was only in 1555 during the brief reign of the Catholic Queen Mary I that a
public examination of the events was possible. The pope asked Cardinal Reginald
Pole, the legate of the Holy See to England, to investigate the atrocities. The
author proposes that Pole himself wrote the extensive text on the broadsheet,
which is translated in an appendix. Martyrdom as an expression of faith is a powerful theme in Pole’s other writings, and the brutally straightforward depiction of
the monks’ torture and deaths on the broadsheet—without reference to any later
miracles—may well reflect Pole’s ideas.
The imagery is complex, and the author proposes three readings that operate
at the same time. Although the events depicted happened mostly in London, the
backgrounds in the broadsheet recall Rome. Dillon suggests, quite convincingly,
that the setting is meant to create a parallel between the Carthusian and the early
Christian martyrs of Rome. The second reading comes from contemporary references—some of the onlookers to the executions can perhaps be associated with
Henry VIII’s courtiers and staff. The third reading suggests that the monks were
imitating Christ as they went to their deaths. A scaffold in the distance recalls the
cross on Calvary, for example. The author sometimes undermines her argument by
imposing consistency on the images. She states, for example, that all the figures are
dressed in classical garments, but a few pages later she not only acknowledges that
many are not but also uses those very figures as evidence for her second reading.
Michelangelo is connected to the making of the broadsheet through his
friendship with Pole. Pole’s involvement with artists in the 1540s is a neglected
topic, and Dillon’s suggestion that he may have been an adviser to Michelangelo as
he painted the Pauline Chapel frescoes deserves more study. The subject of St.
Peter’s martyrdom in the Pauline chapel (the Donation of the Keys to Peter would
be the more expected theme) is tied to Pole’s own emphasis on true martyrdom as
the ultimate sign of faith. Since several of the figures on the broadsheet are in poses
that reflect knowledge of the Pauline Chapel frescoes, Dillon would like to say that
he provided drawings for the broadsheet.

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In the end, it is not Michelangelo but one of his followers, Gaspar Beccera,
who may have supplied drawings to the printmaker. Dillon’s method for making
the attribution is circuitous and might be called circumstantial. Beccera is a Spanish
artist who supplied drawings to Beatrizet for Juan Valverde’s anatomical book. At
least one of the figures who is being disemboweled recalls some of those anatomical
illustrations. The patron of the broadsheet is the Spanish Cardinal Juan Álvarez,
who was also the patron of Valverde’s book. Dillon goes on to argue that the “actual
recipient” of the broadsheet is Philip II, king of Spain and husband to Queen Mary
of England. These Spanish connections are more convincing than the suggestion
that Michelangelo was involved in the design. Whether or not Beccera saw
Michelangelo’s drawings, it is difficult to believe that Michelangelo’s ideas about
sola fide were transmitted through the broadsheet, especially since (as Dillon
strongly argues) Michelangelo hid his beliefs from others.
The tendency to overstatement in the quest for certainty is a problem
throughout this book, and it tends to create skepticism toward even the most convincing arguments. But whether or not all the proposed connections are valid,
Dillon’s book is significant in drawing attention to a very interesting broadsheet
and for positioning Pole as a key figure in its creation.
Wake Forest University

BERNADINE BARNES

Johann Leisentrit’s Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen, 1567: Hymnody of the CounterReformation in Germany. By Richard Wetzel and Erika Heitmeyer. (Madison,
NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press; co-published with Rowman and Littlefield, Lanham, MD. 2013. Pp. xi, 353. $95.00. ISBN 978-1-61147-550-0.)
The history of Catholic hymnody in the wake of the Reformation has only
occasionally been an object of serious research. Wilhelm Bäumker’s Das katholische
deutsche Kirchenlied (Freiburg, 1883–1911) provided a solid basis for later work, but
thorough studies of the repertory have been rare indeed, with prominent exceptions
in the work of Walther Lipphardt (1963) and Dietz-Rudiger Moser (1981). Quite
plausibly this is a consequence of confessionalist streaks in the tradition of German
hymnology, which stressed the unique and revolutionary character of Lutheran
hymnody and viewed its Catholic counterpart as a late, grudging, and spiritually
impoverished reaction. There is little doubt that the Catholic production of vernacular hymnody was modest in scope compared to the Lutheran, but nevertheless it
formed a significant and underestimated thread in the vibrant fabric of Catholic
reform and renewal from the mid-sixteenth century onward. There is no better
place to start than with the subject of Richard Wetzel and Erika Heitmeyer’s new
book, the Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen (Budissin, 1567) by Johannes Leisentrit, a
prominent Catholic ecclesiastic and administrator based in the confessionally contested region of Lusatia. Leisentrit’s songbook was not the first of its kind in the
German-speaking lands, but it was by far the most comprehensive of its time,
offering a wide range of pre- and post-Reformation songs for use in Catholic worship and devotion. The Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen had clear confessionalist aims,

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but Leisentrit’s goal was less to demonize Lutherans than to edify his Catholic
flock; to this end, he drew liberally on non-Catholic songs that he freely adapted
to fit his theological aims.
In part I of Wetzel and Heitmeyer’s book, they provide an extensive introduction to Leisentrit’s tome, providing information on Leisentrit’s biography and his
relation to Catholic reform (chapter 1); early-sixteenth-century hymnals, both
Protestant and Catholic, that presented him with models for his own collection
(chapter 2); the sources for Leisentrit’s texts and the nature of the book’s paratextual dedications, commendations, and instructional texts (chapter 3); Leisentrit’s
melodies, considered from the standpoint of their sources as well as their projection
of mode and style (chapter 4); and the illustrations, borders, and symbols that communicated his theological messages to audiences both literate and illiterate (chapter
5). It is Leisentrit’s process of adapting pre-Reformation, early Catholic, and even
Protestant songs—anticipated in Heitmeyer’s 1987 dissertation on the same subject—that may be the most striking feature of his Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen, and
forms the core of the textual analysis in Wetzel and Heitmeyer’s third chapter (pp.
47–59). Part II presents, in essence, a critical report on the contents of the Geistliche
Lieder und Psalmen, presenting the contents of the songbook in order with textual
incipits, melody identifications, notated melodies (when present in the original),
and references to existing secondary literature for each song. A series of useful
appendices allow the reader to find texts and melodies quickly, and offer comprehensive information on the tunes’ modal characteristics, the subject matter of the
many woodcut illustrations, and the adaptation of medieval Latin hymns. On the
whole, the information in part II is clearly and logically presented, and will be
indispensable for readers wishing to understand the origins and transmission of
individual songs in Leisentrit’s collection. Although there is occasional awkwardness in the English prose style in part I, and complete transcriptions and translations of Leisentrit’s dedication and paratexts are sadly lacking, Wetzel and Heitmeyer’s book will be essential reading for a thorough understanding of
sixteenth-century hymnody. It should encourage further and much-needed exploration of how the Catholic Church in German-speaking lands deployed song—
both Latin and vernacular—to reinforce a distinctively Catholic identity in the
decades leading up to the Thirty Years’ War.
University of British Columbia

ALEXANDER FISHER

Intellettuali in esilio. Dall’Inquisizione romana al fascismo. By John Tedeschi. Edited
by Giorgio Caravale and Stefania Pastore. [Raccolta di Studi e Testi, 256.]
(Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2012. Pp. lii, 441. €68,00 paperback.
ISBN 978-88-6372-412-7.)
This volume is a collection of articles of John Tedeschi, European bibliographer, later curator of rare books and manuscripts at the Newberry Library in
Chicago, and historian of the Roman Inquisition and Italian Protestant and Socinian exiles from Italy in the sixteenth century.

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The volume begins with a warm appreciation of Tedeschi by the editors.
Then Tedeschi provides a long and interesting summary of his scholarly career. He
tells us how he came to write many of his articles, many of them appearing in his
well-known book, The Prosecution of Heresy: Collected Studies on the Inquisition in
Early Modern Italy (Binghamton, NY, 1991). In honest fashion he also describes
some large projects that did not reach fruition. It is an account rich in information
about the development of Inquisition studies, friendships, and the opening of the
Holy Office archive in Rome in 1998. Tedeschi is best known for his stance against
the black legend of the Inquisition. He has argued consistently that, although the
Inquisition did not offer moral justice in a period in which the papacy, most Protestants, and both Catholic and Protestant rulers believed that they had the duty to
prosecute those of different religious faiths, the Inquisition did offer legal justice.
That is, it followed moderate norms of law, procedure, and evidence, and did not
make capricious judgments. For these views Tedeschi has received some criticism
from Italian scholars, who until recently have seen the Inquisition and Index as
extreme institutions that blocked Italy’s progress toward modernity. I can testify to
that. When I published a book in 1977 that articulated the same views as Tedeschi,
some Italian reviewers strongly criticized it, and I was never invited to speak at any
of the conferences on the Italian Inquisition of the 1980s and 1990s.
The rest of the volume consists of nine Italian and ten English articles of
Tedeschi, almost all published after his 1991 book. The first six add new information
to the story of the Roman Inquisition, its procedures, and its records. Of particular
interest is “Confronting the Roman Inquisition. The Status of the Defendant,” a very
lucid discussion of complex material. The next seven articles follow the careers of several Italian exiles of the sixteenth century who fled Italy because of fear of persecution
for their religious views and then made rich contributions to European culture. They
include the philologian Ludovico Castelveltro, the biblical scholar Giovanni Diodati,
the legists Alberico Gentili and Matteo Gribaldi, the theologian Peter Martyr Vermigli, and others. The last group of six articles studies the lives of some eminent
twentieth-century scholars, in whose lives the theme of exile was prominent. Elisabeth Feist Hirsch and Paul Oskar Kristeller were forced to leave Germany, then Italy,
because they were Jewish, while Roland H. Bainton and Delio Cantimori befriended
and helped scholars in distress. The theme of exile has personal meaning to Tedeschi,
because he was born in Italy as the son of a physician and professor of medicine at
the University of Ferrara who lost his position because of Benito Mussolini’s antisemitic laws of 1938. Little Guido Tedeschi came to America, became John Tedeschi,
and, like many other European exiles, has enriched American scholarship.
All of the articles are clearly written, and are richly and carefully documented.
This is a valuable collection of articles that should be of interest to historians of religious Italy and anyone interested in the careers of some of the greatest historians
of the twentieth century.
University of Toronto (Emeritus)
and Chapel Hill, NC

PAUL F. GRENDLER

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The Routledge Guidebook to Galileo’s Dialogue. By Maurice A. Finocchiaro. [Routledge Guides to the Great Books.] (New York: Routledge. 2014. Pp. xviii,
357. $31.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-415-50368-6.)
Most of Maurice Finocchiaro’s distinguished career has been devoted to a
close and detailed study of Galileo Galilei. In Galileo and the Art of Reasoning
(Boston, 1980), he commented on his use of logic and various forms of argument
in the Dialogue on the Two Chief World Systems (1632), and in Retrying Galileo,
1633–1992 (Berkeley, 2005), he examined the documents and the issues concerning Galileo’s trial, which also was about the book that created the stir. In this
guidebook to Galileo’s Dialogue, he offers an extended reconstruction of this great
work and provides an extended analysis of the intellectual background and the historical context of the Copernican controversy. Finocchiaro describes in a lucid and
rigorous way the arguments and critiques that Galileo presented in the Dialogue,
and he assesses the content and the significance of the book from three special
points of view: science, methodology, and rhetoric. The main argument of the book
is a reconstruction of Galileo’s argument in favor of the Earth’s motion. Finocchiaro remains faithful to the original and retains the Dialogue’s basic structure and
topical progression, but he also elucidates what is obscure, resolves ambiguities, and
makes explicit the hidden assumptions. The reconstruction is sufficiently detailed
not to miss anything essential yet sufficiently streamlined to avoid the digressions
that Galileo occasionally allowed himself.
To confirm the Copernican hypothesis, Galileo used a twofold approach. On
the one hand, he defended the motion of the Earth from numerous objections based
on Aristotelian physics, naked-eye astronomical observations, and traditional epistemology. On the other hand, he supported heliocentrism with arguments stemming from his new physics, telescopic observation, and the methodological analysis
of contextualized philosophical problems. The Dialogue triggered Galileo’s trial that
ended with the condemnation and banning of the book. Publication had been problematic in the light of a series of events that began in 1613, and Finocchiaro explains
the subsequent developments until the trial that was held in Rome in 1633.
The condemnation of the Dialogue gave rise to a controversy that continues to
the present day. The prolonged debate revolves around issues raised at the original
trial, but also involves new questions such as whether the condemnation of Galileo
was right or wrong, whether it shows the incompatibility between science and religion, and whether something can be learned from it regarding the interaction
between individual freedom and institutional authority. Finocchiaro addresses
these concerns with an open mind. He emphasizes Galileo’s rhetorical gifts, which
involve such forms and techniques of persuasive argumentation as eloquent expression, imaginative portrayal, emotional description, nuanced assertion, repetition,
double entendre, wit, satire, humor, and ridicule. But this should not be taken as
implying that he equates rhetoric with the art of deception or skill at making the
weaker argument appears the stronger. The wealth of the book’s rhetoric also
derives from the fact that Galileo was addressing several audiences at the same time

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and from his choice of the dialogue form, which means that there is a certain
amount of drama unfolding before the eyes of the reader.
This scholarly introduction to Galileo’s achievements will be welcomed by
anyone teaching the history of science or simply curious about how we came to
know that the Earth is in motion.
Max Planck Institute for the History of Science, Berlin

WILLIAM R. SHEA

Scritture dell’anima: Esperienze religiose femminili nella Toscana del Settecento. By
Elena Bottoni. [Tribunale della Fede series. Temi e Testi, Vol. 76.] (Rome:
Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. 2009. Pp. xxxi, 294. €44,00. ISBN 978-886372-115-7.)
Scritture dell’anima, Elena Bottoni’s first book, originated as a doctoral dissertation at the University of Pisa under Adriano Prosperi’s direction. Not long thereafter, it appeared in book form in a series edited by her Doktorvater. Only recently
did The Catholic Historical Review receive a review copy.
Bottoni focuses on the extensive writings of four Tuscan tertiaries, all Franciscan affiliates: Maria Caterina Biondi, born Giovanna (1667–1729), is allotted
122 pages; Maria Antonia Colle, born Anna Maria Antonia and known in religion
as Maria Luigia del Cuore di Gesù (1723–72), is allotted fifty; Maria Caterina
Brondi (1684–1719), is allotted sixty-six; and Maria Virginia Boccherini, born
Maria Teresa Antonia Gaetana (1761–1801), is allotted thirty-six. Why the author
deploys the chapters in this order is not explained. The sequence is not chronological, presumably because she does not see or is not interested in change over time.
It is not governed, at least not explicitly, by the decreasing complexity or interest of
each case. The only plausible surmise, that the order depends on the amount written by each woman, is not supported by much explicit attention to quantity.
By “soul writings,” Bottoni means autobiographical accounts por mandato, as
Hispanists put it—that is, ordered by spiritual directors for the purposes of evaluating and controlling their penitents’ religious ideas. Some, the written equivalents
of a general confession covering an entire life up to the present moment, usually
came into being when a spiritual director first took charge of a new penitent.
Thereafter, he mandated composition at frequent intervals, often a week or less.
Not infrequently, the lines of authority between (ideally) authoritative priests and
at least initially submissive female penitents blurred. When a director became the
collaborator or even the disciple of a “spiritual mother,” both fell under scrutiny by
the local inquisitor and his masters; in Colle’s case, they were summoned to appear
in Rome. The authorities’ officially expressed concern was “quietism.” Under the
surface lay their fear that the gender hierarchies were being overturned—a specter
not explored in this book.
The strength of Scritture dell’anima, best shown in the long section on Biondi,
lies in the author’s careful exploration of how these women moved from writing

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unwillingly for their spiritual directors to writing about themselves to gaining satisfaction in writing for themselves. Bottoni raises an important question that,
unfortunately, she does not attempt to answer: how, at least in the beginning, could
a young woman obey her director’s command if she were completely illiterate or
possessed only minimal skill in putting quill to paper? The author dutifully cites
most of the scholarship on early-modern female literacy but does not put it to use.
Nor does she make more than superficial observations about the handwriting samples reproduced in the book. Unsurprisingly, Boccherini, educanda in and then professed member of a Third Order Franciscan house, wrote in a fluent cursive hand.
Among the three who had received little or no education, Colle and perhaps
Brondi (many of whose writings survive only in copies made by others) wrote in
print, without joining the letters in words. Biondi remains a mystery. Despite the
author’s dismissive remarks to the contrary, she mastered a sophisticated cursive
hand. She must have had help. Who provided it? Was it her inflexible first director,
the Oratorian Antonio Gaetano Buti, or someone else? The answer may not be certain, but at least Bottoni might have speculated.
University of Virginia

ANNE JACOBSON SCHUTTE

Hindiyya, Mystic and Criminal, 1720–1798: A Political and Religious Crisis in
Lebanon. By Bernard Heyberger. Translated by Renée Champion. (Cambridge, UK: James Clark. 2013. Pp. xiv, 322. $40.00 paperback. ISBN 978-0227-17388-6.)
The eighteenth century was a period of decisive changes for the Maronites of
Mount Lebanon, mainly caused by the intensified contacts with the Roman
Catholic Church. After the Council of Trent (1543–63), the Holy See decided to
tighten the ties with the Eastern Christian communities and to bring them under
closer supervision of the mother Church, mainly to reform their doctrines, rituals,
and organization in accordance with the decisions of the Council. For the
Maronites, who acknowledged the authority of the pope, this meant an increased
interaction with Rome and with missionary settlements in Syria. This led to an
intellectual resurgence among the Maronites from the beginning of the seventeenth
century onward, but also to increased Roman interference with Maronite affairs.
In 1736 a council was held in Mount Lebanon with the aim of reorganizing
the Maronite Church according to the instructions of the Holy See. The proposed
reforms included a major reorganization of the clerical offices, affecting the authority of the bishops and the patriarch, and a limitation of the influence of lay notables
on church affairs. The latter measure was especially directed against the shaykhs of
the Khazin family, who had risen to prominence in the course of the seventeenth
century partly through their connections with French diplomats and merchants,
who regarded them as the leaders of the Maronite community in Mount Lebanon.
The Lebanese Council did not immediately bring about the desired results, but
rather inaugurated a period of severe power struggles in the Maronite community. In

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the midst of these turbulent times, a young girl named Hindiyya emerged in the
Maronite community in Aleppo who claimed to have mystical experiences. Hindiyya,
who grew up in a wealthy family and had received a thorough religious education
from the Latin missionaries, claimed to have visions of Jesus that started in childhood, and evolved into conversations and eventually physical “union.” According to
Hindiyya, Jesus assigned her the task to found her own confraternity, and in 1750 she
moved to Mount Lebanon to realize this project. From the onset, she was under the
tutelage of the Jesuit missionaries, but they started a fierce campaign against her after
she dissociated herself from them in Mount Lebanon and denounced her as a fraud
and a threat to Church orthodoxy. However, Maronite clerics—especially Patriarch
Yusuf Istifan—took her under their wing and enabled her to found her own monastic
community in Bkerki, with the assistance of the Khazin shaykhs.
The Hindiyya affair has been studied by Bernard Heyberger in his meticulous
Hindiyya; mystique et criminelle (1720–1798) (Paris, 2001). Now a new study has
appeared in English by Akram Fouad Khater, under the captivating but perhaps
somewhat unclear title Embracing the Divine: Passion and Politics in the Christian
Middle East (Syracuse, NY, 2011). This book, too, closely unravels the events of the
Hindiyya affair, the many intrigues surrounding her and the texts written by her.
Khater situates the events in two broader perspectives that should provide a framework for interpretation. These perspectives are, first, the process of reform that was
engendered both by the Holy See and the Maronite clergy, and, second, the impact
of gender relations within the Maronite community.
Although these two aspects certainly played an important role in the unfolding of the affair, it seems that they are too broad to give an adequate insight into
the course of events. For instance, the process of reform and the interaction among
the Maronites, the Holy See, and the Latin missionaries brought forth a new form
of religiosity, which gave Hindiyya the opportunity to develop her own visionary
spirituality and shape it into a religious order. Still, her emergence can be seen both
as a result of this process of reform and as an expression of resistance against the
efforts of Rome and the missionaries to impose their rationalized, institutionalized
form of religiosity and support a local, Maronite form of religiosity that conformed
to indigenous traditions and even popular beliefs and practices.
To explain Hindiyya’s rise as an expression of female emancipation is at first
sight plausible, since her experience certainly inspired other Maronite girls at the
time to detach themselves from their social milieu and lead a spiritual life. Moreover, Hindiyya’s typically feminine way of presenting her visionary experiences
aroused typically masculine fears in church institutions. However, Hindiyya’s
escape from social constraints in Aleppo can hardly be seen as a form of social liberation, since from the start she was placed under male surveillance; in Mount
Lebanon, she was not only supervised but also protected and supported by the representatives of masculine authority, both clerical and secular. The Khazins, for
example, saw no harm in their daughters’ desire to join Hindiyya’s order and
assigned convents to them.

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It seems that efforts to develop a broader framework to explain the events
related to Hindiyya do not do sufficient justice to the complexity of the affair.
Maybe the rise of Hindiyya and the subsequent formation of her movement should
be seen as an accumulation of religious “capital” around her person that quite soon
became the object of the various power struggles within the Maronite community,
within the Maronite church, and between the Maronites and the Holy See. She
became an instrument used by various persons and factions in their efforts to
reshape the community and the Church according to specific interests. By supporting her, clerics exploited her popularity and authority, thereby challenging and
manipulating the papal legates. For Istifan, Hindiyya became an instrument for
imposing reforms aimed at indigenous forms of religiosity and for establishing his
own authority.
Apart from these observations about the perspectives from which the events
are evaluated, Khater’s book offers a fascinating account of the whole affair, drawing on the enormous reservoir of documents that have been preserved in Rome and
in Lebanon. The book, however, should be seen rather as a supplement rather than
as a replacement of Heyberger’s thorough account.
University of Amsterdam

RICHARD VAN LEEUWEN

LATE MODERN EUROPEAN
I cattolici dal Risorgimento a Benedetto XVI: Un percorso dal Piemonte all’Italia. By
Bartolo Gariglio. (Brescia: Editrice Morcelliana, 2013. Pp. 208. €18,00 paperback. ISBN 978-88-372-2665-7.)
This volume has a clearly defined theme in its emphasis on the North Italian
influence in Church and state in the Italian peninsula. There are those in Italy and
abroad who disagree with the conclusions of author Bartolo Gariglio (professor of
contemporary history at the University of Turin), but he avoids polemic in the stance
taken in “Catholics from the Risorgimento to the Pontificate of Benedict XVI,” convinced that the book speaks for itself. It does not do so in the title, and there are only
hints of the theme in the book’s subtitle (“A Passage from Piedmont to Italy”). An
explanation of sorts is provided in the introduction and the first chapter of the book,
which together emphasize the role of northern Italy in the transformation of “The
Excommunicated Risorgimento to the Blessed Risorgimento” (pp. 5–35).
Some confusion flows from the fact that although the author’s assertions and
observations are clearly stated, their defense is somewhat haphazard and less than
effective. Gariglio does not provide a unified narrative tracing the interaction and
impact of North Italian industrial and religious forces that he believes helped convert the Risorgimento condemned by Pope Pius IX (1846–78) into one accepted and
blessed by the Church and the papacy in the twentieth century.
Two issues need to be addressed here: first, the premise that a series of northern religious and industrial forces and factors influenced—and at times directed—

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the development of the faith and the faithful throughout the peninsula. It is a statement easily made, but difficult to prove. Second, the author’s findings and contentions in his earlier publications, from which he has freely borrowed for inclusion
in the present work, have not produced an integrated narrative. It appears they were
hastily pasted together.
Furthermore, since the author arrived at these conclusions while living and
teaching in the Piedmontese capital, some believe they reflect a certain northern
and Piedmontese perspective—some might say bias. This is conjecture, but clearly
the use of earlier findings to support later conclusions must be undertaken carefully
and properly integrated to make an important contribution in the new work. This
has not been always been scrupulously observed in Gariglio’s latest work, where
each chapter appears to have a logic and organization of its own. This is true of
chapter 5, “Catholics and the Resistance in Northern Italy,” which apparently was
borrowed from Gariglio’s earlier book, Cattolici e Resistenza nell’Italia settentrionale
(Bologna, 1997). The same is true of chapter 2 (on “La Stampa del Risorgimento”),
which draws heavily on yet another Gariglio book, La Stampa e l’opinione pubblica
nel Risogimento (Milan, 1987).
Despite Gariglio’s focus on the North’s influence in the religious life of the
country, he recognizes the positive and key parts played by popes Leo XIII (1878–
1903), Pius X (1903–14), and Pius XI (1922–39) in the transformation cited.
Unfortunately, the contributions by Pietro Gasparri and Francesco Pacelli (the
older brother of Eugenio)—who negotiated the crucial Lateran Accords and thus
facilitated and completed the religious reconciliation in Italy—are virtually ignored.
St. John’s University (Emeritus)

FRANK J. COPPA

Friedlicher Kreuzzug und fromme Pilger: Liturgiehistorische Studien zur Heilig-LandWallfahrt im Spiegel deutschsprachiger Pilgerberichte des späten 19. Jahrhunderts.
By Stefan Böntert. [Institute for Liturgical and Ritual Studies: Liturgia Condenda, 27.] (Leuven: Peeters. 2013. Pp. xx, 514. €60,00 paperback. ISBN
978-90-429-2666-0.)
Friedlicher Kreuzzug und fromme Pilger is the published version of Stefan Böntert’s Habilitationsschrift, accepted in 2009 by the Department of Liturgical Studies
in the School of Catholic Theology of Erfurt University. Böntert investigates the
revived interest in German pilgrimages to the Holy Land in the second half of the
nineteenth century. He describes the shift from an age in which pilgrims largely
traveled individually or in small groups to one in which groups of pilgrims traveled
together under the leadership of a priest or group of priests. As Böntert shows, this
resulted in significant changes in travel patterns and liturgical practices. As the
Church sought to counter the threats of a rapidly industrializing German society,
pilgrimages became a means of drawing the faithful closer to their priests and to
the Church’s necessary role in achieving salvation. The laity, however, embraced
parts of the new liturgical framework but also retained individual ritual and cus-

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tomary gestures and often considered the formal liturgical events less important in
the pilgrim’s encounter with the sites of Christ’s life.
As in most German academic qualifying works, the theoretical-methodological
discussion takes up a good share of the work—in this case, about a quarter. Böntert
argues that, in recent times, the definition of liturgy has expanded beyond the Mass.
In the body of the work, he describes the expansion of liturgical practices such as
processions, Eucharistic benediction, and common prayer of the rosary, as within
the scope of what constitutes liturgy. In addition to liturgical events, the nineteenthcentury laity often engaged in forms of prayer and worship based on custom.
Böntert uses memorial books, private letters, and diaries as the primary evidence
for his study. He shows that individual pilgrims traveled to the Holy Land by way of
Rome, Athens, or Alexandria. More important, before passing through the gates of
Jerusalem, they would stop and pray to prepare themselves for what they were about
to experience. Within the city, they immediately headed for the Church of the Holy
Sepulcher, even before reaching their lodgings. As railroads and steamships made it
easier to travel, the practice of pilgrimage to the Holy Land, which had largely ceased
after the Ottoman conquest, resumed and expanded. In contrast to the individual pilgrims, the pilgrims traveling in groups assembled for a formal procession from the
train station to their lodgings and only then to the holy sites.
Although it might be unfair to criticize this study for what it is not, a greater
engagement of the historical context would have been most welcome. Although
Böntert mentions increased numbers of pilgrimages from other European countries, comparisons between Catholic pilgrimages from different countries might
have been illuminating. Also, Böntert’s discussion of Catholic-Protestant differences in action and mentality could have explored further the role of pilgrimages in
the Kulturkampf raging in Germany. Finally, Böntert teases the reader with brief
discussions of the largely poor relations between pilgrims and the Holy Land’s
Muslims and Jews. These discussions themselves merit a monograph of their own.
This work, in fact, bears within it suggestions for many more detailed studies
based on a broader range of sources—for example, to analyze the cultural engagement of pilgrims with each other and with pilgrims whose Catholicism was marked
by different regional and national cultural practices, as well as to examine for the
first time the experience of pilgrims as a minority. Most important, Böntert has
shown the need for further study on the ways in which the laity’s acceptance of the
importance of the clergy in providing liturgical leadership stood in tension with the
laity’s independence in determining which liturgical practices to support and which
lay-controlled customs and practices to maintain.
Unfortunately, at more than 500 pages and a price of sixty Euros, this work
may not attract the audience it deserves.
Rivier University
Nashua, NH

MARTIN MENKE

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La dernière solitaire de Port-Royal: Survivances jansénistes jusqu’au XXe siècle. By
Véronique Alemany. [Histoire.] (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf. 2013. Pp. 688.
€50,00 paperback. ISBN 978-2-204-09951-6.)
Profitably exploiting a trove of archival material, Véronique Alemany (former
director of the National Museum of Port-Royal-des-Champs) presents Perpétue
d’Aurelle de Paladines (1845–1932), née de Marsac, as representative of what
Philippe Sellier in his preface calls a troisième jansénisme (p. 11) or “third wave” of
Jansenism in France. Following this schema, the first wave begins with the promulgation of the papal bull Cum occasione (1653), which condemned five theological
propositions associated with Jansenism. The wave then breaks at the dissolution of
the Cistercian monastery of Port-Royal-des-Champs (1709), which scatters the
women religious and men solitaires who live on the grounds. The wave finally
crashes with the promulgation of the bull Unigenitus (1713) that passed ecclesiastical judgment on the Jansenist movement.
The second wave then begins to form in the wake of Unigenitus and continues
to swell during the course of the eighteenth century. If the first wave has a primarily
theological current, then this second wave seems driven more by such sociopolitical
issues as the primacy of Rome, the authority of the king, and the playing out of
scripture in current events. The popular cult of Jansenist deacon François de Pâris
(1690–1727)—with its pilgrims, convulsionaires, and underground assemblies and
secours—arises during this period, and it expresses the momentum of the second
wave. The third wave follows in the nineteenth century with the ebb of Jansenism
from the public realm and its flow into smaller churches. Characterized by intense
devotion to the cross, third-wave Jansenism swells with certain hopes of the second
wave, including the eventual restoration of Port-Royal, conversion of the Jews, and
return of the prophet Elijah. The third wave continues to move into the 1900s
through communities at Argenteuil, Lyon, Toulouse, and Valence.
Out of these currents in and around Toulouse emerges the figure of Perpétue
de Paladines. Widowed in 1871 at age twenty-six, “La Paladines” decides to establish herself in 1895 among the ruins of Port-Royal-des-Champs as the first and last
woman solitaire. Much as happens in the seventeenth century between the PortRoyal community and the Sorbonne doctor Antoine Arnauld (1612–94), Perpétue
develops a connection with Augustin Gazier (1844–1922), director of the library of
Port-Royal (1877–1922) and also a professor at the Sorbonne. Out of their relationship and the network of their Jansenist friends issues the documentation on
which Alemany bases her research.
The book itself, a reworking of Alemany’s doctoral thesis, which she defended
with distinction at the University Paris XII (Paris-Nord) in 2006, presents the
ancestral (part 1), cultural (part 2), and ideological (part 3) contexts in which the
life of Madame de Paladines unfolds (part 4). As Alemany convincingly argues, the
“neo-Jansenism” (pp. 407–35) that the “last solitaire” embodies finds its own echo
(part 5) beyond Port-Royal (pp. 443–502) in the first part of the twentieth century
(pp. 503–33). A considerable appendix of previously unpublished texts (pp. 543–

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646), primarily correspondence and manifestoes, rounds out Alemany’s study by
offering a glimpse into the lives of Perpétue and her associates.
Any student of the Bible and of eighteenth-century intellectual history certainly will recognize in the progression of the three waves both the story of the
Jewish diaspora following the destruction of Solomon’s temple and the dialectical
logic operative in Hegel’s historical analyses. Indeed, the Jansenist remnant—the
Amis de la Vérité who consider themselves the custodians of the Œuvre or divine
plan—expect to play a central role in salvation history as they envision it. In this
regard, theologians, cultural historians, and political scientists alike will find Alemany’s monumental work an enlightening contribution to research into the long
eighteenth century and its heritage.
Saint Louis University

WILLIAM P. O’BRIEN

Remembering Belloc. By James V. Schall, S.J. (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s
Press. 2013. Pp. xiv, 178. $22.00. ISBN 978-1-58731-703-3.)
Although readers of The Catholic Historical Review will need no introduction
to Hilaire Belloc, the subject of this new volume by the irrepressible James V.
Schall, S.J., it will be well to at least remind ourselves of why Belloc is worth
remembering.
Born twelve miles from Paris at La Celle Saint Cloud on July 27, 1870, Belloc’s
birth coincided with the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war. The family home was
evacuated a few weeks later as the Bellocs fled to Paris en route to England, escaping
the advancing Prussian army. Educated in the benevolent shadow of the aging Cardinal John Henry Newman at the Oratory School in Birmingham and at Balliol
College, Oxford, from which he graduated with a First Class Honours degree in
History, Belloc would become one of the most prolific, versatile, and controversial
authors of the twentieth century. Less known today than his talents merit, his influence, considerable in his own day, seems to have waned. There is, however, some
sign of a renewal of interest in his life and work, due in part to his association with
G. K. Chesterton, whose own star appears to be very much in the ascendant.
Considering the unjustified neglect of Belloc and the more recent renewal of
interest, Schall’s book that remembers the man and his genius is most welcome. It
is, however, important to recognize what this book is not. It is not a definitive study
of Belloc’s legacy in any of the many areas in which he excelled. Those seeking an
in-depth study of his work as an historian will be disappointed, as will those seeking definitive discussions of his brief but explosive political career, or his importance as a poet or as a Catholic apologist. This is not a definitive study of any aspect
of Belloc’s considerable legacy, still less is it a biography of him. It is a collection of
Schall’s musings on all things Bellocian, offering the reader the perspective of a
highly respected and venerable scholar who has spent a lifetime of engagement with
Belloc’s works and the ideas that they contain.

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Schall on Belloc is akin to Chesterton on St. Thomas Aquinas. One does not
read Chesterton’s volume on the Angelic Doctor solely or even primarily to learn
about Aquinas but to be delighted and enlightened by the genius of Chesterton’s
own thoughts on Aquinas. Similarly, one should not read this book solely or primarily to learn about Belloc but to be delighted and enlightened by Schall’s
thoughts on Belloc.
Schall rambles off in odd directions and on strange tangents, much as Belloc
wandered through Europe or Sussex, diverting us delightfully with his digressions.
Much as Chesterton’s Rolling English Road takes us to paradise by way of Kensal
Green, Schall’s rolling Bellocian ramblings take us on the rolling road to Rome
along which the vines of veritas are plucked, and the wines of wit and wisdom are
drunk with all due decorum and merriment. This book is not for the self-appointed
purist or the fastidious pedant, any more than Belloc is for the pedant or the purist,
or, for that matter, the puritan. Schall on Belloc is a marriage of minds made in
heaven. This book is an invitation to the wedding.
Thomas More College
Merrimack, NH

JOSEPH PEARCE

Cattolici e fascisti: La Santa Sede e la politica italiana all’alba del Regime (1919–1925).
By Alberto Guasco. (Bologna: Società editrice il Mulino. 2013. Pp. 575.
€40,00 paperback. ISBN 978-88-15-24520-5.)
This new book of Alberto Guasco, a professor of politics at the University of
Turin and a researcher at the John XXIII Foundation for Religious Sciences in
Bologna, joins the growing body of work that has taken advantage of recent access
to the records of Pius XI’s pontificate. The reader may wonder why the book ends
in 1925 rather than 1929, when the Lateran Pacts concluded a long era of difficult
Italo-Vatican relations. The author answers that, as 1929 and the 1930s have
received extensive treatment, an examination of the early 1920s brings back into
view other important but neglected factors such as World War I. The year 1925,
moreover, marks the resolution of the murder of the Socialist deputy Giacomo
Matteotti, the end of Benito Mussolini’s vacillations, and the establishment of his
Fascist dictatorship. By 1925, therefore, the Church and others understood much
better the true nature of the Fascist beast.
Guasco paints the picture of a Church under both Benedict XV and Pius XI
that was unsure of itself in its approach to Mussolini’s blackshirts. After the Bolshevik conquest of power in Russia and in the politically charged atmosphere of
postwar Europe, Rome desperately searched for a political alternative to the everbolder left. Toward that end Benedict was open to the creation of a Catholic Party,
the Popolari under don Luigi Sturzo, whereas the next pontiff was more skeptical.
Pius, in contrast, preferred a less political solution in Italian Catholic Action. Furthermore, Guasco concludes that, for both Benedict and Pius, the Popolari failed to
measure up to expectations as counterweights to the liberals and subsequently the

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Fascists. Fragmented and quarrelsome, some advocating an alliance with the socialists and others favoring deals with the Fascists, the Catholic Party might have selfdestructed even without the help of Mussolini and Pius.
But what of the Fascists themselves? Toward them the Church also was split.
Some, like Francesco Borgongini Duca, who became the first nuncio to Italy in
1929, told the duce that “the enemies of the Church are the enemies of Fascism and
those who fight the Church cannot be the true friends of Fascism.” On the other
hand, Guasco illustrates how blackshirt violence gnawed at Rome’s estimation.
Gabriele D’Annunzio’s 1919 “conquest” of Fiume alarmed many clerics; violent
clashes between Mussolini’s men and leftists then added to the unease. But the
Fascists also targeted Catholic activists, culminating in the vicious and murderous
attack on the Popolare priest, Giovanni Minzoni, in August 1923. But by that time
the Fascists were in power and had expressed their willingness to resolve the differences—the so-called “Roman Question”—between the state and the Church. The
party of don Sturzo and don Minzoni was doomed.
Guasco’s Cattolici e fascisti is a solid work based on admirable archival
research and with reference to recent studies by Lucia Ceci, Giovanni Sale, and
others. Of special importance and merit, the book concludes with 150 documents,
many archival and most in print for the first time, with Guasco’s comments and
references.
University of Scranton

ROY DOMENICO

The Way: Religious Thinkers of the Russian Emigration in Paris and Their Journal,
1925–1940. By Antoine Arjakovsky. Edited by John A. Jillions and Michael
Plekon; translated by Jerry Ryan. (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame
Press. 2013. Pp. xiv, 766. $65.00 paperback. ISBN 978-0-268-0204-8.)
Antoine Arjakovsky, a professor of ecumenical theology at the Ukrainian
Catholic University in Lviv and research director at the Collèges de Bernardins in
Paris, has written a masterful history of Russian religious thinkers who left Russia
after the Bolshevik Revolution, took up residence in the West (mainly in Paris),
and established a journal called Put’ or The Way. The journal was published
between 1925 and 1940 in Russian, usually in quarterly editions, and had sixty-one
issues before the Nazis occupied Paris. It was a thoroughly Russian émigré
endeavor that was led by Nikolai Berdyaev, a brilliant thinker who was a maverick
among Russian Orthodox intellectuals, and was largely financed by such Protestant
organizations as the YMCA, the World Student Christian Federation, and the
Anglican Church. Its major contributors were Berdyaev, George Florovsky, Boris
Vysheslavtsev, Vasilii Zenkovsky, Vladimir Ilyin, Sergius Bulgakov, Lev Shestov,
Nicolas Zernov, George Fedotov, Nikloai Lossky, Simeon Frank, Nikola Arseniev,
Mother Maria Skobtsova, and Sergei Bezobrazen. It also included contributions
from such Catholic writers as Jacques Maritain and Cardinal Pierre-Paulin
Andrieu, and such Protestant authors as Paul Tillich, Pastor Christoph Blumhardt,

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Hans Erenburg, and Paul F. Anderson. Its core teaching—what united the Russian
émigrés—was that God could not be separated from human life in any dimension.
Thus it insisted upon examining every subject—including history, literature, art,
science, psychology, philosophy, and politics—from a religious perspective. The
Way was little known in the West or in Russia until after the dissolution of the
Soviet Union. It finally was released in 1998 on CD-Rom in Russian.
In analyzing The Way’s files, articles, and archives, Arjakovsky was able to
uncover what is clearly one of the most profound intellectual developments in the
history of Orthodoxy—on par, perhaps, with some of the work of the Greek
Fathers. Revealing the influence of Alexei Khomiakhov, Fyodor Dostoevsky,
Vladimir Solovyov, and a bevy of fin-de-siècle German and French philosophers, as
well as the enduring belief in Russia’s exceptionalism and spirituality, the Russian
émigrés offered new insights on ecumenism, church-state relations, ecology, socioeconomic harmony, and especially theology, including such mythological notions as
God’s personalism, ever-present Holy Wisdom (Sophia), and constant centrality in
human existence and life. That these and other ideas had not come up before in
Orthodoxy and appeared only outside of Russia in the freedom of interwar Paris
speaks to a conundrum faced by Russians, whether exiled or not: the debilitating
effect of authoritarianism on Orthodoxy under the Romanovs and the Bolsheviks.
In the end, Arjakovsky’s work is more than a history of the interwar Russian
emigration and its periodical. It also is a thought-provoking reflection on some of
the core values that led to separate Western and Orthodox civilizations, including
such issues as papal primacy, the relationship of reason to faith, separation of church
and state, and the critical importance of law in limiting government. Surprisingly,
many of the Russian savants never found an adequate explanation for why Russian
Orthodox civilization went awry with its adoption of Leninism-Stalinism. The émigrés were rightly worried about the future of Russia. None of them lived to see the
fall of the Soviet Union and Vladimir Putin’s revival of the Romanov model of
autocracy, orthodoxy, and nationality to guide Russia in the twenty-first century, but
it is safe to say that they neither expected nor hoped for such a restoration.
Texas State University

DENNIS J. DUNN

Grenzen des katholischen Milieus. Stabilität und Gefährdung katholischer Milieus in der
Endphase der Weimarer Republik und der NS-Zeit. Edited by Joachim Kuropka.
(Münster: Aschendorff Verlag. 2013. Pp. 552. €39,00. ISBN 978-3-40213005-6.)
The relationship between Catholicism and Nazism has created firestorms of
controversy in recent decades. Especially in Germany, endless volumes on the subject pour from the press, rehashing now-familiar arguments over Pope Pius XI,
Pope Pius XII, Ludwig Kaas, Cesare Orsenigo, Franz von Papen, and other major
figures in Catholic-Nazi relations. Perhaps because the issue is so politically
charged, investigations into Catholic-Nazi relations have, in some ways, not kept

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up with broader trends in the study of German history. This magisterial collection,
The Borders of the Catholic Milieu, seeks to rectify this by integrating Catholic history with the recent turn to the “region” in German studies.
The master concept of this collection is the “milieu,” an influential theory of
German history drawn from the work of M. Rainer Lepsius. According to Lepsius,
Germany in the decades around 1900 had not been one nation, but rather four basically distinct milieus: Catholic, socialist, liberal Protestant, and conservative Protestant. Although many scholars have cast doubt on the impermeability of these cultural-political blocs, the model is still widely assumed even if it is unnamed. This
collection nuances the “milieu” concept by integrating Lepsius with the “regionalist”
turn in German history, associated in this country with David Blackbourn and Celia
Applegate. As Joachim Kuropka suggests in his opening essay, the concept of the
milieu is indispensable to understanding German Catholicism. Nonetheless, as
Kuropka and Winfried Becker point out, the “milieu” was not national but regional:
Catholicism in the Rhineland looked very different from Catholicism in Bavaria.
What is more, the stability of the milieu differed dramatically across the country, as
some regions were already dealing with significant religious diversity in the 1920s.
Already, this approach rectifies a major problem in studies of Catholic Germany; far too often, it is treated as some sort of monolithic whole, when in fact
there were enormous differences across the Reich. After programmatic opening
essays from Kuropka and Becker, this lengthy, and sometimes exhausting, volume
marches through each majority-Catholic Land in Germany, from RhinelandWestphalia in the West to Ermland in the East (Ermland is now in Poland: the
volume considers Germany within its 1934 borders, a welcome choice). The essays,
which all treat the relations between the Catholic population and National Socialism, are invariably sober, well-reasoned accounts, and the reader is left with an
impression of the great diversity of Catholic Germany and the near-impossibility
of making blanket statements about it, at least when it comes to political affiliation.
Klemens-August Recker’s essay on Münsterland, which explains the wide divergence in Nazi-affiliation between two otherwise-similar towns, displays great
diversity even within a single region. The methodology is primarily empirical, and
there is little of the cultural or gender history that has enlivened some of the best
work on European religion in recent years (Michael E. O’Sullivan’s standout essay
on women and youth movements in Rhineland-Westphalia is an exception).
Overall, the collection is a sophisticated intervention into a well-worn debate.
However, although the volume does a fine job of dismantling old preconceptions,
it is less adept at suggesting a new model. The scope is narrow, and few authors
range beyond their assigned region. Little attention is paid to the Center Party as
a national institution, and the scant attention paid to national developments is met
by total silence about non-German Catholicism. The Vatican is hardly mentioned,
and Pius XII, remarkably, does not seem to appear a single time. Although this
volume contains many insightful essays and much information new to this
reviewer, it does not suggest how we might fuse these insights into a new, general

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understanding of the vexed, and endlessly controversial, relationship between
Catholicism and Nazism.
Duke University

JAMES CHAPPEL

The Pope and Mussolini: The Secret History of Pius XI and the Rise of Fascism in
Europe. By David I. Kertzer. (New York: Random House. 2014. Pp. xxxiii,
553. $32.00. ISBN 978-0-8129-9346-2.)
David Kertzer’s The Pope and Mussolini offers a vividly descriptive, highly
readable yet partial account of one of the most consequential political relationships
of the twentieth century, between Pope Pius XI (Achille Ratti) and Italy’s Fascist
dictator Benito Mussolini. On the basis of extensive research in ecclesiastical and
Italian state archives, Kertzer does an admirable job of working the archival material into an evocative narrative that is accessible to a general audience. With a keen
eye for the illustrative anecdote and a theatrical appreciation for the dramatis personae at the heart of this all-too-real story (à propos, see the list of the “Cast of
Characters” provided at the outset), Kertzer brings to life the complex interplay of
mutuality, interdependence, incompatibility and conflict that characterized the
relationship between pope and Duce, between Catholicism and Fascism, and
between church and state in Italy on the eve of World War II.
This book will convey to the general reader a history that is familiar to specialists—the tortuous evolution of church-state relations after Italian Unification,
culminating in the momentous 1929 accords that restored to the Holy See territorial sovereignty and thereby furnished the papacy with juridical and diplomatic
standing in Italian and international affairs. With the signing of the historical
accords, Mussolini made peace with the Vatican, at least on paper. In return, the
Duce expected the pope essentially to stay out of Italy’s political and foreign affairs;
in short, to render unto Caesar that which was, ostensibly, Caesar’s.
It was, as Kertzer puts it, “a peculiar partnership” with which neither pope
nor Duce was “entirely comfortable” (pp. 121–22), as their voluble relationship,
which Kertzer describes in colorful detail, amply demonstrated. Yet framing this
relationship as a “partnership” risks underestimating the persistent tensions and
conflict between Pius XI and Mussolini over various matters—tensions that
exposed some basic ideological incompatibilities between Catholicism and Fascism and, in practical terms, tested the logic of the accommodation achieved in the
1929 accords. To speak as Kertzer does of the Church as a “willing partner” of the
Fascist regime (p. xxx) is to conflate concordance with alliance, thereby imputing to
the relationship a far greater degree of political-ideological compatibility and
complementarity than existed. It also attributes to the Holy See and to Pius XI an
exaggerated role and undue influence in the consolidation of Fascist rule. Kertzer
goes so far—too far, one might argue—as to contend that by the time the 1929
accords were signed, the putative “Fascist revolution” already had been transformed into a “clerico-Fascist revolution” (p. 68). In Kertzer’s telling, Mussolini

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and the Vatican forged “a new partnership” based on the shared vision of remaking
Italy by re-Catholicizing it—hence the self-interested motivation behind the
notoriously anticlerical Mussolini’s moves to “[shower] the Church with cash and
privileges.” These ranged from powerful symbolic gestures such as returning crucifixes to honored places of public display, to substantive state patronage of
Catholic ideals and institutions in the social, civic, and economic realms of Italian
life (p. 61).
In return, Mussolini expected Italian churchmen to contribute to consensusbuilding as the Duce worked in fits and starts to transform his fractious early political coalition into one-party authoritarian rule by the latter 1920s. Reading
Kertzer’s account of the early years of the Fascist experience, the reader might very
well conclude that certain influential prelates—many of whom were very close both
to the Vatican and to Mussolini such as Jesuit priest Pietro Tacchi Venturi—were
more fascist than the Fascists, in thought if not in name. To be sure, there were
many areas of consensus and mutual self-interest driving the constant search for a
workable modus vivendi between the Church of Pius XI and Mussolini’s Italy. Yet
it requires an interpretive leap to equate the tenuous pacification of church-state
relations during the early years of Mussolini’s rule—which aimed to normalize and
stabilize the highly volatile crisis atmosphere of Italy’s immediate postwar, to the
immense frustration of the more radical Fascists—with a revolution of any kind, let
alone of the clerico-Fascist variety.
Kertzer’s book will reinforce a commonplace view that the Holy See under
Pius XI was deeply complicit with Italian Fascism, to the point where the pope and
his men—above all Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli (the Vatican secretary of state and
later Pope Pius XII)—effectively did the Duce’s bidding. This was in return for the
preservation, virtually at any cost, of the cherished conciliazione. So deeply ran this
complicity, the argument goes, that the otherwise irascible and vocal Pius XI
remained largely silent when in the 1930s Mussolini’s regime embarked on increasingly aggressive and racist paths in domestic and foreign policy, typified by its invasion and occupation of Ethiopia and anti-Jewish racial laws at home.
The question of how the Holy See responded to Italian Fascism’s overtly racialist and antisemitic turn in the late 1930s constitutes a kind of rising action in the
dramatic structure of Kertzer’s narrative, culminating in the coming of racial laws in
1938 and Pius XI’s aborted epic “final battle” against racial antisemitism. In the end,
of course, Mussolini refused to be swayed by stiff papal opposition to the regime’s
racial turn exemplified by certain marriage provisions of the racial laws; nor did the
Duce worry very much about vague threats of a public papal rebuke. As Kertzer
notes, Mussolini was “willing to bet” that the pope “would not in the end break with
the Fascist regime” over the regime’s racial polices (p. 119). For Kertzer, the Vatican’s “limited and muted” public response to the 1938 anti-Jewish measures (p. 351)
prove the point: papal silence on the racial laws, we read, was the price the Vatican
was willing to pay as part of a “secret deal” brokered at Pius XI’s behest between
Tacchi Venturi and Mussolini. The deal was premised on a simple quid pro quo—

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the pope would remain silent on the matter of the racial laws, and the regime, in
return, pledged to offer “favorable treatment” of Catholic Action (p. 345).
Kertzer’s discussion of secret deals and furtive high-level meetings on both sides
of the Tiber conspiring to keep the peace between Pius XI and Mussolini at the
expense of the Jews makes for scintillating, condemnatory reading. However, some
of the causal links drawn by Kertzer between these dealings and papal policy in the
latter 1930s are speculative, based on plausible but not altogether convincing inferences for which the documentary record is inconclusive. Certainly, Kertzer is correct
in saying that, broadly speaking, the Vatican’s response to the racial laws was “limited
and muted,” falling well short of the threatened public papal condemnation and limited to specific doctrinal objections about marriage provisions of the law that were
seen by the Vatican to violate the terms of the 1929 concordat. Still, the argument
presented here —Kertzer calls it an established “fact” (p. 405)—that Pius XI and his
diplomatic staff allowed their responses to Fascist anti-Jewish policies to be determined by the quid pro quo of some secret agreement is not sustained by the evidence.
The reality of the situation was more complicated than this narrative of a secret deal
suggests; it reflected a basic tension in Italo-Vatican relations that alternated between
consensus and conflict on fundamental doctrinal and political questions.
That the Vatican’s persistent complaints and threatened public rebuke failed
to move Mussolini speaks to the effective limits, largely self-imposed, of the Vatican’s presumed influence over the regime; precisely the leverage that Pacelli sought
to maintain through a policy of rhetorical restraint and diplomatic negotiation.
Kertzer does an effective job of showing the instrumental role of Pacelli in persuading Pius XI to stay the course of diplomatic engagement. Yet to call that Pacelli the
Duce’s “most powerful ally in the Vatican” (p. 352) is misleading. True, Pacelli’s
diplomacy was guided by an overriding commitment to détente in Italo-Vatican
relations. But seeking détente was not akin to allying with the Duce. That Pacelli’s
diplomacy failed to keep Mussolini from pursuing a radical racial and imperial
agenda is clear enough—but that is a subject for another book.
Whatever doubts the reader might have about the overall persuasiveness of the
book’s central arguments, Kertzer’s account makes for compelling, often troubling
reading. Brimming with detail and well-grounded in the extant literature, this book
has earned a place in the growing corpus of historical scholarship devoted to interrogating the assumptions, modalities, and consequences of papal diplomacy on the
eve of World War II.
King’s University College, Western University
London, Ontario, Canada

ROBERT A. VENTRESCA

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Being Mary? Irish Catholic Immigrant Women and Home and Community Building in
Harold Hill Essex 1947–1970. By Aenne Werner-Leggett. (The Hague:
Eleven International Publishing. Distrib. ISBS, Portland, OR. 2012. Pp. xii,
283. €36.00; $52.50 paperback. ISBN 978-94-90-947767.)
This book offers excellent, original research to add to the growing body of work
on Irish female immigrants to Britain, a somewhat neglected history in comparison
to the larger body of work on Irish female convicts transported to Australasia or
emigrants to North America after the Irish Potato Famine. This kind of fine-grain
study of a small community in Britain sheds light on perceptions, attitudes, and
beliefs that are notoriously difficult to research in a historical context, and the work
has immense value in this regard. The conceptual focus also includes a treatment of
space in the newly built Harold Hill Estate in Essex in the postwar period—a fascinating approach, particularly in gendered terms, as female immigrants often interact
with spaces in ways qualitatively different from those of men, as they liaise more
often than men with education, health, and housing services. In previous histories
the experiences of male immigrants have been viewed as analogous to the experiences of women, but recent historiography has pointed to the flaws in this approach.
Being Mary? follows this line of argument to assert the unique experiences of
women. Most important, it offers the voices of the women themselves—an element
often missing from narratives on Irish migration. The methodology chapter will be
particularly useful to undergraduate audiences in understanding the theoretical and
practical implications of using oral history as a source.
The book examines the ideological underpinning of Irish women’s roles as
mothers and explores the tension in historical narratives that stress how Irish
women were ideologically reared not to work outside the home. This ignored the
reality behind the rhetoric that many working-class women were employed in Ireland outside the home, even after marriage, out of sheer economic necessity. The
danger of this argument, which focuses on the “home-identified” woman, is that it
de-legitimizes women as economic migrants in the twentieth century, thereby playing into the negative contemporary rhetoric that they were “socially motivated” to
migrate rather than needing to work to support themselves and the family economy
through remittances. It also assumes that marriage was the ultimate goal for all
women—something we cannot know. Aenne Werner-Leggett’s exploration of this
theme in the women’s own words is sensitive, for she acknowledges the discourses
on women and the home as well as points out their limits, as these accounts fail to
acknowledge the women’s premarital careers and their essential role in their communities after marriage.
However, despite some very good points, the provenance of this work in a
doctoral thesis (although acknowledged in the book) is also evident in the fact that
the secondary literature does not take into account publications in the last five
years, which has been a remarkably productive time for this area of research. Furthermore, the frequent references to “this thesis” remind the reader that it is a PhD
thesis. More attention could have been paid stylistically to turn this into a mono-

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graph rather than an academic dissertation, particularly given the repetition of the
research rationale and design.
Werner-Leggett offers a fascinating paradigm in her proposition that the
Virgin Mary was used as a role model to prepare women for motherhood. The
Virgin Mary’s role in healing and promoting the welfare of children is offered as an
example of religion interacting with health concerns in the lives of migrant women.
This focus is different from that of sociological studies that highlight the poor
health outcomes for many Irish migrants in Britain and is an important insight into
how people mediated their religious practice as immigrants in places where the
majority of the population did not share their religious affiliation.
There is much to recommend this book, spanning as it does not only the
topics of Irish women’s migration and religious identity but also the growth and
development of London, the changing nature of urban communities, and gender
relations.
National University of Ireland, Maynooth

JENNIFER REDMOND

AMERICAN AND CANADIAN
Lands Never Trodden: The Franciscans and the California Missions. By John J. O’Hagan. (Caldwell, ID: Caxton Press. Distrib. University of Nebraska Press.
2013. Pp. x, 309. $18.95 paperback. ISBN 978-087004-563-9.)
The historiography on the California missions is vast, vibrant, and in many
instances polarized between pro-missionary factions that praise the Franciscan
friars as civilizing agents and those who accuse them of genocide against the
indigenous peoples. The controversy lies on the missionaries’ treatment of the
native peoples as much as the interpretative tone of the colonial milieu behind the
mission system. Amateur historian John O’Hagan’s Lands Never Trodden belongs
to the first group. O’Hagan describes the history of each one of the missions until
the present as well as the missions’ architecture and art. Although the book is
mostly descriptive and synthetic, a recurrent theme throughout the book is the
friars’ motivations to establish the mission compounds. According to the author,
we can only comprehend Franciscan missionaries and assess their deeds through
their own European contemporary standards; thus, any modern judgment is
anachronistic and partial. His goal is thus not to lay new ground but to make the
history of the missions accessible to a general audience. Although there are some
interesting sections, the author’s zeal to justify the Franciscan evangelizing enterprise, some historical errors, and his scanty source selection ultimately limit its
value for academic scholars and the general audience.
The book is thematically divided with three introductory chapters and a chapter for each one of the twenty-one missions. O’Hagan reveals his fondness for the
missionaries early on. Friars stood out for their “faith, fanaticism, devotion to duty,
and unremitting labor” (p. 3), “dedication, understanding and love” (p. 5). Francis-

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can missionaries to California were unique “people who faced and met the daunting
challenges of creating civilization from an untamed land” (p. 5). As champions of
culture and civilization, they brought temperance and justice to a violent land. Corporal punishments existed in the missions, he acknowledges, but they “were largely
in accord with the then-existing views and moral standards” (p. 5). As the case of
neophytes and school students in our educational system were undistinguishable,
O’Hagan astonishingly justifies that “[c]orporal punishment is still legal in public
schools in twenty states” (p. 6). These are but a few examples that show the tone of
the book. On the other hand, the author not only ignores natives’ own standards
and cultures but also claims that “Stone Age” California natives were naive,
gullible, and unsophisticated (p. 18). Factual errors abound. For example, O’Hagan
states that Jesuits and Dominicans preceded Franciscans in the Americas (p. 23).
The bulk of the book is a descriptive history of the twenty-one missions. Each
chapter includes a historical account of a mission from its foundation through secularization. The author then describes the less-known vicissitudes of each mission
until the present to finish with an interesting last section that explains the religious
iconography and architecture. Vivid anecdotes ranging from love stories and the sea
otter trade to the first documented surgical procedure in California fill each chapter.
In a less laudatory tenor, O’Hagan acknowledges that disease and harsh conditions
wrought havoc to mission indigenous populations, although Spanish colonialism
and a few rotten apples are to be blamed, not the missionary enterprise itself.
O’Hagan relies on a handful of known classic works by Hubert Howe Bancroft (1880s), Franciscan friars Zephyrin Englehard (1890s–1920s) and Maynard
Geiger (1950s–60s), as well as mostly Franciscan primary sources. It is surprising
that O’Hagan overlooks recent scholarship on the California missions, some even
listed in the bibliography. Better peer review and copyediting would have improved
the text and saved the author from partiality and factual errors that otherwise
diminish the book’s value for the general readership that it is intending to serve.
Stephen F. Austin State University

DAVID REX GALINDO

The Death and Afterlife of the North American Martyrs. By Emma Anderson. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 2014. Pp. 463. $39.95. ISBN 978-0674-05118-8.)
Emma Anderson’s new book explores the origins and evolution of the cult of
the North American martyrs from 1642 to the present day. Over the course of
seven chapters it uncovers the “artificial, subjective, and inherently unfair process”
(p. 5) that isolated eight Jesuits from all other French and indigenous people who
died in colonial violence and made them martyrs of the Catholic Church. The purpose here is not to repeat tired tropes of missionary heroism or religious colonialism, however, but rather to account for the multiple processes of “remembering and
reinvention” (p. 6) deployed both by devotees of the martyrs and by their detractors
over the years. The pivotal point of the book comes in chapter 6, “The Naked and

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the Dead,” where Anderson turns from an historical examination of the martyrs’
cult to an exploration of its contemporary relevance for believers and other participants centered on major shrines at Midland, Ontario, and Auriesville, New York.
Through a combination of detailed historical research, interviews, observations of
devotional events, and a compelling narrative style, Anderson shows the essential
contingency of the martyrs’ cult, and the frequently conflicting and occasionally
irreconcilable nexus of beliefs and interpretations that meet within it.
At the heart of the book lies the critically important observation that martyrdom is not a fact or an event, but always an interpretation. Chapters 1 and 2 explore
the differing viewpoints of seventeenth-century French Jesuits, Wendats (Huron),
and Mohawks on these deaths, and the role played by a French nursing sister and
mystic in perpetuating the cult of martyrdom that followed. Moving beyond these
lived experiences, chapter 3 examines the revival of the cult in nineteenth-century
Quebec as a key element in the clerical-nationalism of that era and examines the
curious emergence of competing cults in Anglo-Protestant Ontario and amongst
Catholics in the United States. In chapters 4 and 5, nationalism, the involvement of
ethnic and religious minorities, and indigenous reactions to the emerging modern
cults define Anderson’s understanding of the conflicted meanings that lay behind
the martyrs’ reputations in the mid-twentieth-century. Finally, chapters 6 and 7
highlight significant differences in how the cult of the martyrs has evolved to the
present-day north and south of the border, emphasizing inclusivity and multiculturalism at Midland and a strict orthodoxy, exclusion, and conservatism at Auriesville.
Death and Afterlife carves a new and exciting path through what seems at times
to be familiar territory. Yet, Anderson’s insistence on moving away from questions
about martyrdom itself to focus instead on how people and groups have perceived
the martyrs and made them into meaningful and relevant figures brings to light a
new and fraught history, one generally buried under layers of hagiographic writing,
devotional imagery, and cultic practices. In her deft treatment of both Catholic and
traditionalist indigenous views, for example, basic binaries are blurred to reveal an
array of beliefs, meanings, and interpretations held by Wendats, Quebecers, Americans, Mohawks, and others. Her focus on imagery, inclusion of oral testimony, and
occasional juxtapositioning of seemingly unrelated events provides a new evidentiary base that supplements and bolsters more traditional historical sources. Occasionally some conclusions can seem overstated or under-examined. The division
drawn between the inclusive and multicultural cult at Midland, for example, and
the exclusive and ultra-conservative cult discovered by Anderson at Auriesville
tends to reinforce nationalist tropes (familiar at least to Canadians) without significantly interrogating them. In the end, however, this is a compelling book that
raises important historical and contemporary questions about the place and role of
cultural icons in society, how those icons are created, and the purposes and people
they serve (and do not serve).
Western University
London, Ontario, Canada

TIMOTHY G. PEARSON

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637

Catholicism and the Shaping of Nineteenth-Century America. By Jon Gjerde; edited by
S. Deborah Kang. (New York: Cambridge University Press. 2012. Pp. xviii,
273. $99.00 hardback, ISBN 978-1-107-01024-6; $32.99 paperback, ISBN
978-0-521-27966-6.)
Catholicism and the Shaping of Nineteenth-Century America is a poignant testimony to the late Jon Gjerde’s scholarly acumen in analyzing the role played by religious and cultural diversity in nineteenth-century U.S. nation-building. Gjerde had
completed six of the monograph’s seven chapters before his unexpected death on
October 26, 2008, at age fifty-five. Thankfully, S. Deborah Kang (assistant professor in the Department of History of California State University, San Marcos, and
previously a postdoctoral scholar at the University of California, Berkeley, where
Gjerde taught) accepted the task of editing the extant introduction and six completed chapters. Kang added a preface explaining her editorial role and a brief epilogue reflecting on the work’s contribution to the field.
Gjerde presents “conversations” between American Protestants and Roman
Catholics, immigrants as well as notable converts, concerning the true religious
foundation of the emerging nation. Gjerde’s term, “conversation,” effectively captures the back-and-forth between the Protestant narrative and the Catholic
counter-narrative in the century-long exchange. His illustrations from a widerange of primary sources highlight the acrimony that fueled the debates and clearly
demonstrate the “quandaries” facing each group in defending its positions.
Gjerde opens with an account of the religiously-inflected Philadelphia riots of
1844 as the historical frame for his analysis of the “geopolitics of faith” inherited
from Europe and played out in America’s developing national context. He then
includes race to add depth and nuance to the potent mix that defined American
peoplehood. He had intended to return to the Philadelphia riots in the seventh
chapter. The final chapter’s absence has little impact on the overall effectiveness of
Gjerde’s argument.
Gjerde organizes his analysis around a central “conundrum” facing each party.
As explained in chapter 1, “The Protestant Conundrum” involves, on the one hand,
American “affirmations of freedom of belief and proscriptions against an established
religion” and, on the other, a widely held conviction that the American republic’s
well-being depended upon a Protestant religious homogeneity (p. 23). Catholic
immigrants posed the first serious threat to Protestant America’s defense of religious
liberty. “The Catholic Conundrum,” discussed in chapter 2, concerns the Catholic
rhetorical affirmation of America’s liberal principle of religious pluralism as the basis
for its right to defend its exclusive claim—Roman Catholicism as the one true faith.
The four subsequent chapters present four major social and political controversies:
the settlement of the West, public education, the family and women, and the emerging capitalist economy and the challenges to social justice (including slavery).
Chapters 3 through 6 feature first the American Protestant narratives; then
the Catholic counter-narratives; and conclude with Gjerde’s remarks about the

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social, cultural, and political outcomes. Instead of Protestant homogeneity or
America’s conversion to Catholicism, religious denominations proliferated,
common schools were secularized, and Catholics established an alternative institutional system, what Gjerde describes as Catholic social and cultural “pillorization”
(p. 140).
Historians of American immigration and religion will appreciate how this
single text provides with remarkable clarity the complexity of nineteenth-century
America’s “geopolitics of faith” in its spatial and temporal dimensions. Gjerde presents the narratives and counter-narratives with such careful detail that the reader
has a sense of engaging each side’s argument firsthand. Although Gjerde avoids any
anachronism, most readers will hear in these accounts echoes of the acrimony in
contemporary debates concerning education, family and women, and the economy
in an ever more religiously diverse and still racially polarized society. Gjerde’s
thoughtful reading of America’s ongoing struggles with religious and cultural
diversity is clearly evident on every page of this text, a fitting tribute to his scholarly
accomplishments. Requiescat in pace.
University of Dayton

SANDRA YOCUM

The Body of Faith: A Biological History of Religion in America. By Robert C. Fuller.
[Chicago History of American Religion.] (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press. 2013. Pp. xiv, 231. $35.00. ISBN 978-0-226-02508-7.)
“But let’s be clear—cultures don’t construct bodies. … DNA constructs
bodies” (p. 181). With these words, and throughout this charged volume, Robert
C. Fuller offers a robust challenge to contemporary historians’ use of the word body.
Diagnosing widespread interest in bodies as a healthy trend among scholars of religion, Fuller’s volume aims to point the way to a more thoroughgoing approach.
Attention to the cultural production of bodies—interest, for example, in culturally varied ways of feeling pain or smelling smells—is itself deeply informative,
Fuller insists. But this interpretive frame stops short, missing the full analytical
power of a focus on bodies. New research in the natural sciences (particularly evolutionary biology and psychology, comparative biology, and cognitive science) will
supplement existing methods and help us tell more accurate stories about America’s
religious past. These new stories will include the body—our emotional systems,
genetic tendencies, basic chemistry, and adaptive strategies—as an agent of religious history.
Fuller, whose previous work positions him at the intersection of the psychology and cultural history of religion in the United States, is an ideal tour guide of
this interdisciplinary route. The book makes several stops at sites of traditional disciplinary controversy, where knowledge from the natural sciences offers interpretive
leverage. The history of revivalism, the sectarian experiments of the mid-nineteenth century, apocalypticism, nature religion, the rise of New Thought, and the
history of denominationalism all come in for a biological rethinking.

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A few examples will convey the flavor of this readable and highly recommended text. Biological understandings of fear as an agent of “tunnel vision” and
“territoriality” (pp. 91, 87) helps explain the success of the efforts of Ellen White
and Tim LaHaye to build communities based on ominous predictions. On the
other hand, the “positive emotions” (p. 95) of wonder and awe are evolutionarily
adaptive because they produce submission to larger realities and “prosocial” (p. 41)
attentiveness to the whole. With this in mind, the persistence of authoritarian religions in an ostensibly “individualistic” country may be less puzzling.
In another chapter, Fuller discusses the ways that pain collapses cognitive
boundaries and explores the likelihood that religious innovation may be the result.
Later, explaining the hormonal and cognitive effects of touch and physical movement, Fuller places bodily systems at the center of healing traditions such as the
Catholic Charismatic movement and expressive worship like that found in many
African American congregations.
Elsewhere, Fuller notes that it is not enough to say that the smells of the festa
on 115th Street are “pressed into” the bodies of East Harlem’s Italian Catholics;
“bodies press themselves onto culture” as well. The proximity of the “olfactory
nerve” to the brain’s center of memory and spatial navigation ensures adaptive
behaviors such as “bonding with the mother” and “remembering the location of
stored food” (p. 161). Shared biology explains more than we have been willing or
able to allow.
Biological variety matters, too. Fuller tells us that psychologists have shown
that “females” experience “higher levels of distress” (p. 157) than males. If we can
agree with Fuller that religions actually ease distress, then the preponderance of
women in the make-up of America’s churches has biological, and not just cultural,
sources. But here we meet the limits of the biological approach, for, as Fuller readily admits, only study of the day-to-day textures of particular women’s religious
lives could answer that kind of question. If Fuller trusts scientific claims more than
others, however, he steers well clear of the positivist mistake. Re-envisioning historical research as the pursuit of the right “mix” (p. 180) of biological and sociocultural explanations, Fuller has powerfully crystallized a bracing challenge facing the
study of religion.
Fordham University

JOHN C. SEITZ

The Life and Death of the Radical Historical Jesus. By David Burns. [Religion in
America, Vol. 24.] (New York: Oxford University Press. 2013. Pp. xii, 275.
$65.00. ISBN 978-0-19-992950-4.)
The Life and Death of the Radical Historical Jesus provides an intellectual and
cultural history from the mid-1800s to World War I of the Jesus imagined and promoted by writers, freethinkers, unionists, socialists, anarchists, and other varieties
of left-wing activists who were socially conscious advocates of the working class.
Burns is careful to note that the radical Jesus’s visage seldom engaged the interest

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of African Americans, mainline Protestants, and Roman Catholics. But despite
this, he argues, historians must “rethink standard cultural categories and recognize
the influence that radical religionists exerted on Gilded-Age and Progressive-Era
America as unconventional thinkers who believed that imagination could produce
truths as valid and viable as those generated by the intellect” (p. 13). Specifically,
Burns suggests that proponents of the radical historical Jesus (1) contributed to the
spread of religious modernism outside seminary gates and into the homes of working Americans and (2) were among the individuals and structures fomenting the
“overall secularization of American society” between the Civil War and World War
I by creating a climate in which secular scholars came to wield an authority on certain topics that was previously the sole possession of theologians and ministers.
As works such as Stephen Prothero’s American Jesus (New York, 2003) and
Richard Wightman Fox’s Jesus in America (San Francisco, 2004) have shown, the
figure of Jesus has—more than any other—been imagined in multiple ways that
reflected the desires, characteristics, and hopes of those Americans doing the imagining. In that respect, one could argue that those Gilded-Age and Progressive-Era
individuals and groups who envisioned and promoted a proletarian, anticapitalist, and
even anticlerical Jesus were in many ways similar to the fundamentalists, evangelicals,
Catholics, mainline Protestants, and new religious-movement participants that
engaged in the same sort of creative imaginings. Although Burns does not dwell on
such comparative analysis, his most sustaining contribution is the historical trajectory
of the “revolutionary carpenter.” Burns deftly traces how the radical historical Jesus
emerged in the 1860s, took on various similar yet unique guises in the writings and
speeches of proponents, and declined markedly in stature at the onset of World War
I when it was replaced by the dominant image of a masculine and militaristic Jesus
that supported war efforts. Burns, for the most part, focuses on particular figures and
their writings to tell this historical, change-over-time narrative. He begins with
Ernest Renan’s The Life of Jesus (New York, 1863) and follows its initial influence into
the works and activities of such well-known American figures as Robert Ingersoll,
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Bouck White, and Eugene Debs. The chapters on White,
the radical minister and author of Call of the Carpenter (Garden City, NY, 1911), and
Eugene Debs, the Midwestern activist who came to see Christianity and socialism as
inseparable, are especially detailed and useful for readers interested in these figures.
Although the arguments made by Burns become clearer in the book’s epilogue, the introduction—as well as the introductions to each chapter—could have
benefited greatly from the inclusion of clearly articulated thesis arguments. In addition, Burns uses terms such as radical, conservative, and secular without ever defining them. Given that these words have histories of multiple and contested meanings, attention to their definitions as intended for this work would have been
useful. Despite these issues, The Life and Death of the Radical Historical Jesus is a
solid contribution to American studies, American religious history, and American
labor history.
University of North Carolina at Charlotte

SEAN MCCLOUD

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641

Irish Catholic Writers and the Invention of the American South. By Bryan Giemza.
[Southern Literary Studies.] (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press.
2013. Pp. xiv, 361. $49.95 clothbound, ISBN 978-0-8071-5090-0; $39.95
paperback, ISBN 978-0-8071-59091-7.)
Our understanding of the Irish Catholic presence in the American South has
substantially changed over the last couple of decades due to scholarly investigations
in a number of areas. The presumption of a solid “Scotch-Irish”—the usual term—
hegemony has been modified by awareness that Catholic and Protestant identities
in the north of Ireland and in Scotland were often fluid in the eighteenth century,
that over the decades many nominal Irish Catholics morphed into Scotch-Irish
Protestants because of the unavailability of churches of their own denomination in
the Southern states, and that there were hosts of other migratory forgettings and
anomalies. Of course, one should always have been a little suspicious of a solid
South thesis in a world shaped by Father Abraham Ryan, the region’s hugely popular poet laureate in the nineteenth century; Kate O’Flaherty Chopin, disruptive
feminist and unconventional Catholic; Scarlett O’Hara, iconic Southern belle; and
Flannery O’Connor (a distant relation of Margaret Mitchell, as it turns out), a
writer who dominated the genre of the Southern short story. In the past, an American Catholicism that was both defensive and triumphalist occasionally drew attention to some of these matters, whereas the idea of a “Celtic South” enjoyed surprising (and disturbing) popularity in the 1980s. Albert S. Foley’s challenging 1950s
study of the biracial Healys of Georgia—one of them the “second founder” of
Georgetown University—introduced a complication in the received narrative of
minimal Irish Catholic Southern presence but without changing the overall understanding of the matter.
What is new now is the emergence of a more mature and less belligerent
examination of tangled histories. Brian Giemza is one of the most active scholars
in this area with a previous study of Ryan (Poet of the Lost Cause [Knoxville, 2008],
with Donald Robert Beagle) and an edited collection (Rethinking the Irish in the
American South [Jackson, MS, 2013]). His present study recapitulates and greatly
extends this theme with a wealth of material both secondary and archival on writers
of Catholic Irish background in the South over the last two centuries. Some of
these names will be unfamiliar even to those engaged with the subject; others are
more canonical but here presented in a new light or with a reinvigorated analysis.
In particular, Giemza’s sections on Lafcadio Hearn, Joel Chandler Harris, Flannery
O’Connor, John Kennedy Toole (A Confederacy of Dunces, Baton Rouge, 1980),
Cormac McCarthy (based on extensive archival work), Pat Conroy, and Anne Rice
(an interview) offer new material. Again and again, Giemza presses his argument
in engaging ways—not, for example, too readily accepting O’Connor’s dismissal of
her Irish roots but teasing out her many evasions, omissions, and contradictions on
the subject. Giemza’s book also acknowledges the changing context of Catholicism
in the modern world and is by no means a pious reiteration of orthodoxy, even if
his own religious position seems to vacillate at times. His overall argument, then,
is not that persons of Irish Catholic background invented the American South but

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rather that they have contributed more to its formation than has been acknowledged and, in closing, that the Catholic element at least will continue as the Hispanic population of the region grows. If the book has a problem, it is because the
author has so much to present that the narrative occasionally becomes overwhelming. Indeed, as Giemza acknowledges, “Space constraints have left more than one
hundred pages of this manuscript on the cutting-room floor” (p. 273). We can
expect to hear more from this investigative author.
University of Alabama at Birmingham

KIERAN QUINLAN

American Catholic Hospitals: A Century of Changing Markets and Missions. By Barbra
Mann Wall. [Critical Issues in Health and Medicine.] (New Brunswick, NJ:
Rutgers University Press. 2011. Pp. xviii, 238. $45.95. ISBN 970-0-81354940-8.)
American Catholic Hospitals examines the developments in U.S. Catholic
health care during the past 100 years. Barbra Mann Wall contends that as leaders
of Catholic hospitals reacted to
increased societal secularization over the course of the twentieth century
they extended their religious values in the areas of universal health care,
abortion, and reproductive services, which led to tensions among the
values of the Church, the government, and society. (p. 2)
To document the changing face of Catholic health care, Wall focuses on four
primary examples: the Sisters of Providence in the state of Washington; the Alexian Brothers’ hospital in Chicago; the health care system in Austin, Texas, founded
and administered by the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul; and
Chicago’s first chartered hospital—Mercy Hospital, founded by the Sisters of
Mercy.
Catholic hospitals were forced to respond to changes taking place in both
society and the Church if they hoped to survive. Declining numbers of men and
women religious, shifting demographics, the passage of Medicare and Medicaid,
and the responses of religious congregations to the decrees of the Second Vatican Council had a tremendous impact on these institutions. These four factors
meant that the Alexian Brothers, for instance, divested themselves of some hospitals, whereas the Daughters of Charity formed the Seton Healthcare Network,
which by the late 1990s was the third largest private employer in Austin and its
environs. Chicago’s Mercy Hospital, which was founded in 1851, remained on
the city’s Near South Side, but found it necessary to attract more paying patients
so as to maintain financial solvency and remain faithful to its mission. The Sisters of Providence, who administered and staffed an extensive system of healthcare institutions on the West Coast, transferred control of some hospitals to
other groups or agencies so that they could devote themselves to unmet community needs.

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In addition to examining the ways in which Catholic hospitals confronted
issues related to declining numbers of women and men religious and changes in
federal health care policy, Wall devotes chapters to gender, race, the relationship
between Catholic hospitals and the federal government, and situations in which
hospital workers either threatened to strike or actually walked off the job over issues
related to salary and working conditions.
The final chapters of the book focus on challenges faced by these institutions
in the twenty-first century. The merger of Catholic and non-Catholic hospitals, for
example, must be “understood in the broader context of national health care issues”
(p. 156). Concerns related to reproductive services complicated these mergers, and
the institutions’ missions to serve those oppressed by society and “preserve the
rights of the unborn, … often clashed head-on with practices of secular hospitals
not constrained by the same moral guidelines” (p. 175). The full effect of the
Affordable Care Act on religious health care institutions remains to be seen.
American Catholic Hospitals is meticulously researched and well written.
Although it is certainly appropriate for both undergraduate and graduate students,
general readers also will find it to be an excellent overview of the history of the
changes that Catholic health-care institutions have undergone in the twentieth and
twenty-first centuries.
MARGARET M. MCGUINNESS

La Salle University

FAR EASTERN
Edmond Pezet: A Priest among Buddhist Monks in Thailand. Letters and Writings
Collected and Presented by Henri Huysegoms and Pierre Liesse. (Brussels:
Société des Auxiliaires des Missions, 2012. Pp. 387. €20,00 paperback. ISBN
978-2-9601236-1-6.)
It is likely that few in the United States have heard of the person whose letters
and writings are collected in this volume, originally published in French as Edmond
Pezet, un prêtre parmi les moines bouddhistes en Thaïlande (Brussels, 2012). Henri
Huysegoms and Pierre Liesse have done a great service to the Church as a whole
and to the cause of interreligious dialogue—especially dialogue with Buddhism—
by selecting the main writings of Edmond Pezet, placing them in their historical
contexts, and providing brief commentaries to aid us in understanding Pezet the
man and his work.
For a man who later became a contemplative recluse, Pezet led a life that was
nothing short of colorful. Born in 1923 in Larnagol, Lot, France, as the oldest of
four children of Émile Louis Pezet and Marie Rosalie Chalou, Pezet studied for
the priesthood at the seminary in Cahors (1942–45). World War II interrupted
his studies in 1945 as he became a member of the French Far East Expeditionary
Corps that served in Indochina. In 1946 he resumed his theological studies and

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was ordained to the priesthood in 1949. He worked as a parish priest until 1955
when he joined Société des Auxiliaires des Missions (S.A.M.) with the goal of
serving as a missionary. In December 1956 he was sent to the Diocese of Tha RaeNongsaeng in northeastern Thailand. Here began Pezet’s long journey of spiritual
transformation. He soon became disenchanted with the Church of Thailand’s
missionary method, which turned the Church into a rich and Latinized ghetto,
and required the memorization of incomprehensible dogmatic formulas in catechetical instruction. But what distressed Pezet most was the Church’s disdain for
the Thai people’s Buddhist tradition. Following the example of Jules Monchanin,
a fellow S.A.M. and a missionary in India who advocated the adaptation of Hindu
spirituality, Pezet set out “to bury himself in the nourishing soil of his people” and
“to seek the providential ways from the Buddha to Christ” (p. 55). After his return
to Thailand from leave in France, Pezet’s malaise with the Church in Thailand
grew worse, and in 1969 he asked to be released from the Diocese of Tha Rae and
be reduced to the status of deacon (an unknown canonical process); this would
effectively remove him from priestly duties and permit his complete devotion to
the study of Buddhism. Henceforth he began a monastic life, first in the community of the Buddhist forest monks and later as a hermit by himself. In 1979 he
interrupted his contemplative life to serve the Khmer refugees. In 1980 he
returned to the Diocese of Tha Rah. In 1982 Pezet went to France and returned
to Tha Rah a year later. Although his bishop allowed him to continue to live as a
Buddhist, Cardinal Michael Michai Kitbunchu of Bangkok forbade it. In 1984
Pezet went back to France and stayed there until 1987. Once more he returned to
Thailand and stayed until 1989. In October of that year he returned to France and
worked there as a parish priest for nineteen years. He died on December 20, 2008,
at age eighty-five.
Pezet has left behind several writings on Buddhism; a list is given on pages
383–86. The editors have provided an excellent selection on pages 159–81.
Although Pezet studied Buddhism extensively and knew Sanskrit, he is not what is
conventionally called a “Buddhologist.” His significance lies not in scholarly research
in Buddhism, but in his attempt at mediating Buddhism to Christians. In this
regard, the essays “The Buddha’s Message and the Bible’s Message” (pp. 187–217)
and “A Christian’s Perplexity in the Face of Buddhist Doctrine” (pp. 279–314) are
of special interest. Pezet’s greatest and enduring legacy, however, lies in his lifelong
practice of Buddhist monasticism and hence in his concrete example of the possibility and even the need to be both Christian and Buddhist, at least in Asia.
Georgetown University

PETER C. PHAN

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BRIEF NOTICE
Koman, Alan J. A Who’s Who of Your Ancestral Saints. (Baltimore, MD: Genealogical Publishing Co. 2010. Pp. x, 447. $34.95 paperback. ISBN 978-0-80631824-0.)
There are three parts to this book. Part I is titled “Twenty-Four Medieval
Europeans and Their Two Hundred and Seventy-Five Ancestral Saints,” and
serves as a rather unwieldy form of index to the rest of the book. The other two
parts give short lives of these saints, some of whom are “Direct Ancestors” (part II)
and the remainder “Aunts and Uncles” (part III). It is the author’s contention that
all Europeans and Americans have saints in their families if one goes back far
enough, which is no doubt true enough, for—as the blurb on the back cover rightly
remarks—the twenty-four men and women have hundreds of millions of living
descendants. The most recently deceased of them, Sir John Stewart of Balveny, first
earl of Atholl, died in 1512. Sir John undoubtedly contributed to these hundreds
of millions, having sired in two marriages two sons (one of whom became a bishop)
and at least five daughters. The reviewer learned these facts from the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, a source not quoted in Alan J. Koman’s otherwise
extensive bibliography. That is a pity. A very large proportion of the saints whose
lives he briefly relates (275 of them in all) come from the British Isles, and those
mainly from England and Wales. Even a brief glance at their well-researched
entries in the ODNB would have helped him to distinguish the possibly historical
from the almost certainly legendary. As it is, he relates the lives of his subjects as if
all the details he recounts were equally—and firmly—historically established,
which, of course, they are not. The book is a curiosity, and it is very unclear what
useful purpose it might serve. MICHAEL J. WALSH (Heythrop College, University of
London)

Notes and Comments
ASSOCIATION NEWS
The American Catholic Historical Association’s Junior Faculty Research
Grants were awarded to Sean Brennan (University of Scranton) and Andrea Di
Stefano (University of New Hampshire). The Graduate Student Research Grants
were given to Peter Cajka (Boston College), Sean Phillips (University of Notre
Dame), and Carolyn Twomey (Boston College).

CAUSES OF SAINTS
On April 16, Pope Francis authorized the promulgation of decrees concerning
miracles in the causes of Blessed Ludocico da Casoria (born Arcangelo Palmentieri,
1814–85), an Italian professed priest of the Order of Friars Minor and founder of
the Congregation of Franciscan Sisters of St. Elizabeth, and of Blessed Amato
Ronconi (1226–92), an Italian lay member of the third order of the Franciscans and
founder of the Hospital-Hospice of St. Mary of Mount Orciale for Poor Pilgrims
of Saludecio (near Rimini). Decrees regarding heroic virtues were issued on behalf
of the Servants of God Alain-Marie Guynot de Boismenu (1870–1953), a French
priest of the Congregation of Missionaries of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and apostolic vicar of Papua, New Guinea; and Wilhelm Janauschek (1859–1926), an Austrian professed priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer.

BICENTENNIAL OF THE RESTORATION OF THE SOCIETY OF JESUS
To commemorate the universal restoration of the Society of Jesus by Pope Pius
VII on August 7, 1814, by the bull Sollicitudo omnium ecclesiarum, after a precarious
survival in the Russian Empire, the Jesuit order is seeking, among other things, to
reflect on its history of apostolic ministry. In keeping with this end, the Institute for
Advanced Jesuit Studies of Boston College will sponsor the First International Symposium on Jesuit Studies that will investigate “Exploring Jesuit Distinctiveness” at
Boston College on June 10–14, 2015. Papers will focus on what was meant by the
Jesuit “way of proceeding” as it operated in various historical, geographical, social,
and cultural contexts. Proposal for papers and panels (maximum of 250 words)
should be sent to Robert A. Maryks at the institute, email: iajs@bc.edu.

RESEARCH TOOL
The Documentation and Research Center for Religion, Culture, and Society
at the Catholic University of Leuven has issued an annual International Newsletter
since 2007 containing articles and news items. The 2013 newsletter can be accessed
646

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647

through the KADOC Web site. The email address is kadocnewsletter@
kadoc.kuleuven.be.

ISTITUTO SANGALLI PER LA STORIA E LE CULTURE RELIGIOSE
Located in the center of historic Florence in the former Palazzo Sacchetti
opposite the Palazzo Gondi at Piazza di San Firenze 3, I-50122 Florence, Italy, the
institute has just opened with an endowment from the Sangalli family to host seminars, meetings, and congresses, and to provide an apartment for rent. It has an
agreement with the bed and breakfast on the lower floors of the building to host
other guests. The institute also seeks to provide financial support to young scholars
doing research in the libraries and archives of the city and to those needing assistance for their publications. For further information, please contact segreteria@istitutosangalli.it.

WORKSHOPS AT THE FOLGER INSTITUTE OF WASHINGTON, DC
A faculty weekend seminar in the fall semester on “Narratives of Conversion
in Reformation Europe, ca. 1550–1700,” will be co-directed by Simon Ditchfield
(Reader in History, University of York) and Helen Smith (Reader in Renaissance
Literature, University of York). The seminar will investigate the narrative sources
and the source narratives of conversions produced in Europe and its colonies in an
age that witnessed not only the Protestant and Catholic Reformations (as well as
the so-called voyages of “discovery”) but also the apogee of Ottoman power in
Europe and the Mediterranean. Twelve to sixteen faculty participants will collaboratively consider the place and effect of narrative structures in religious change and
the diversity of narratives (from court records to letters, and from painting to
poetry) that articulate conversion as concept and practice.
In the spring semester 2015, Brad Gregory (University of Notre Dame) will
offer a multidisciplinary seminar for advanced graduate students and faculty members on “Afterlife of the Reformation: Embodied Souls and Their Rivals,” which
will explore changing conceptions of human souls based on evolving conceptions of
human nature and conflicting theological anthropologies. The deadline for admission with grant-in-aid is September 5, 2014. For further information, please contact cbrobeck@folger.edu.

CHICAGO’S NEWBERRY CENTER FOR RENAISSANCE STUDIES
A symposium on “Latin America in the Early Colonial Period” that investigates the contact and conflicts between indigenous and European cultures will be
sponsored by the library on April 11, 2015, with Laura Matthew (Marquette University) as keynote speaker. Postdoctoral scholars are invited to submit by September 15, 2014, a one-page abstract for a twenty-minute paper to be given in the two
morning sessions. In addition to the abstract, please send a three-page curriculum
vitae to Karen Christianson at christiansonk@newberry.org.

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PUBLICATIONS
An interdisciplinary symposium on “Mission und Evangelisierung als Thema
von Synoden und Konzilien” was held at the University of Fribourg in Switzerland
on September 13–16, 2012. The papers presented there have been published in the
recently printed Heft 1 for 2012 (vol. 44) of the Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum:
Mariano Delgado, “Zur Einführung” (pp. 1–10); Richard Price, “The Nicene Creed
and the Reception of Converts at the First Council of Ephesus” (pp. 11–26); Alberto
Ferreiro, “Secundum quod sancta synodus: Advancing the Mission of the Church
through Conciliar Legislation after the Third Council of Toledo (589)” (pp. 27–46);
Luis Martínez Ferrer, “La ordenación de indios, mestizos y ‘mezclas’ en los Terceros
Concilios Provinciales de Lima (1582) y México (1585)” (pp. 47–64); Osvaldo
Rodolfo Moutin, “Los casos reservados como instrumento episcopal para la pastoral
de la Confesión en el Tercer Concilio Provincial de México (1585)” (pp. 65–80);
Mariano Delgado, “Die Evangelisierung in ein heimischen Sprachen und die Massnahmen des regalistischen Konzils von Manila (1771)” (pp. 81–94); Gabriel
Adriányi, “Die Mitarbeit des Dogmatikers Clemens Schrader S.J. an der Provinzialsynode zu Kalocsa 1863” (pp. 95–104); Josep-Ignasi Saranyana, “Über den theologisch-kanonischen Status der Dekrete (conclusiones) der fünf Generalbischofskonferenzen in Lateinamerika” (pp. 105–10); and Nicola Bux, “La Sacra Liturgia e la
trasmissione della Fede: dal Vaticano II a Benedetto XVI” (pp. 111–18).
The Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies in its issue for winter 2014
(vol. 44, no. 1) presents a number of articles on “Devotion and Intellectual Labor.”
After an introduction bearing the same title by Joanna Picciotti (pp. 1–15), we find
Steven Justice, “‘Shameless’ Augustine, After Augustine, and Way after Augustine”
(pp. 17–43); Joshua Phillips, “Labors Lost: The Work of Devotion in Tudor Literature” (pp. 45–68); Debora Shuger, “Laudian Feminism and the Household
Republic of Little Gidding” (pp. 69–94); Stephen Gaukroger, “The Early Modern
Idea of Scientific Doctrine and Its Early Christian Origins” (pp. 95–112); Peter
Harrison, “Sentiments of Devotion and Experimental Philosophy in SeventeenthCentury England” (pp. 113–33); David Mamo, “Easy Attention: Ignatius of
Loyola and Robert Boyle” (pp. 135–61); and Jennifer Hillman, “Putting Faith to
the Test: Anne de Gonzague and the Incombustible Relic” (pp. 163–86).
The long-delayed volume (48) for 2010 of the Archivum Historiae Pontificiae
contains the papers presented at a conference held at the Pontifical Gregorian University on May 5, 2010, under the title “Tra Parigi e Roma: L’opera storiografica
di Padre Pierre Blet, S.J. (1918–2009).” Joseph Joblin, S.J., has written on “Le Père
Blet” (pp. 17–19), and Sergio Pagano, B., on “Pierre Blet e l’Archivio Segreto Vaticano” (pp. 21–24). There are three articles under the heading “L’Epoca Moderna”:
Bernard Barbiche, “Le Père Blet, historien de l’Église de France” (pp. 27–40);
Alexander Koller, “Le nunziature di Girolamo Ragazzoni e di Ranuccio Scotti
(1583–1586, 1639–1641): Le edizioni di P. Blet” (pp. 41–52); and Silvano Giordano, “I Papi e l’Europa nella prima età moderna: le istruzioni generali ai nunzi”
(pp. 55–80). Under “Il Novecento” there are four articles: Philippe Chenaux, “Pie

NOTES AND COMMENTS

649

XII: la légende à l’épreuve des archives” (pp. 83–91); Matteo Luigi Napolitano,
“Padre Blet e la collana degli Actes et Documents. Tra storia e memoria” (pp. 93–
108); Thomas Brechenmacher, “I papi Pio XI e Pio XII e le dittature” (pp. 109–
28); and Philippe Levillain, “La foi et la science. Un jésuite, le P. Pierre Blet” (pp.
129–34). In addition, Barbiche and Giordano have compiled a chronological “Bibliografia di Pierre Blet” (pp. 135–55).
“Hitler und die Religion” was the theme of a conference organized by the
Theological Faculty of Paderborn last year to mark the eightieth anniversary of
Hitler’s Machtergreifung and the signing of the Reichskonkordat in 1933. Four of the
papers have been published in the first number for 2014 (vol. 104) of Theologie und
Glaube: Dominik Burkard, “‘Gebundene Hände?’ Oder: Wie dem Nationalsozialismus begegnen? Die Handlungsoptionen der Kirche” (pp. 3–31); Johannes Seidel,
S.J., “Religiös motivierter Antijudaismus in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Neutestamentliche Exegese in Verantwortung vor der Vergangenheit” (pp. 32–50); Klaus
Unterburger, “Keine Friedensverhandlungen ohne Waffenstillstand. Kardinal
Konrad Graf von Preysing (1880–1950) und die Handlungsoptionen des deutschen
Episkopats im NS-Staat und der DDR” (pp. 51–68); and Jörg Ernesti, “Paderborn
und die Ökumene im Dritten Reich. Annäherung der Kirchen unter dem Druck
des Regimes” (pp. 69–81).
Four historians briefly revisit Herbert Gutman’s essay “Protestantism and the
American Labor Movement” in the second number of volume 11 (2014) of Labor:
Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas: Heath W. Carter, “Labor and the
Politics of the Church” (pp. 13–16); Janine Giordano Drake, “The Proletarian
Jesus in the Shaping of the Socialist Party of America, 1880–1919” (pp. 17–24);
Jarod Roll, “The Christian Spirit beyond the Gilded Age” (pp. 25–28); and
Edward J. Blum, “‘By the Sweat of Your Brow’: The Knights of Labor, the Book
of Genesis, and the Christian Spirit of the Gilded Age” (pp. 29–34).
Part II, “The Twentieth Century,” of the series U.S. Catholics and the Bible
appears in the issue for fall 2013 (vol. 31, no. 4) of U.S. Catholic Historian, as follows: Ronald D. Witherup, S.S., “Raymond E. Brown, S.S., and Catholic Exegesis
in the Twentieth Century: A Retrospective” (pp. 1–26); Gilbert A. Enderle,
C.Ss.R., and Patrick J. Hayes, “Louis F. Hartman: The Contributions of a
Redemptorist Biblical Scholar” (pp. 27–46); Donald Senior, C.P., “Carroll
Stuhlmueller, C.P.: The Life and Scholarship of an Immortal Teacher” (pp. 47–
62); John R. Donahue, S.J., “Joseph A. Fitzmyer, S.J: Scholar and Teacher of the
Word of God” (pp. 63–83); and Hillary Kaell, “‘A Bible People’: Post-Conciliar
U.S. Catholics, Scripture, and Holy Land Pilgrimage” (pp. 85–106).
Several of the papers presented at a conference on the Second Vatican Council
and the churches of Tuscany that was held at Florence on October 1–2, 2012, have
been published in the number for January–June 2013 (vol. XXIV) of Vivens Homo.
Noteworthy among them are Stefano Tarocchi, “Sfogliando il Diario di Umberto
Betti. Ermenegildo Florit e la Dei Verbum” (pp. 77–92); Basilio Petrà, “Mons.

650

NOTES AND COMMENTS

Pietro Fiordelli in Concilio: Il vescovo di Prato e la «curiosa» nascita della teologia
della famiglia come «chiesa domestica»” (pp. 93–122); and Maria Enrica Senesi, “Il
vescovo Emilio Guano al Concilio: L’intervento sul Messaggio dei Padri a tutti gli
uomini” (pp. 122–31).

PERSONALS
Brother Richard Daly, C.S.C., of St. Edward’s University has been named the
new president of the Texas Catholic Historical Society.
Professor Emeritus Paul F. Grendler of the University of Toronto will receive
the Premio Internazionale Galileo Galilei for his scholarship in the field of Italian
history in a ceremony at the University of Pisa on October 4.

CORRECTION
The editor regrets an error that occurred in the final editing phase of the
review by Terence McGoldrick that appeared in the spring issue of volume 100,
page 361, whereby the phrase “of the text” was incorrectly inserted after the words
“editions dropped about 70 percent.” It was the number of editions, not their content, that was reduced.

OBITUARY

Jeffrey L. Klaiber, S.J.
(1943–2014)
Photo reproduced by permission of the Midwest Jesuit Archives.

Jeffrey L. Klaiber, S.J., died on March 4, 2014, in Lima, Peru, due to complications following heart surgery. He was born on January 11, 1943, in Indianapolis.
He attended Marquette University for one year before entering the Society of Jesus

NOTES AND COMMENTS

651

in 1961 and earned a bachelor’s degree in 1967 and a master’s degree in 1968 at
Loyola University Chicago. He earned a doctoral degree in history at The Catholic
University of America in 1976. Ordained in Lima in 1974, he took his final vows
in 1980 in that city; it was there that he also completed his Jesuit preparation.
From 1976 until his death, he was a professor of history at the Catholic University in Lima; he also headed the Humanities Department from 1996 to 2000.
He served as professor of theology and counselor at the University of El Pacifico in
Lima (1977–82) and was professor of history at the Antonio Ruiz de Montoya
University in Lima (2004–14). Father Klaiber served as visiting professor at
Georgetown University (1989–90), St. Joseph’s University (2000–01), and Boston
College (2006–08). He received “Best Teacher of the Year” awards for many years
and was decorated for his writing about the history of the Church and Society of
Jesus in Peru.
Among the many American historians writing about the Catholic Church in
Latin America, Father Klaiber stands out as the most authoritative analyst of the
period after the Second Vatican Council, especially for Peru. During this period
riven by controversy, he maintained a steady course and never lost sight of the
importance of tradition during times of rapidly changing circumstances. His scholarly assessment of the present always remained forward-looking. He celebrated the
election of Pope Francis last year. Klaiber’s scholarship was firmly based on impeccable sources, interviews, and the experience of living in Peru since 1976. He traveled frequently to other Latin American countries as a sought-after lecturer and
possessed a unique perspective about not only his country of choice but also of the
entire hemisphere.
Completely bilingual, Father Klaiber wrote in Spanish as well as in English.
Owing to the rise of liberation theology, the long-term effects of the Second Vatican Council were perhaps more consequential for the Catholic Church in Peru
and also Latin America than in other parts of the world. Some of his recent
acclaimed works are “El Vaticano II y sus conextos,” El Concilio Vaticano II y el
Peru, and The Catholic Church in Peru: A Social History. His seminal book Los
Jesuitas en America Latina, 1549–2000 is widely used in college courses. Father
Klaiber also wrote about violence, politics, and human rights in Latin America.1
Father Klaiber served for many years as area editor of The Americas: A Quarterly Journal of Latin American History (published by the Academy of American
Franciscan History). He was an authoritative and faithful book reviewer, contributing many of these to The Catholic Historical Review. He visited Washington, DC,

1. Jeffrey L. Klaiber, “El Vaticano II y sus conextos,” Pastores del nuevo milenio, 12, no.
23 (2012), 15–22; Klaiber, “El Concilio Vaticano II y el Peru,” Intercambio, no. 20 (2012),
34–36; Klaiber, The Catholic Church in Peru: A Social History (Washington, DC, 1992);
Klaiber, Los Jesuitas en America Latina, 1549–2000 (Lima, 2007).

652

NOTES AND COMMENTS

nearly every other year and was always invited to lecture at the Library of Congress
about Peru or other Latin American countries.
I first met Father Klaiber in mid-1971 when he was studying at The Catholic
University of America under Father Antonine Tibesar, O.F.M., and saw him at
many professional conferences after that. In fact, he was scheduled to present a
paper at the April 3 panel “The Catholic Church in Latin America” at the 2014
annual meeting of the Rocky Mountain Council for Latin American Studies, in
Durango, Colorado. Informed about Father Klaiber’s untimely death, the panel’s
chair, Barbara Tenenbaum (Library of Congress), dedicated the session to his
memory. David Scott Palmer (Boston University) told me that Father Klaiber’s
untimely death is a great loss to the academic community.
Even-tempered and always good-humored, Father Klaiber skillfully balanced
academic endeavors with pastoral outreach. He never neglected his priestly duties;
for many years, he served at the Virgen de Nazareth Jesuit parish in a poor section
of Lima. He was very generous with his time with students and parishioners alike.
Hispanic Division, Library of Congress
GEORGETTE MAGASSY DORN
and
Center for Latin American Studies, Georgetown University

Periodical Literature
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS
‘Secular’ and ‘Religious’: historical perspectives. John Seed. Social History, 39 (Feb.,
2014), 3–11.
The First Vatican Council, Papal Infallibility, and Three Sixteenth-Century
Views. Christian D. Washburn. Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum, 44 (1,
2012), 143–70.
L’iconografia jacopea legata al camino de Santiago nella pittura siciliana dal XV
al XVIII secolo. Mariny Guttilla. Compostellanum, LVIII (3–4, 2013), 373–
92.
I graffiti del Battistero di Castiglione Olona. Riccardo Valente. Aevum, LXXXVII
(Sept.–Dec., 2013), 807–74.
Les statues habillées dans le catholicisme. Entre histoire de l’art, histoire religieuse
et anthropologie. Marlène Albert Llorca. Archives de sciences sociales des religions, 58 (Oct.–Dec., 2013), 11–23.
Dissenters and the City. Excavating friars and non-conformists in Bristol. Current
Archaeology, XXV (May, 2014), 32–38.
“a peste libera nos”.—Die Glocken als Hilfe gegen die Pest. Konrad M. Müller.
Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 337–64.
In Search of the Origins of the Opłatek. Claire M. Anderson. Polish Review, 58 (3,
2013), 65–76.
Luther’s Impact on the United States and Australia at the Turn of the Twentieth
Century. Hartmut Lehmann. Lutheran Quarterly, XXVIII (Spring, 2014),
49–69.

ANCIENT
Antecedentes del clericalismo y anticlericalismo en España. (De Nerón a Carlos
III). Una introducción (I). Victor Manuel Arbeloa. Lumen, LXII (Oct.–Dec.,
2013), 433–91.
Literate Media in Early Christ Groups: The Creation of a Christian Book Culture.
John S. Kloppenborg. Journal of Early Christian Studies, 22 (Spring, 2014),
21–59.
Holy Hair: Beards in the Patristic Tradition. A. Edward Siecienski. St. Vladimir’s
Theological Quarterly, 58 (1, 2014), 41–67.
653

654

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

“Hair!” Remnants of Ascetic Exegesis in Augustine of Hippo’s De Opere Monachorum. Maria E. Doerfler. Journal of Early Christian Studies, 22 (Spring, 2014),
79–111.
Early Christian Chronology and the Origins of the Christmas Date: In Defense of
the “Calculation Theory.” C. Philipp E. Nothaft. Questions Liturgiques, 94 (3–
4, 2013), 247–65.
Women in Anchoritic and Semi-Anchoritic Monasticism in Egypt: Rethinking
the Landscape. Caroline T. Schroeder. Church History, 83 (Mar., 2014), 1–17.
Ambrosius, die Kaiser und das Ideal des christlichen Ratgebers. Fabian Schulz.
Historia, 63 (2, 2014), 214–42.
Chastity stripped bare: on temporal and eternal things in the Sacra Parallela. Mati
Meyer. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 38 (1, 2014), 1–23.
Entrusting Western Europe to the Church, 400–750. Ian Wood. Transactions of the
Royal Historical Society (Sixth Series), 23 (Dec., 2013), 37–73.
Vt omni sabbato ieiunetur: A propósito de dos cánones pseudoiliberritanos sobre al
ayuno sabático hebdomadario. Josep Vilella. Revue d’Études Augustiniennes et
Patristiques, 59 (1, 2013), 135–80.
Constantius, St Germanus and fifth-century Britain. N. J. Higham. Early Medieval
Europe, 22 (May, 2014), 113–37.
An unnoticed regimental diaconus in the correspondence of Theodoret of Cyrrhus.
Philip Rance. Historia, 63 (1, 2014), 117–28.

MEDIEVAL
The De tonitruis Attributed to Bede: An Early Medieval treatise on Divination by
Thunder. David Juste and Hilbert Chiu. Traditio, 68 (2013), 97–124.
Bede, Wearmouth-Jarrow and Sacred Space. Anthony Smart. International Journal
for the Study of the Christian Church, 14 (1, 2014), 22–40.
Autopsies and Philosophies of a Merovingian Life: Death, Responsibility, Salvation. Jamie Kreiner. Journal of Early Christian Studies, 22 (Spring, 2014), 113–
52.
Prima dell’impero. Antagonismo franco-bizantino, identità politiche e ideologia
dal mito delle origini troiane all’Opus Caroli regis contra synodum (Libri Carolini). Alberto Ricciardi. Rivista Storica Italiana, CXXV (III, 2013), 643–80.
Carlo Magno, un padre dell’Europa. Giancarlo Pani, S.I. La Civiltà Cattolica, 165
(Jan. 18, 2014), 105–18.
“Knowledge Will be Manifold”: Daniel 12.4 and the Idea of Intellectual Progress
in the Middle Ages. J. R. Webb. Speculum, 89 (Apr., 2014), 307–57.
Early-Medieval Exegesis of the Song of Songs and the Maternal Language of
Clerical Authority. Hannah W. Matis. Speculum, 89 (Apr., 2014), 358–81.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

655

Papsttum, italisches Königtum und Kaisertum. Zur Entwicklung eines
Dreiecksverhältnisses von Ludwig II. bis Berengar I. Simon Groth. Zeitschrift
für Kirchengeschichte, 124 (2–3, 2013), 151–84.
Die kulturhistorische Grundlegung der chistlichen Sakralkonzeption in der Jüdischen Bibel. Hanns Peter Neuheuser. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 124 (2–
3, 2013), 185–211.
Performing gender in lay saints’ Lives. Stavroula Constantinou. Byzantine and
Modern Greek Studies, 38 (1, 2014), 24–32.
The Vitae B, C and A of Theodore the Stoudite. Their Interrelation, Dates,
Authors and Significance for the History of the Stoudios Monastery in the
Tenth Century. Dirk Krausmüller. Analecta Bollandiana, 131 (Dec., 2013),
280–98.
Geschichtsbewusstsein im Kloster Rheinau im 10. Jahrhundert. Der Codex Modoetiensis f-9/176, die Annales Laubacenses und die Annales Alamannici.
Roland Zingg. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 69 (2, 2013),
479–502.
Sisnando II de Santiago (951–968): “Totius orbis antistes”. Manuel Carriedo
Tejedo. Compostellanum, LVIII (3–4, 2013), 543–606.
Flodoard, the will of St Remigius and the see of Reims in the tenth century.
Edward Roberts. Early Medieval Europe, 22 (May, 2014), 201–30.
Emperor Otto III and the End of Time. Levi Roach. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (Sixth Series), 23 (Dec., 2013), 75–102.
La donation de la comtesse Ermengarde à l’Église de Liège (1078). Jean-Louis
Kupper. Bulletin de la Commission royale d’Histoire, 179 (2013), 5–50.
I rapporti tra la Chiesa romana e gli enti monastici della Marsia nei secoli XI e XII.
Étienne Doublier. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LXVII (Jan.–June,
2013), 3–34.
Icelandic liturgical books and how to recognise them. Åslaug Ommundsen and
Gisela Attinger. Scriptorium, LXVII (2, 2013), 293–317.
Western Converts to Islam (Late Eleventh to Later Fifteenth Centuries). A. J.
Forey. Traditio, 68 (2013), 153–231.
Byzantium confronts its neighbours: Islam and the crusaders in the twelfth century.
John France. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 38 (1, 2014), 33–48.
La Armada gallega de Diego Gelmírez. Juan J. Burgoa. Compostellanum, LVIII (3–
4, 2013), 499–541.
Die Wahrheit der Fälscher. Kloster St. Blasiens. Gründungsurkunde vor dem
Reichshofgericht 1124–1141 und in der Historiografie. Teil II. Johann Wilhelm Braun. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 7–84.
Post-Gregorian Episcopal Authority and the Struggle for Ducal Kraków, 1177–
1210. Sebastian P. Bartos. Polish Review, 58 (3, 2013), 3–33.

656

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Von Bischof Rufins Traktat “De bono pacis” zu Assisis Pakt “pro bono pacis”.
Friedensvisionen und Friedenswege in der Stadt des jungen Franziskus
(1181–1210). Niklaus Kuster, OFMCap. Wissenschaft und Weisheit, 76 (2,
2013), 163–96.
Bernardo di Quintavalle, primo compagno di san Francesco. Bernardo Commodi,
OFMConv. Miscellanea Francescana, 113 (III–IV, 2013), 390–421.
La preghiera liturgica della primitiva comunità francescana. Kasper Mariusz
Kaproń, OFM. Miscellanea Francescana, 113 (III–IV, 2013), 441–63.
Neither Bewitched nor Beguiled: Philip Augustus’s Alleged Impotence and Innocent III’s Response. Constance M. Rousseau. Speculum, 89 (Apr., 2014), 410–
36.
La delega papale alla predicazione crociata al tempo del IV concilio Lateranense.
Christian Grasso. Rivista di Storia dell Chiesa in Italia, LXVII (Jan.–June,
2013), 37–53.
“Date eleemosynam…”—Facetten der Theologie der Almosen Innocenz’ III.
Zugliech ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Gattung, dem historischen Ort und
der Textgestalt des sogenannten Libellus de Eleemosyna. Ingo Klitzsch.
Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 124 (2–3, 2013), 212–69.
Papal Legates against the Albigensians: The Debts of the Church of Valence
(1215–1250). D. Dudley Stutz. Traditio, 68 (2013), 259–76.
Zu Armutsideal und Wirtschaftspraxis im Franziskanerorden bis zum Pontifikat
Johannes’ XXII. Jens Röhrkasten. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 124 (2–3,
2013), 271–96.
Uno sguardo sinottio alle bolle pontificie dalla Quo elongati alla Exivi de paradiso.
Sulla povertà dell’Ordine Minoritico. Nicola Summo, OFMCap. Miscellanea
Francescana, 113 (III–IV, 2013), 464–81.
Un’inedita corrispondenza tra gli ambasciatori genovesi presenti alla corte di
Alessandro IV e la madrepatria (1258). Antonio Musarra. Rivista di Storia
della Chiesa in Italia, LXVII (Jan.–June, 2013), 99–129.
Henry of Livonia and the Wends of the Eastern Baltic: Ethnography and Biography in the Thirteenth-Century Livonian Mission. Alan V. Murray. Studi
Medievali, LIV (Dec., 2013), 807–33.
La Vie de Pierre, convers de Villers-en-Brabant au XIIIe siècle. Édition critique et
traduction. Éric Delaissé and Fabienne Arboit. Analecta Bollandiana, 131
(Dec., 2013), 299–374.
Uomini, donne e libri nei conventi minoritici della Provincia di sant’Antonio.
Mariaclara Rossi. Il Santo, LII (3, 2013), 373–91.
Crisis, mística caballeresca y nueva espiritualidad. El camnio de Santiago entre
finales de la Edad Media y el Renacimiento. Francisco Singul. Compostellanum, LVIII (3–4, 2013), 417–43.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

657

Le scritture di testo e di apparato del breviario di San Michele della Chiusa (secolo
XIV). Angela Notarrigo. Bolletino Storico-Bibliografico Subalpino, CXI (II,
2013), 623–50.
Parlare di sant’Antonio al capitolo generale del 1310. Le due versioni del sermone
“Accessistis ad montem Syon” nei manoscritti Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica
Vaticana, Borgh. 80, ff. 123v–125r e Todi, Biblioteca Comunale L. Leonii
ms. 126 ff. 101ra–103rb. Eleonora Lombardo. Il Santo, LII (3, 2013), 347–
71.
The Poor Sisters of Söflingen: Religious Corporations as Property Litigants, 1310–
1317. Heidi L. Febert. Traditio, 68 (2013), 327–433.
Adlige, Begine, Bettlerin.—Gertrud von Ortenberg (†1335) in der Nachfolge Elisabeths von Thüringen (†1231). Eugen Hillenbrand. Freiburger DiözesanArchiv, 133 (2013), 85–110.
Kaiser Karl IV. und der päpstliche Legat Aegidius Albornoz. Eva Schlotheuber
and Andreas Kistner. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 69 (2,
2013), 531–79.
Die päpstlichen Enquêten zum Johanniterorden in Lage und Wietersheim (Priorat
Alamania) vom Jahre 1373. Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 69
(2, 2013), 615–38.
Reason, Conscience and Equity: Bishops as the King’s Judges in Later Medieval
England. Gwilym Dodd. History, 99 (Apr., 2014), 213–40.
Das concilium sass allweg in dem münster – Zur Topographie des Konstanzer Konzils
nach der Chronik des Ulrich Richenthal.
Thomas Martin Buck. Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum, 44 (1, 2012), 119–42.
La Roma instaurata di Biondo Flavio: censimento dei manoscritti. Fabio Della
Schiava and Marc Laureys. Aevum, LXXXVII (Sept.–Dec., 2013), 643–65.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY
Girolamo Genga as a Draftsman. Furio Rinaldi. Master Drawings, 52 (Spring,
2014), 3–58.
L’édition du martyrologe d’Usuard publiée à Cologne en 1515 et en 1521 par
Johann Landen. Jean-Loup Lemaitre. Analecta Bollandiana, 131 (Dec., 2013),
375–402.
Brother Grayson’s Bible: A Previously Unrecorded Book from St. Mary’s Abbey,
York. Michael Carter. Nottingham Medieval Studies, 57 (2013), 287–301.
Egidio da Viterbo’s Book on Hebrew Letters: Christian Kabbalah in Papal Rome.
Brian Copenhaver and Daniel Stein Kokin. Renaissance Quarterly, 67 (Spring,
2014), 1–42.
A Model for Christendom? Erasmus, Poland, and the Reformation. Howard
Louthan. Church History, 83 (Mar., 2014), 18–37.

658

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Giambullari, Gelli e la Discesa di Christo al Limbo di Bronzino: un’ipotesi interpretativa. Francesco Vitali. Archivio Storico Italiano, CLXXI (4, 2013), 725–50.
Searcher of Hearts: Cesare Baronio’s History of Conversion. Peter A. Mazur. Journal of the History of Ideas, 75 (Apr., 2014), 213–35.
L’ostensione milanese della Sindone: 7 maggio 1536. Ada Grossi. Aevum,
LXXXVII (Sept.–Dec., 2013), 783–806.
Riforma cappuccina e riforma urbana. Esiti politici della predicazione italiana di
Bernardino Ochino. Michele Camaioni. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia,
LXVII (Jan.–June, 2013), 55–97.
Pastoral Practice in the Funeral Sermons of Nikolaus Selnecker (1530–1592).
Robert Kolb. Lutheran Quarterly, XXVIII (Spring, 2014), 22–48.
La Madre Francisca de Vera (1514–1574), Abadesa del Convento de la Concepción de Lebrija, y su Tratado de la Oración. Antonio González Polvillo. Isidorianum, XXII (2013), 459–83.
Zur Bilderverehrung in der letzen Periode des Konzils von Trient. Untersuchungen
und Hypothesen. Pierre-Antoine Fabre. Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento, 39 (2, 2013), 31–54.
“La Chiesa sta malissimo.” Giovanni Morone e le cure di una diocesi post-tridentina. Matteo Al Kalak. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia, LXXVII
(Jan.–June, 2013), 131–64.
Forger le “soldat chrétien.” L’encadrement catholique des troupes pontificales et
royales en France en 1568–1569. Ariane Boltanski. Revue historique, 138 (Jan.,
2014), 51–84.
Interpreting the Body in Early Modern Italy: Pregnancy, Abortion and Adulthood.
P. Renée Baernstein. Past & Present, No. 223 (May, 2014), 41–75.
The Protestant Israelites of Sancerre: Jean de Léry and the Confessional Demarcation of Cannibalism. Adam Asher Duker. Journal of Early Modern History, 18
(3, 2014), 255–86.
“Nager entre deux eaux”: The Princes and the Ambiguities of French Protestantism. Stuart Carroll. Sixteenth Century Journal, XLIV (Winter, 2013), 985–
1020.
Beware the Foul Fiend. Jessie Childs. History Today, 64 (Apr., 2014), 33–39.
I Peretti da Montalto senza leopardi. La fiaba e la storia. Isidoro Liberale Gatti,
OFMConv. Miscellanea Francescana, 113 (III–IV, 2013), 482–508.
Medical Topics in the De anima Commentary of Coimbra (1598) and the Jesuits’
Attitude towards Medicine in Education and Natural Philosophy. Christoph
Sander. Early Science and Medicine, 19 (1, 2014), 76–101.
Gift, Sale, and Theft: Juan de Ribera and the Sacred Economy of Relics in the
Early Modern Mediterranean. A. Katie Harris. Journal of Early Modern History, 18 (3, 2014), 193–226.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

659

SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES
The French Counter-Reformation. Philippa Woodcock. Church History & Religious Culture, 94 (1, 2014), 22–49.
The Complexities of a Stoic Breakthrough: Matteo Ricci’s Ershiwu Yan (Twentyfive Paragraphs). Yu Liu. Journal of World History, 24 (Dec., 2013), 823–47.
Zu Leben und Werk des Reichenauer Priors Johannes Egon (1600–1643). Hermann Knittel. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 111–44.
Notizie Historiche (continuazione). Giancarlo Caputi. Archivum Scholarum
Piarum, XXXVIII (2014), 3–92.
The Rise and Fall of Biblical Perspicuity: Remonstrants and the Transition toward
Modern Exegesis. Keith D. Stanglin. Church History, 83 (Mar., 2014), 38–59.
Astronomy versus Astrology. Johann Adam Schall von Bell and his “superstitious”
Chinese Calendar. Claudia von Collani. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu,
LXXXII (II, 2013), 421–58.
Oliver Cromwell, iconoclasm and Ely cathedral. Graham Hart. Historical Research,
87 (May, 2014), 370–76.
Rethinking English Physico-Theology: Samuel Parker’s Tentamina de Deo (1665).
Dmitri Levitin. Early Science and Medicine, 19 (1, 2014), 28–75.
John Spencer’s De Legibus Hebraeorum (1683–85) and ‘Enlightened’ Sacred History: A New Interpretation. Dmitri Levitin. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, LXXVI (2013), 49–92.
‘Publick and solemn acknowledgements’: occasional days of state-appointed worship in Ireland, 1689–1702. Suzanne Forbes. Irish Historical Studies, XXXVIII
(Nov., 2013), 559–78.
Censorship, Salvation and the Preaching of Francis Higgins: A Reconsideration of
High Church Politics and Theology in the Early 18th Century. Alex W.
Barber. Parliamentary History, 33 (Feb., 2014), 114–39.
L’École des Jésuites au Caire dans l’Ancienne Compagnie. Charles Libois, S.J.
Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXII (II, 2013), 355–95.
El padre Pedro Páez frente a la interpretación bíblica etíope. La controversia sobre
“cómo llenar una brecha mítica”. Leonardo Cohen. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXII (II, 2013), 397–418.
Mobilità e formazione dei Gesuiti della Confederazione polacco-lituana. Analisi
statistico-prosopografica del personale dei college di Nieśwież e Słuck (1724–
1773). Andrea Mariani. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXII (II,
2013), 459–99.
Documents sur la fin du Musée bollandien et du Musée Bellarmin/Historique.
Bernard Joassart. Analecta Bollandiana, 131 (Dec., 2013), 403–22.

660

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Diessbach a Milano (1785). Daniela Sora. Rivista di Storia della Chiesa in Italia,
LXXVII (Jan.–June, 2013), 165–95.
Elastische Identität. Die aufklärerische Akutalisierung reformatorischer Basisimpulse bei Johann Joachim Spalding. Albrecht Beutel. Zeitschrift für Theologie
und Kirche, 111 (Mar., 2014), 1–27.
Gabriel (Simon Joseph) Schmitt. Ein Franziskaner angesichts der Herausforderung von Aufklärung und Revolution am Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts.
Johannes Schlageter, O.F.M. Wissenschaft und Weisheit, 76 (2, 2013), 214–52.

NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES
The Rise and Demise of Missionary Wives. Emily J. Manktelow. Journal of
Women’s History, 26 (Spring, 2014), 135–59.
Protestant depopulation and the Irish Revolution. David Fitzpatrick. Irish Historical Studies, XXXVIII (Nov., 2013), 643–70.
El concepto de Dios en la Constitución de 1812. La “fórmula trinitaria gaditana”.
Francisco González de Posada. Burgense, 54 (1, 2013), 197–216.
Seis instituciones eclesiásticas en el Monasterio del Escorial durante el siglo XIX y
otras ofertas. José Rodríguez Díez, O.S.A. La Ciudad de Dios, CCXXVII
(Jan.–Apr., 2014), 37–106.
The Orthodox Missionary Tradition in 19th Century Russia, and its Reception
outside Russia. Alison Ruth Kolosova. Sobornost, 35 (1–2, 2013), 29–51.
Gabentausch im Großstadtdschungel. Die Innere Mission in Hamburg im Spannungsfeld innerprotestantischer Anerkennungskonflikte (1825–1914).
Stephen Pielhoff. Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 124 (2–3, 2013), 297–316.
Peel’s Other Repeal: The Test and Corporation Acts, 1828. Richard A. Gaunt.
Parliamentary History, 33 (Feb., 2014), 243–62.
P. Giovanni Inghirami di S. Nicolò Vicario General de la Orden de las Escuelas
Pías (1844–1848). Adolfo García-Durán. Archivum Scholarum Piarum,
XXXVIII (2014), 137–215.
Spiritual imperialism and the mission of the Irish race: the Catholic Church and
emigration from nineteenth-century Ireland. Sarah Roddy. Irish Historical
Studies, XXXVIII (Nov., 2013), 600–19.
Santiago Francisco Viqueira Mañán (1807–1887). Un coruñés professor de
teología y canónigo compostelano. Carlos García Cortés. Compostellanum,
LVIII (3–4, 2013), 641–76.
Der niedere Klerus auf dem Land. Eine paradigmatische Untersuchung zu Georg
Braun (1835–1913), Pfarrer und Ehrenbürger von Liggeringen am Bodensee.
Jürgen Klöckler. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 145–68.
Il potere temporale e la Chiesa delle origini nella pubblicistica di Sicilia (1860). Salvatore Vacca. Laurentianum, 54 (3, 2013), 379–97.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

661

Eve and Evolution: Christian Responses to the First Woman Question, 1860–
1900. Diarmid A. Finnegan. Journal of the History of Ideas, 75 (Apr., 2014),
283–305.
“Soyez courageux et dociles!” Les normes religieuses comme vecteur d’éducation au
patriotisme en Suisse (1870–1914). Sarah Scholl. Schweizerische Zeitschrift für
Geschichte, 63 (3, 2013), 343–63.
The Religious Underpinnings of Early Prussian Liberalism: The case of Wilhelm
Grävell. Kris Pangburn. Central European History, 46 (Dec., 2013), 779–814.
Il carteggio di Onofrio Trippodo (1876–1932) con Blondel e Gentile. Salvatore
Corso. Laurentianum, 54 (3, 2013), 417–535.
Empire, Mission, Ecumenism, and Human Rights: “Religious Liberty” in Egypt,
1919–1956. John Stuart. Church History, 83 (Mar., 2014), 110–34.
Der Ruhrkinderkaplan Josef Merk. Marie-Louise Bemelmans-Videc. Freiburger
Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 169–85.
Ein Tagebuch aus dem Priesterseminar St. Peter.—Die Aufzeichnungen von Max
Schwall. Christopher Dowe. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 187–
250.
Kleine Geschichte des Winfriedbundes. Eine katholische Initiative zur
Wiedervereinigung der Christen im Wandel der Zeit. Georg Korting.
Catholica, 67 (4, 2013), 297–317.
L’ultima travagliata fase delle Scuole in San Pantaleo. Goffredo Cianfrocca.
Archivum Scholarum Piarum, XXXVIII (2014), 109–18.
P. Giovanni Giovannozzi Giovanni Giannini. Gian Luigi Bruzzone. Archivum
Scholarum Piarum, XXXVIII (2014), 119–30.
La reconstrucción de los Órganos de la Basílica del Escorial por Eleizgaray y Compañía (1931–1933). Pedro Alberto Sánchez Sánchez, O.S.A. La Ciudad de
Dios, CCXXVII (Jan.–Apr., 2014), 107–38.
Das verzwickte Ja der Katholiken zur NS-Diktatur: Die Erzdiözese Freiburg im
“neuen Reich” 1933/34. Wolfgang Hug. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133
(2013), 251–88.
NS-Zeit und Kriegsende in Bombach—ein Bericht des Geistlichen Dr. Fridolin
Mayer. Michael Schonhardt. Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 133 (2013), 289–
336.
A Shot in the Foot. George Harinck. Church History & Religious Culture, 94 (1,
2014), 50–71.
Juan XXIII, hombre de fe: Cultivo y expresión (II). Luis Marín de San Martín,
OSA. Religión y cultura, LIX (July–Sept., 2013), 383–404.
Les relations entre le Cardinal Montini/Pape Paul VI et Monseigneur/Cardinal J.
Willebrands. Mathijs Lamberigts and Leo Declerck. Istituto Paolo VI, Notizario n.66 (Dec., 2013), 29–48.

662

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Il Card. Montini e il Concilio. Cronologia del primo periodo (II). Giselda Adornato. Istituto Paolo VI, Notizario n.66 (Dec., 2013), 49–84.
Maurice Blondel, “filosofo del Vaticano II”? Ricordi e riflessioni filosofiche sull’evento del Concilio. Peter Henrici, S.J. Gregorianum, 95 (I, 2014), 23–38.
Il cardinale Pietro Pavan: protagonista del Concilio Vaticano II e della rinascita del
pensiero sociale cristiano. Profezia e testimonianza. Mario Toso. Lateranum,
LXXIX (3, 2013), 701–22.
The emergence of molecular genetics in Portugal: the enterprise of Luís Archer SJ.
Francisco Malta Romeiras. Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, LXXXII (II,
2013), 501–12.
The Ticket to the Soviet Soul: Science, Religion, and the Spiritual Crisis of Late
Soviet Atheism. Victoria Smolkin-Rothrock. Russian Review, 73 (Apr.,
2014), 171–97.
Christianity in Vietnam today (1975–2013): contemporary challenges and opportunities. Peter C. Phan. International Journal for the Study of the Christian
Church, 14 (1, 2014), 3–21.

AMERICAN AND CANADIAN
Represented Authenticity: Native Voices in Seventeenth-Century Conversion
Narratives. Jacqueline M. Henkel. New England Quarterly, 87 (Mar., 2014),
5–45.
By “Treachery and Seduction”: Indian Baptism and Conversion in the Roger
Williams Code. Linford D. Fisher and Lucas Mason-Brown. William and
Mary Quarterly, 71 (April, 2014), 175–202.
“Persecuted in the Bowels of a Free Republic”: Samuel Ely and the Agrarian Theology of Justice, 1768–1797. Shelby M. Balik. Massachusetts Historical Review,
15 (2013), 123–50.
Thomas Jefferson Versus the Historians: Christianity, Atheistic Morality, and the
Afterlife. Arthur Scherr. Church History, 83 (Mar., 2014), 60–109.
The Archives of the Archdiocese of New Orleans. Emilie Gagnet Leumas. American Catholic Studies, 125 (Spring, 2014), 47–56.
Monk in the Middle: The Awful Disclosures of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery and the
Making of Catholic Identity. William S. Cossen. American Catholic Studies,
125 (Spring, 2014), 25–45.
“Doubts still assail me”: uncertainty and the making of the Primitive Baptist self in
the antebellum United States. Joshua Guthman. Religion and American Culture, 23 (Winter, 2013), 75–100.
Oblates and Nation-building in Alberta. Catherine Caufield. Religious Studies and
Theology, 32 (2, 2013), 145–61.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

663

Charities, Manufactures, and Taxes: The Montreal Sisters of Providence Spruce
Gum Syrup Case, 1876–78. J. I. Little. Canadian Historical Review, 95 (Mar.,
2014), 54–77.
Le Martyr Imaginaire: Illness and Theatre in the Career of Gabriel Breynat,
Bishop of the Mackenzie, 1901–1926. Walter Vanast. Religious Studies and
Theology, 32 (2, 2013), 209–42.
Managing and Quantifying Grace? Reverend Robert G. Howes, the Archdiocese
of Baltimore, and the Origins of “Pastoral Planning.” Catherine R. Osborne.
American Catholic Studies, 125 (Spring, 2014), 1–23.
A Tribute to an Ecumenist and Lay Theologian: Brother Jeffrey Gros, FSC (1938–
2013). Timothy T. N. Lim. Journal of Ecumenical Studies, 48 (Fall, 2013),
535–70.
A Priest on the Front Lines: Father Martin B. Mangan in the Decatur “War
Zone,” 1991–1998. Robert Sampson. Journal of the Illinois State Historical
Society, 106 (Summer, 2013), 243–80.

LATIN AMERICAN
La orden de San Agustín del Alto Perú en el Archivo General de Indias y en el
Histórico Nacional de Madrid (II). Emiliano Sánchez Pérez, OSA. Revista
Agustiniana, LIV (May–Dec., 2013), 501–46.
En pro de la Religión y de la dignidad humana. Las fuentes chilenas de la encíclica
“Lacrimabili statu Indorum” de Pío X y la solicitud pastoral de la Santa Sede.
Mario L. Grignani. Teología y Vida, LIV (2, 2013), 339–72.
Nuestra Señora de las Sombras: The Enigmatic Identity of Santa Muerte. Pamela
Bastante and Brenton Dickieson. Journal of the Southwest, 55 (Winter, 2013),
435–71.

Other Books Received
Allen, S. J., and Emilie Amt (eds.). The Crusades: A Reader. Second edition. [Readings in Medieval Civilizations and Cultures, VIII.] (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press. 2014. Pp. xxii, 437. $44.95 paperback.)
Beeley, Christopher A. The Unity of Christ: Continuity and Conflict in Patristic Tradition. (New Haven: Yale University Press. 2012. Pp. xii, 391. $50.00 clothbound.)
Burckhalter, David. Baja California Missions: In the Footsteps of the Padres. (Tucson:
University of Arizona Press. 2013. Pp. xviii, 166. $24.95 paperback.) Several
beautiful full-color photographs illustrate each of the eight intact eighteenthcentury churches in this large-format volume.
Christiansen, Keith. Piero della Francesca: Personal Encounters. (The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, New York. Distrib. Yale University Press, New Haven. 2014.
Pp. 96. $19.95 paperback.)
Cornwell, John. The Dark Box: A Secret History of Confession. (New York: Basic
Books. 2014. Pp. xxviii, 288. $26.99 clothbound.)
Costa, Anne. Embracing Edith Stein: Wisdom for Women from St. Teresa Benedicta of
the Cross. (Cincinnati, OH: Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media.
2014. Pp. xviii, 110. $13.99 paperback.)
Cragon, Julie Dortch. Visiting Mary: Her U.S. Shrines and Their Graces. (Cincinnati:
Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media. 2014. Pp. xiv, 145. $15.99
paperback.)
Deyrup, Marta Mestrovic, and Maura Grace Harrington (Eds.). The Irish-American Experience in New Jersey and Metropolitan New York: Cultural Identity,
Hybridity, and Commemoration. (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, an imprint
of Rowman and Littlefield. 2014. Pp. xiv, 199. $85.00 clothbound.) The first
of the nine articles that compose this book is “The Irish in the Church of
Newark” by Augustine J. Curley, O.S.B. (pp. 3–23).
Dowley, Tim (Ed.). Introduction to the History of Christianity. Second edition.
(Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2013. Pp. 616. $55.00 paperback.)
Flint, Shirley Cushing. No Mere Shadows: Faces of Widowhood in Early Colonial
Mexico. (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. 2013. Pp. xviii, 184.
$55.00 clothbound.)
García Hernán, Enrique, and M. Carmen Lario de Oñate (Eds.). La presencia
irlandesa durante las Cortes de Cádiz en España y América, 1812: Política,
Religión y Guerra / The Irish Presence at the Cortes of Cadiz: Politics, Religion &
War. [Colección Historia de España y su proyección internacional, VI.]
664

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

665

(Valencia, Spain: Albatros ediciones. 2013. Pp. 433. €28,00 clothbound.)
“Religión,” one of the three sections into which the contents are divided, is
composed of three articles: “The Spanish contribution to the cause of Irish
Catholicism (1700–1814)” by Enrique García Hernán (pp. 199–229); “El
mundo hispano-irlandés de José María Blanco White, autor de las Letters from
Spain y de los Second Travels of an Irish Gentleman” by Manuel Moreno Alonso
(pp. 231–42); and “Joaquín Lorenzo Villanueva and Ireland (1823–1837): A
Catholic Liberal between Faith and Politics” by Germán Ramírez Aledón (pp.
243–64).
Halton, Thomas (Trans.). Theodoret of Cyrus: A Cure for Pagan Maladies. [Ancient
Christian Writers, No. 67.] (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. 2013. Pp. xvi, 360.
$49.95 clothbound.)
Hardon, John, S.J. The Faith: A Question-and-Answer Guide to the Catechism of the
Catholic Church. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media.
2014. Pp. xvi, 288. $16.99 paperback.) Originally published in 1995 as The
Faith: A Popular Guide Based on the Catechism of the Catholic Church.
Kistner, Hilaron, O.F.M. The Gospels According to Saint Francis. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media. 2014. Pp. xx, 121. $13.99 paperback.)
Little, Catherine C. Transforming Work: Early Modern Pastoral and Late Medieval
Poetry. [ReFormations: Medieval and Early Modern.] (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press. 2013. Pp. x, 256. $38.00 paperback.)
Loehr, Gina, with Al Giambrone. Saint Francis, Pope Francis: A Common Vision.
(Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media. 2014. Pp. xviii,
125. $14.99 paperback.)
McBride, Alfred, O. Praem. Christ Our Compass: Making Moral Choices. (Cincinnati: Servant Books, an imprint of Franciscan Media. 2014. Pp. viii, 120.
$13.99 paperback.)
Messerli, Luisa Rubini (Ed.). “Tre ore a andare, tre ore a stare, tre ore a tornare”:
Fiabe, leggende e racconti tradizionali del Grigionitaliano. (Locarno, Switzerland: Armando Dadò editore. 2013. Pp. 477. CHF 49.00 paperback.)
Paoli, Maria Pia (Ed.). Nel laboratorio della storia: Una guida alle fonti dell’età moderna. (Rome: Carocci editore. 2013. Pp. 397. €39,00 paperback.) One of the
essays in the second part is “Disciplinare, confortare, persuadere: le fonti della
storia religiosa” by Marco Cavarzere (pp. 265–88). In the third part, “Leggere
e citare fonti,” are, among many other essays, “Leggere un testo figurato: il
catechismo per immagini di Giovan Battista Eliano” by Alessandro Capone
(pp. 319–32); “Leggere i registri battesimali: schiavi ‘turchi’ a Firenze in età
moderna” by Samuela Marconcini (pp. 333–44); “Leggere una decisione della
Rota romana” by Daniele Edigati (pp. 345–46); “Leggere un testamento” by
Stefano Calonaci (pp. 347–53); and “Leggere una visita apostolica” by Marco
Cavarzere (pp. 375–77).

666

OTHER BOOKS RECEIVED

Rosenberg, Randall S. The Vision of Saint John XXIII. (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press.
2014. Pp. xviii, 141. $14.95 paperback.)
Salas, Victor M. (Ed.). Hircocervi & Other Metaphysical Wonders: Essays in Honor
of John P. Doyle. (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press. 2013. Pp. 384.
$29.00 clothbound.)
Slack, Corliss K. (Ed.). Historical Dictionary of the Crusades. Second edition.
(Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, an imprint of Rowman and Littlefield. 2013.
Pp. xxxii, 379. $100.00 clothbound.) Originally published in 2003 and
reviewed by Thomas F. Madden, ante, XC (Oct., 2004), 755–56.
Smith, Christian, Kyle Longest, Jonathan Hill, and Kari Christoffersen. Young
Catholic America: Emerging Adults in, Out of, and Gone from the Church. (New
York: Oxford University Press. 2014. Pp. x, 326. $29.95 clothbound.)
Wright, Beth. A Study Companion to Introduction to the History of Christianity,
Second Edition. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press. 2013. Pp. viii, 183. $19.00
paperback.)