THE CATHOLIC
HISTORICAL REVIEW
VOL. 106

SUMMER 2020

NO. 3

Scots at the Council of Ferrara-Florence and the
Background to the Scottish Renaissance
STUART M. MCMANUS*
This article represents the first study of the Scottish presence at the
Council of Ferrara-Florence, which included three bishops and over
forty other named Scots whose purpose in attending the council is
reconstructed in as much detail as the surviving evidence permits. It
also aims to show that educated and well-connected Scots were present
in one of the premier cultural centers of the early Renaissance, such that
the flowering of classicizing culture in Scotland a generation later
comes as no surprise. It thereby underlines that ecumenical councils
were important moments in the longer history of European cultural
integration.
Key words: Scotland; Council of Ferrara-Florence; Ecumenical
Councils; Renaissance; European Integration

I

n 1435 a Scottish Benedictine named Alexander Keith bought a missal
from the market near the episcopal curia in Florence. We know nothing
more of Alexander whose missal had another owner by 1452, except that
the presence of a Scot in Florence during the fifteenth century was not an
* Stuart M. McManus is Assistant Professor of World History at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. The author began working on this article as an undergraduate at the University of Manchester, where he received the help and support of Stephen Milner, David
Laven, Guyda Armstrong, and the members of the St. Anselm Hall “Slems” History Society.
At the Warburg Institute, he continued to work on the topic under the supervision of Jill
Kraye. When he returned to the topic almost a decade later, he then had the pleasure of discussing Scots and Byzantines with his colleague James Morton. Finally, the author wishes to
express his thanks to the editor of the journal and the three anonymous reviewers whose comments have greatly improved this piece. Abbreviations used in this article: CSSR = Calendar
of Scottish Supplications to Rome, ed. Annie I. Cameron and David MacLauchlan (Glasgow,
1983); CPS = Copiale Prioratus Sanctiandree: The Letter-Book of James Haldenstone, Prior of St.

347

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isolated incident.1 This is in spite of the contemporary image of Scotland
among many Italians, if such a distant place crossed their minds at all, that
had many parallels with the ideas of Ptolemy, Cicero, and Caesar about the
inhabitants of the farthest regions of the Britannic Isles who were considered violent, transgressive, and lacking in every trace of continental culture.
As the famous cartographer Fra Mauro put it: “the people are licentious
and cruel to their enemies, preferring death to enslavement.” This was a
view confirmed by Italians who visited Scotland, like the famous Sienese
humanist and future Pope Pius II, Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, who
described his time there as “seven months outside the civilized world,” and
later complained in his autobiography that it was “rough, wild, and
untouched by the winter sun,” a negative impression that may have been
compounded by the terrible frostbite he suffered there, which would leave
him with pain in his feet for the rest of his life.2
Notwithstanding such contemporary stereotypes and reports, Scotland
was in many ways not that remote nor lacking in continental culture.
Indeed, the connections between Scotland and continental Europe in general, and Italy in particular, in the fifteenth century were considerable.

Andrews (1418–1443), ed. James Houston Baxter (London, 1930); ACSB = The Apostolic
Camera and Scottish Benefices, ed. Annie I. Cameron (London, 1934); CEPR = Calendar of
Entries in the Papal Registers Relating to Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Papal Letters, ed.
J. A. Twemlow et al. (London, 1893–1960).
1. This is discussed in: Charles Burns, “A Scottish Benedictine in Florence in 1435,”
Innes Review, 18 (1967), 59–61.
2. Der Briefwechsel des Eneas Silvius Piccolomini, ed. Rudolf Wolkan, 4 vols. (Vienna,
1909), 1:41: “sed fui jam septem mensibus extra terrarum orbem in regno Scotie, quo me
dominus meus, cardinalis sancte crucis, transmiserat, quo ex loco nec scribendi facultas erat,
nec opus erat scribere, cum nihil ibi ageretur ad vestram rem publicam pertinens.” His
description of Scotland in his Commentaries has also become famous. Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, Commentaries, ed. Margaret Meserve and Marcello Simonetta, 2 vols. (London, 2003),
1:20–26 (1.6.1–7): “Civitates nullos habere muros, domos magna ex parte sine calce constructas, villarum tecta de caespitibus facta, ostia rusticana corio boum claudi; vulgus pauper ei
incultum carnes et pisces ad saturitatem, panem pro obsonio commendere […] vinum non
haberi, nisi importatum […]. Ibi primum figuram orbis et habitabilem terrae faciem visus est
revisere; nam terra Scotia et Angliae pars vicina Scotis nihil simile nostrae habitationis
habet—horrida, inculta, atque hiemali sole inaccessa.” On his trip to Scotland, see Rosamund
J. Mitchell, The Laurels and the Tiara: Pope Pius II 1458–1464 (London, 1962), 65–69;
William Watson Buchanan, “Frostbite Arthritis Consequence of First Papal Visit to Scotland,” Clinical Rheumatology 6 (1987), 436–38. Il mappamondo di Fra Mauro, ed. D. Tullia
Gasparrini Leporace (Rome, 1956), 60: “la gente è liçiera e feroce e crudel contra i nimici e
piutosto eleçeriano la morte cha la seruitù.” On ancient views of Britain, see Peter C. N.
Stewart, “Inventing Britain: The Roman Creation and Adaptation of an Image,” Britannia,
26 (1995), 1–10.

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349

These in turn facilitated an important early modern transformation: the rise
of a classicizing Renaissance culture in literature, philosophy, and the arts
that shaped Scotland into the seventeenth century and beyond.3 This was a
constituent part of the larger European and global Renaissance that has
received relatively little attention in mainstream scholarship.4 Even in
Scotland itself, it has only recently begun to receive the attention it
deserves, especially in its fifteenth- and early sixteenth-century incarnations. This is due to the longstanding practice in Scottish universities of
seeing the Reformation as the event of primary cultural importance in the
early modern period, a majoritarian confessional trend that meant that the
Scottish Renaissance was for a long time the almost exclusive preserve of
members of the Scottish Catholic Historical Association.5
This is despite the undeniable and early influence of the Renaissance
in Scotland. In architecture, we know that the fifteenth century saw a
revival of the Romanesque style of Scotland’s “ancient” churches, while
already in the early 1430s the Florentine glazer Francesco Domenico Livi
da Gambassi was working at the court of James I before returning to Florence to assist in the completion of the Duomo.6 In the plastic arts, the
1485 silver groat of James III was the first coin issued outside of Italy to
include a lifelike Renaissance portrait of a ruler, and from the 1530s
onwards Scottish sources speak of a new style affecting painting.7 In edu-

3. The final gasp of the Renaissance in Scotland was arguably seen in the scholarship of
Thomas Ruddiman (1674–1757), although the shadow of classicism is of course much longer:
Douglas Duncan, Thomas Ruddiman: A Study in Scottish Scholarship of the Early Eighteenth
Century (Edinburgh, 1965).
4. See the various surveys of Renaissance culture in national context published from the
1990s onwards, e.g. Roy Porter and Teich Mikuáš, The Renaissance in National Context (Cambridge, UK, 1992). This was to some extent rectified by Tom Rutledge, “The Development of
Humanism in Late-Fifteenth-Century Scotland,” Humanism in Fifteenth-Century Europe,
David Rundle, ed. [Medium Aevum Monographs; new ser., 30], (Oxford, UK, 2012), 237–
64. On the global Renaissance, see Peter Burke, Luke Clossey, and Felipe FernándezArmesto, “The Global Renaissance,” Journal of World History, 28 (2017), 1–30.
5. Jane Stevenson and Peter Davidson, “Ficino in Aberdeen: The Continuing Problem
of the Scottish Renaissance,” Journal of the Northern Renaissance, 1 (2009), 64–87; Stephen
Mark Holmes, “Historiography of the Scottish Reformation: The Catholics Fight Back?”
Studies in Church History, 49 (2013), 298–311.
6. Johann Wilhelm Gaye, Carteggio inedito d’artisti dei secoli XIV–XV–XVI, 2 vols. (Florence, 1840), 2:441–45; Ian Campbell, “A Romanesque Revival and the Early Renaissance in
Scotland, c. 1380–1513,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 54 (1995), 302–25.
7. Ian Stewart, “The Heavy Silver Coinage of James III and IV,” The British Numismatic
Journal, 27 (1952), 182–94; Michael Bath Renaissance Decorative Painting in Scotland (Edinburgh, 2003).

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SCOTS AT THE COUNCIL OF FERRARA-FLORENCE

cation, the revived classical curriculum appeared in Scottish universities
from the early sixteenth century and was also being taught in the Cistercian Abby of Kinloss by the Italian humanist Giovanni Ferrerio in the
same period. In parallel to this, almost every genre of humanist text is to
be found in at least some form in Scotland beginning in the 1480s.8 In
history, Hector Boece’s Historia gentis Scotorum (1527) combined a Livian
style, local antiquarianism, and Tacitus’ account of Caledonia in the Agricola to create an expansive humanist vision of Scotland’s past, not forgetting the prolific and much maligned scholarship of Thomas Dempster
who became the official historian of the de’ Medici family and a founding
figure in Etruscology.9 In poetry, George Buchanan holds pride of place
among the authors collected in the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum (1627).
Oratory too was not lacking, from its first tentative steps in Archibald
Whitelaw’s oration for Richard III (1478) to the rhetorical excesses of
Walter Ogilvie’s panegyric of Henry VII (1501) on the occasion of the
betrothal of Margaret Tudor to James IV, which drew heavily on the classical texts found in Ogilvie’s personal library, parts of which are preserved
at the University of Glasgow.10 There were also Scots with a knowledge of
Greek, such as George Dundas, a colleague of Erasmus at Montaigu College in Paris, and in 1538 Archibald Hay advocated the foundation of a
trilingual (Latin-Greek-Hebrew) college on the model of similar institu8. John Durkan, “Education: The Laying of Fresh Foundations,” Humanism in Renaissance Scotland, ed. John MacQueen (Edinburgh, 1990), 123–60; idem, “Giovanni Ferrerio,
Humanist: His Influence in Sixteenth-Century Scotland,” Studies in Church History, 17
(1981), 181–94; Stephen Mark Holmes, “The Meaning of History: A Dedicatory Letter from
Giovanni Ferrerio to Abbot Robert Reid in His Historia Abbatum De Kynloss,” Reformation &
Renaissance Review 10.1 (2008), 89–115; John MacQueen, “Some Aspects of the Early Renaissance in Scotland,” Forum for Modern Language Studies 3 (1967), 201–22; idem, “The Renaissance in Scotland,” The Celts and the Renaissance: Tradition and Innovation, ed. Glanmor
Williams and Robert Owen Jones (Cardiff, 1990), 41–57; Steven J. Reid, Humanism and
Calvinism: Andrew Melville and the Universities of Scotland, 1560–1625 (Farnham, UK, 2011);
idem “A Latin Renaissance in Reformation Scotland? Print trends in Scottish Latin literature,
c. 1480–1700,” Scottish Historical Review, 95 (2016) 1–29; Andrea Thomas, Glory and Honour:
The Renaissance in Scotland (Edinburgh, 2013); Ronald D. S. Jack, The Italian Influence on Scottish Literature (Edinburgh, 1972).
9. Robert Leighton and Celine Castelino, “Thomas Dempster and Ancient Etruria: A
Review of the Autobiography and de Etruria Regali,” Papers of the British School at Rome, 58
(1990), 337-52.
10. Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, adv. ms 33.2.24; Tom Rutledge, “The
Development of Humanism in Late-Fifteenth-Century Scotland,” 244–45; Sarah Carpenter,
“‘Gely Wyth Tharmys of Scotland England’: Word, Image, and Performance at the Marriage
of James IV and Margaret Tudor,” Fresche Fontanis: Studies in the Culture of Medieval and
Early Modern Scotland, eds. Janet Hadley Williams and J. Derek McClure (Newcastle, 2013),
165–77.

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351

tions in Paris and elsewhere.11 Moral philosophy is also represented by
Florens Wilson, tutor to the son of Cardinal Wolsley, neo-Stoic philosopher, and author of De animi tranquillitate dialogus (1543).12 Finally, vernacular humanism in Scotland is well represented by Gavin Douglas who
translated the Aeneid into Scots and who was well aware of contemporary
humanist controversies, such as the philological feud between Lorenzo
Valla and Poggio:
And Pogyus stude with mony gyrn and grone
On Laurence Valla spyttand and cryand “Fy!”13

This wide-ranging cultural transformation clearly affected Scotland as
much as any other part of Latin Christendom, and arose due to Scots
studying at European schools and universities, taking part in diplomatic
missions to princely courts, as well as in the wake of the slow but steady
stream of continental intellectuals and artists northwards. These were, in
turn, part of a longer history of connectedness between Scotland and
Europe that stretches back into the Middle Ages, and ensured that the
remote kingdom was never truly isolated from larger European trends.14
There is, however, one particularly important episode in the long history of travel and exchange that prefaced the Scottish Renaissance that has
been almost entirely overlooked: the Scottish presence at the Council of
Ferrara-Florence (often referred to simply as the Council of Florence) convoked by Eugenius IV in 1438 to remedy internal divisions within the
Catholic Church and to put an end to the Great Schism with the eastern
churches. This stands in stark contrast to the Scottish delegation at the

11. Colin M. MacDonald, “The Struggle of George Dundas and His Rivals Patrick
Panter, James Cortesius, and Alexander Stewart for the Preceptory of Torphichen,” The Scottish Historical Review, 14 (1916), 19–48 (23); Reid, Humanism and Calvinism, 18.
12. Dominic Baker-Smith, “Florens Wilson and his Circle: Émigrés in Lyon, 15391543,” Neo-Latin and the Vernacular in Renaissance France, eds. Grahame Castor and Terence
Cave (Oxford, UK, 1984), 83–97.
13. “Palice of Honour,” The Shorter Poems of Gavin Douglas, 2nd ed. [Scottish Text
Society, 5th ser., 2], (Edinburgh, 2003), lines 1231–33. On Douglas’ European context, see
Priscilla Bawcutt, Gavin Doulgas: A Critical Study (Edinburgh, 1976), 23–46
14. David Ditchburn, Scotland and Europe: The Medieval Kingdom and its Contacts with
Christendom, 1214–1560. Volume 1: Religion, Culture and Commerce, 1214–1545 (East
Linton, 2001), 36–37; Annie I. Dunlop, “Scots Abroad in the Fifteenth Century,” Historical
Association Pamphlet, 124 (1942), 1–24; Allan I. MacInnes, “Early Modern Scotland: The
Current State of Play,” Scottish Historical Review, 73 (1994), 30–46, at 43–45; Paul Oskar
Kristeller, “The European Diffusion of Italian Humanism,” Italica 39 (1962), 1–20.

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SCOTS AT THE COUNCIL OF FERRARA-FLORENCE

competing Council of Basel (1431–1447), which has received monographic treatment because of the latter’s reforming zeal and championing
of a conciliar model that foreshadowed the Reformation in the eyes of
many.15 The presence of six clerics from England has also been recognized,
to which this article can add one more. Two of the seven were Carmelite
periti (invited theological experts), while there was really only one individual of note, Andrew Holes, the English diplomat and book collector
praised by the Florentine book merchant, Vespasiano da Bisticci.16 As
regards the numerically superior Scottish presence, there is no study,
although Joseph Gill in his seminal work on the Council noted in passing
the presence at various sessions of the bishop of Brechin and the abbot of
Culross without taking the matter further.17
This is a pity as there were present at the papal court at Ferrara and
Florence during the high point of the Council (1438–1440) three Scottish
bishops (two with close links to European royalty), a Scottish abbot who
signed the decree of union with the Greeks and the Armenians, and at least
forty other named Scots, including several doctors of canon law, one of
whom went on to found Scotland’s second fifteenth-century university. In
other words, a significant number of notable Scottish prelates were in Florence as the future of Christendom hung in the balance, and while the
great humanist scholar Leonardo Bruni was chancellor of Florence, the
finishing touches were being put to Brunelleschi’s Dome, and Italian Hellenists were entertaining the visiting Byzantine Platonist, George Gemistos Plethon. This, then, is an important moment in Scottish ecclesiastical
history, Italo-Scottish relations, and part of a larger pattern of trans-European connectedness that facilitated the spread of Renaissance culture.
This article will therefore reconstruct the Scottish presence at the
Council in as much detail as the surviving evidence allows. This said, its
aim is not to show that the Council of Florence was the fons et origo of the
Renaissance in Scotland, although the Council’s foundational importance
for the development of Hellenic studies in Renaissance Italy and beyond is

15. James H. Burns, Scottish Churchmen and the Council of Basel (Glasgow, 1962). The
Scottish presence at Florence is mentioned only in passing in Donald E. R. Watt, Medieval
Church Councils in Scotland (Bloomsbury, 2000), 157.
16. Margaret M. Harvey, “England, the Council of Florence and the End of the Council of Basel,” Christian Unity: The Council of Ferrara-Florence 1438/9–1989, ed. Giuseppe
Alberigo (Leuven, 1991), 203–25; Vespasiano da Bisticci, Le Vite, ed. Aulo Greco, 2 vols.
(Florence, 1970–76), 1:311–13. For the additional English visitor, see CEPR, 8:266.
17. Joseph Gill, The Council of Florence (Cambridge, UK, 1959), 95-98.

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353

well-known.18 Rather, it aims to show that educated and well-connected
Scots were present in one of the premier cultural centers of the early Renaissance, such that the flowering of classicizing culture in Scotland a generation later comes as no surprise. Of particular importance in this regard
were two Scottish churchmen whose sons went on to play important roles
in the revival of ancient learning in the kingdom. The Council of Florence
therefore set the stage for a generational shift in cultural norms.
The Background to the Scottish Presence at the Council of
Ferrara-Florence
The presence of Scots at the Council is on the face of it rather unexpected considering the ambivalent relationship between Scotland and the
papacy in the early fifteenth century. Taking advantage of their close
friendship with the French monarchy, during the Avignon Papacy the
Scottish crown and nobility had retained a high level of control over local
ecclesiastical affairs, which they were not willing to give up when, following the election of Martin V in 1417, the papacy gradually began to play a
more assertive role in the Scottish Church. In retaliation, in the early 1430s
anti-papal laws were promulgated that restricted the flow of clerics and
funds to the pope. Around the same time, a significant number of Scots
made their way to Basel where the Council had begun to challenge the
authority of Eugenius IV, claiming conciliar jurisdiction even over the
pope.19 Just as the ecclesiastical situation came to a head in 1437, leading a
year later to Eugenius transferring the Council to Ferrara without its consent, Scotland was plunged into chaos by the murder of James I and the
ensuing blood feud between the supporters of the very young James II, and
those of other claimants to the throne. Unfortunately, the year 1439 also
saw a significant rise in the price of grain that resulted in civil unrest, “so
violent, that thar deit ma that yer than ever thar deit ouder in pestilens or
yit in ony uthir seiknes in Scotland.”20
Although some in the papal curia were glad to see the death of James
I who “had arrogantly and tyrannically crushed ecclesiastical liberty,” in
18. Stuart M. McManus, “Byzantines in the Florentine Polis: Ideology, Statecraft &
Ritual during the Council of Florence,” Journal of the Oxford University History Society, 6
(2009), 1–23. <https://sites.google.com/site/jouhsinfo/issue6(michaelmashilary2009)>
[accessed 5/5/2020].
19. W. Stanford Reid, “Scotland and the Church Councils of the Fifteenth Century,”
Catholic Historical Review 29 (1943), 1–24; idem, “The Origins of Anti-Papal Legislation in
Fifteenth-Century Scotland,” Catholic Historical Review 28 (1944), 445–69, at 447.
20. The Auchinleck Chronicle, ed. Thomas Thomson (Edinburgh, 1819), 34.

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the months before his death he had nonetheless repealed the anti-papal
laws and invited the pope to send a legate to reform the Scottish Church,
perhaps influenced by similar pro-papal movements on the part of his ally
the French king, with whom he and his kingdom had a longstanding
though unstable relationship. In the week before his murder in late February 1437, James was even officially reconciled with the pope following
either a parliament or a General Council of the Three Estates.21 This was
not an isolated event, but part of a larger trend. England was similarly
moving increasingly towards Eugenius, withdrawing its official delegation
from Basel in 1435 once its immediate objectives had been achieved following the successful conclusion of the Congress of Arras (1435) and after
the Council began to take a more overtly anti-papal position that was
deemed unsustainable.22 Among the Scottish elite, there also seems to
have been support for rapprochement with the papacy, as is clear from a
document dated March 23, 1436 at the curia in Florence, in which John
Methven, William Croyster, and Sir Walter de Ogilvie pledged to persuade the king to repeal the anti-papal laws.23 Incidentally, this particular
Ogilvie was also the father of the humanist orator of the same name
described by Erasmus’ friend, Hector Boece as: “possessing such a flood
of eloquence that you would say he not only enjoyed, but (as it were) also
reveled and luxuriated in the richness of words, expressiveness of speech,
and lavishness of expression.”24
Back in Scotland, the supporters of James I’s successor, James II also
adopted the pro-papal stance of the other monarchies in the region, while
the baronial faction, later spearheaded by the young earl of Douglas, chose
to recognize the authority of Basel, backing their cause with force of arms.25
It would only be in 1443 that the royal party gained the ascendency, and the
Scottish Parliament proclaimed that “ferme and fast obedience be kepit til
21. Quoted in Roberto Weiss, “The Earliest Account of the Murder of James I of Scotland,” English Historical Review 52 (1937), 479–91, at 490: “Libertatem quoque ecclesiasticam superbe ac tyrannice conculcaverat.” CEPR, 8:229–30; Watt, Medieval Church Councils
in Scotland, 155–57. On Charles VII of France and Eugenius see Gill, The Council of Florence,
133-34, 142, 318–19.
22. Alfred N. E. D. Schofield. “England, the Pope, and the Council of Basel, 14351449,” Church History, 33 (1964), 248–78.
23. CPS, 369–72.
24. Hectoris Boetii Murthlacensium et Aberdonensium Episcoporum Vitae, ed. and tr. James
Moir (Aberdeen, 1894), 88: “Gualterus Ogilvius, singulari exundans eloquentia, adeo ut
hominum verborum copia, sermonis venustate, ubertate sententiarum, non modo delectare,
sed (ut ita dicam) lascivire et luxuriare diceres.”
25. CSSR, 4:468; CPS, 322–24.

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355

our haly fadir the pape Eugene.”26 This said, the fact that so many Scottish
clerics chose to attend Florence and not Basel suggests that, by 1438 at least,
not only the view of the royal faction, but Scottish ecclesiastical opinion in
general had tipped in favor of Eugenius.27 Thus, it was in the wake of growing pro-papal sentiment abroad, though instability and persistent factionalism at home that had taken on an ecclesiastical dimension, that the Scottish
clerics made their way to Ferrara and Florence.
Individual Scots at the Council of Florence
Surveying the Scottish presence at the Council as a whole, the primary
objective for the vast majority of Scots who traveled first to Ferrara and
later Florence was either to settle debts or advance their careers in the
Church. Of those recorded present, most were of relatively low standing
(canons, parish priests, deacons, and clerks) who came to the curia either
to pay the costs incurred by taking up a benefice, or to petition regarding
further benefices at home and abroad, which ranged in value from a few
florins to quite significant sums. A minority of Scots at the curia also seem
to have been more than a little wild. Indeed, one Scottish cleric, John de
Camera, was accused of murdering a layman while in Florence!28 Most,
however, seem to have kept their heads down. After their arrival, some
even took up permanent residency in the papal curia where they continued
to petition the pope regarding benefices for themselves, as well as acting as
intermediaries for other Scots both at the curia and in partibus, no doubt
gaining some small recompense for their efforts.
One notable petitioner was William Elphinstone, father to the eponymous humanist founder of King’s College, Aberdeen, who studied law at
Louvain in the 1430s.29 In Florence, Elphinstone Sr. successfully suppli26. “1443, 4 November, Stirling, General Council,” Records of the Parliaments of Scotland to 1707, ed. Gillian H. MacIntosh, Alastair J. Mann, Pamela E. Ritchie, and Roland J.
Tanner, <https://www.rps.ac.uk> [accessed 5/5/2020].
27. Of the sixty-three Scottish prelates at Basel between 1431 and 1447, the majority were
present before 1438, with no cleric of any note arriving after this: Burns, Scottish Churchmen.
28. CSSR, 4:562, 598.
29. Robert Feenstra, “Teaching the Civil Law at Louvain as Reported by Scottish Students in the 1430s (Mss. Aberdeen 195–97) with Addenda on Henricus De Piro (and
Johannes Andreae),” Tijdschrift Voor Rechtsgeschiedenis / Revue D’Histoire Du Droit / The Legal
History Review 65 (1997), 245–80. Neil R. Ker, “‘For All That I may Clamp’: Louvain Students and Lecture-Rooms in the Fifteenth-Century,” Medium Aevum 39 (1970), 31–33;
Leslie J. Macfarlane, William Elphinstone and the Kingdom of Scotland, 1431–1514: The Struggle for Order (Aberdeen, 1985), 16–18.

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cated for several benefices in the dioceses of St Andrews and Glasgow,
although in 1443 his excessive enthusiasm for collecting benefices was to
come back to haunt him when he was forced to apologize in absentia for
seeking incompatible benefices through an English or Irish cleric who
incorrectly claimed that Elphinstone was from the diocese of St Asaph in
Wales.30 Another intriguing case is that of Laurence Piot who spent some
time in a papal prison for reasons unknown.31 We also know that Piot was
involved in a lengthy battle for the deanery of Ross with Thomas Tulloch
who was also present in Florence. In the end, Tulloch was not only successful in obtaining the deanery, but on September 26, 1440 was raised to
the bishopric of the same diocese, perhaps as the only claimant capable of
challenging the Council of Basel’s preferred choice, John Innes, in the
rough and tumble of highland ecclesiastical politics.32 In this way, Tulloch
became the Council of Florence’s third Scottish bishop after James
Kennedy and John de Crannach, more on whom in a moment.
Perhaps surprisingly, however, the Scottish cleric who was present
most frequently at official sessions of the Council was not Tulloch nor any
of the other Scottish bishops, but the mysterious Laurence of Lindores, a
monk of Balmerino, minor penitentiary, and papal chaplain whose career
before arriving in Ferrara is obscure apart from an anathema on the cartulary of his home monastery that may be attributed to him.33 Indeed, Laurence’s attendance is recorded at the very first session in Ferrara’s cathedral
of San Giorgio on January 8, 1438 when the Council was officially declared
open, as well as at the sixth session on February 11 when measures to be
taken against Basel were discussed.34 Unfortunately, the Latin Acts of the
Council are lost, and so the next traces of Laurence’s activities at the
Council are his signatures both on the decree of Union with the Greeks,
30. CSSR, 4:363, 599, 625, 630.
31. CSSR, 4:530, 630; ACSB, 24, 118, 120–22, 125; Burns, Scottish Churchmen, 38,
n. 69.
32. Donald E. R. Watt, Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae Medii Aevi Ad Annum 1638. 2nd Draft
[New Series (Scottish Record Society), 1], (Edinburgh, 1969), 268, 272; David Kyle
Cochran-Yu, “A Keystone of Contention: The Earldom of Ross, 1215–1517” (PhD diss.,
University of Glasgow, 2016), 165–72.
33. William Barclay David Donald Turnbull, The Chartularies of Balmerino and Lindores
(Edinburgh, 1841), viii: “Liber Sancte Marie de Balmorinach. Qui eum alienaverit fit ipse
alienatus a regno Dei. Scriptum est hoc per fratrem Laurencium predicti loci. Anno Domini
M° CCCC° sexto X°. Amen.”
34. Fragmenta protocolli, diaria privata, sermones, ed. Georg Hofmann (Rome, 1950),
3–4, 16–17: “Actus notarilis de prima sessione conciliari Ferrariensi, die 8 ian. 1438 . . . comparuerunt . . . Laurentius de Cultos . . . Actus notarilis de sexta sessione conciliari Ferrariensi,
die 11 febr. 1438 . . . Comparuerunt . . . Laurentius de Londonis de Curlos.”

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357

Laetentur caeli from July 6, 1439, and on the decree of Union with the
Armenians, Exsultate Deo from November 22, 1439. The fact that he is not
mentioned in the other accounts of the sessions means that either he was
absent from the Council from February 1438 to July 1438 or that he played
no significant role during the remaining sessions and so went unnoticed by
chroniclers.35
The question remains, however, why Laurence was such a frequent
feature of the official sessions. From the perspective of the other attendees,
he may have benefitted from having the same name as a notable Scottish
scholastic philosopher who died in 1437.36 In terms of his own motivations, although evidence is scant, it is hard to think that it had much to do
with any particular wish to see unity between the Churches of Rome and
Constantinople, or even to halt the developing schism in the Western
Church, although this cannot, of course, be entirely excluded. Rather, it
was probably a function of his main objective in visiting the curia, namely
to obtain confirmation of his benefice. In 1436 he had been provided to the
Cistercian monastery at Culross, which had fallen vacant upon the death
of John Peplis in 1435. On June 8 of the same year Eugenius IV sent letters
to the convent and vassals of Culross informing them that since the
monastery had been reserved by the pope from before the death of John,
he was exercising his right to provide Laurence to the position. Eugenius
also wrote to the abbots of the neighboring monasteries of Kinloss, Cupar,
and Balmerino, informing them that since Laurence feared that he might
be hindered in taking control of the abbey, they were ordered to secure and
defend his claim and to invoke, if necessary, “the aid of the secular arm,”
presumably a reference to the use of force. Following normal procedure, on
Christmas Eve 1437 Laurence was at the papal treasury in person to pay
the debts due for his provision.37 There, he also chose to attend the Council, perhaps as a strategy to gain recognition of his appointment. However,
around the same time Robert Wendale, the “hindrance” Laurence had
foreseen and the preferred choice of the abbey convent, petitioned Basel
35. Fantino Vallaresso, Libellus de ordine generalium conciliorum et unione Florentina, ed.
Bernard Schütze (Rome, 1944), 100: “[Decree of Union with the Greeks] Ego Laurentius,
abbas de Culores, me subscripsi.” Epistulae pontificae ad concilium Florentinum spectantes, ed.
Georg Hofmann (Rome, 1946), 2:224: “[Decree of Unions with the Armenians] Laurentius
abbas de Culros Imiblanensis [rectius Dunblanensis] diocesis.” Note that the so-called “acta
Latina” are not the acts of the Council but rather an account written by Andrea da Santacroce:
Gill, The Council of Florence, x–xi.
36. CPS, 383; James Houston Baxter, “The Philosopher Laurence of Lindores,” The
Philosophical Quarterly, 5 (1955), 348–54.
37. CEPR, 8:613, 639; CSSR, 4:321, 407, 602; ACSB, 22, 23–4.

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for confirmation of his election as abbot. Robert’s petition was also accompanied by a letter, which described the unanimous election of Robert and
begged the Council to approve the abbey’s choice.38 In this way, the sometimes violent struggle for the small Scottish Abbey of Culross became part
of a wider European ecclesiastical confrontation, with each claimant seeking and receiving support from a different side.
In the end, however, despite all his efforts and initially winning papal
support, Laurence was unsuccessful in gaining permanent control of the
monastery. Indeed, in June 1441 he was on the verge of losing everything,
as can be deduced from a petition of that date. In it, he supplicated that
Bishop Kennedy (who had been given powers to absolve previous adherents to Basel now loyal to Eugenius and reinstate their benefices) should
not, by absolving Robert Wendale, unintentionally recognize the former
schismatic’s claim to Culross.39 Despite his best efforts and paying off his
debts to the camera apostolica for the provision, in 1443 Laurence was effectively deprived of the abbey by Eugenius and ordered to be put on trial and
to come to the curia to seek absolution. Ironically, the reasons given for this
change of heart were that Laurence had imprisoned Robert in a tower and
unlawfully taken possession of the monastery, calling on the aid of the
same “secular arm” that Eugenius had ordered be put at his disposal in
1436! This said, Robert’s cause may also have been aided by the influence
of powerful friends, as he seems to have had close links to the Scottish
court.40 After his fall from papal favor, we lose all trace of Laurence, the
sole Scot to sign the decree of Union who received no further benefices.
The Brechin Party
The only other Scottish cleric recorded at the official sessions of the
Council is a far more well-known figure, John de Crannach, bishop of
Brechin, described in the Auchinleck Chronicle as “a gude, actif, and vertuis
man,” who was accompanied to Ferrara by his chaplain, David Reid and a
retinue of unspecified size that included a canon of the cathedral of
38. CPS, 375: “Devoti ecclesie filii, prior, conventus et monachi ipsius monasterii per
viam sancti spiritus devotum ecclesie filium fratrem Robertum de Widale, religiosum professum ipsius monasterii, in ipsorum et ipsius monasterii abbatem et pastorem concorditer et
unanimiter elegerunt.” Burns, Scottish Churchmen, 58–59.
39. CEPR, 9:207–8.
40. Robert Wendale was a witness to a charter of King James II in 1442: William Douglas, “Culross Abbey and its Charters,” Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries in Scotland 60
(1925), 67–94, at 89; CEPR, 9:349–50; Annie I. Dunlop, Life and Times of James Kennedy,
Bishop of St Andrews (Edinburgh, 1950), 47, n. 7.

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Brechin named John Steil.41 Incepted as Master of Arts at Paris in 1406,
Crannach taught for over 10 years at the university where he was several
times the procurator of the English Nation, and once even elected rector,
before being appointed bishop of Brechin in 1426. Considering this background, his arrival at Ferrara may have been an answer to the pope’s call in
October 1437 for European studia to send those with the titles of doctor
or master to the Council, although, if this was the case, it would have
brought him into conflict with the pro-conciliar Parisian studium.42
At the Council, Bishop John’s presence is recorded at the sessions in
Ferrara on February 15 and April 3, 1438, where the bull Exposcit debitum
was read and conciliar protocol discussed respectively.43 Although not in
Brechin on June 13, 1439 when a complaint was lodged against the rector of
Lethnot, he was back in his diocese in late June 1439. This said, it is unclear
whether he travelled from Ferrara to Florence with the other Latin prelates
in early 1439, although his chaplain (who was in Brechin with the bishop in
late June) was certainly still in Florence on February 27, 1439, suggesting a
relatively direct and swift return journey for the Brechin party.44
While at Ferrara and perhaps also Florence, John took advantage of his
presence in curia to supplicate both on behalf of his diocese for an indulgence for pilgrims to Brechin cathedral, and for benefices on behalf of his
relatives, including his brother David de Crannach who had visited Rome
with John in the 1420s and was present at Ferrara with him in March 1438.
Despite this, David along with his other brother Robert chose to support
Basel after 1438, a surprising move which either underlines the continuing
division within the Scottish Church during the period of the Council, or
suggests that the Crannachs were hedging their bets. After the victory of
the papal party in Scotland, it was only the intercession of their influential
brother who was made “conservator of the privileges of the Scottish
Church” in 1445, that saved David and Robert’s ecclesiastical careers.45
Unfortunately, despite his successes both at home and on the continent, we
41. The Auchinleck Chronicle, 56. See Appendix.
42. Burns, Scottish Churchmen, 48; CEPR, 8:265; Gill, The Council of Florence, 319.
43. Fragmenta Protocolli, 22-24: “Generalibus magistris et doctoribus in duabus ultimis
sessionibus [i.e. February 11 and 14] nominatis, ac ultra illos . . . Iohanne Bracanensi . . .
Iohanne Brechensi.”
44. CSSR, 4:520; Registrum episcopatus Brechinensis, eds. Patrick Chalmers and John
Inglis Chalmers (Aberdeen, 1856), 85–86: “instrumentum protestationis nomine episcopi
contra Rectorem de Lethnot […] in absentia dicti domini episcopi.”
45. CEPR, 8:256; Registrum episcopatus Brechinensis, 85–86, CSSR, 4:442; Burns, Scottish Churchmen, 46–47, 58–59.

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SCOTS AT THE COUNCIL OF FERRARA-FLORENCE

have no further information about John’s activities at the Council, about the
reasons for his early departure from Florence, or regarding the fallout from
his split with his brothers. However, the Council was soon to be visited by
another Scottish bishop about whom much more is known.
Bishop Kennedy and the Scottish “Delegation”
James Kennedy, bishop of Dunkeld, led the most significant party of
Scots to arrive at the Council, which included such notable figures as
William Turnbull, the future bishop of Glasgow, and Robert Drydane,
chaplain to the king of Scots.46 Indeed, Kennedy was a towering figure in
Scotland. He was the grandson of King Robert III and cousin to King
James I, and received his MA in 1429 from the recently founded University of St Andrews, before studying law at Louvain. Alongside John de
Crannach who had close links to the French court and with whom
Kennedy would later cooperate extensively in improving the standard of
learning in Scotland through the foundation of St Salvator’s College at St
Andrews, Kennedy then escorted the daughter of James I, the Lady Margaret, to France in March 1436 to marry the dauphin, before, thanks to the
intervention of his cousin the king, being elected to Dunkeld in January
1437, for which he had to be quickly raised from subdeacon, to priest, and
then bishop. Scottish humanist authors also attribute to him various Latin
works, although none of these survive.47
Despite the prominence of its leader, the exact date of the Kennedy
party’s arrival is not recorded. However, we know that on September 24,
1439 Kennedy himself supplicated that he and his “familiars and continual
commensals” should receive the benefits reserved for those who had been
present at the papal court for six months, despite only having been resident
46. Dunlop, James Kennedy, 27 n. 2; Michel Brown, James I (Edinburgh, 1994), 203–07.
47. Annie I. Dunlop, Acta facultatis artium universitatis Sanctiandree 1413–1588, 2 vols.
(Edinburgh, 1964), 1:xxii–xxvi; eadem, James Kennedy, 1–19; David Buchanan, De scriptoribus
Scotis libri duo, ed. David Irving (Edinburgh, 1837), 88: “Tria reliquit suae magnificentiae et
liberalitatis monumenta egregia, scholas publicas ad Fanum Andreae maximis sumptibus aedificatas, et magnis proventibus ex ecclesiasticis tamen fructibus locupletatas, Collegium S. Salvatoris, in quo juventus ad eruditionem ac religionem informari poffit; marmoreum sepulchrum, structura mirabili confectum; simulque et ingentem et admirandae molis navem
onerariam, Bargiam dictam. Vulgo autem creditum, horum trium unumquodque similis prorsus fuisse pretii et valoris. Porro quod ad hominis eruditionem attinet, inter alia literaria monumenta haec sequentia sequenti posteritati reliquit: Epistolas varias ad diversos viros doctos in
Gallia et Italia, lib. I; Orationem pro cura publica mulieribus non mandanda; De boni episcopi officio, lib. i. Caetera ad nostram non pervenerunt notitiam.”

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for twelve weeks. Thus, Kennedy was claiming to have arrived around July
2, a few days before the magnificent celebration of Union on July 6.48 This
mission has been called a “delegation” by one modern historian.49 However, this terminology is problematic, firstly, because we have no record of
them having been officially sent, and, secondly, because they did not take
part in any conciliar discussions, which were effectively over by this point.50
Nevertheless, the Kennedy party may have been among the various
“ambassadors of the princes,” before whose arrival the humanist and General of the Camaldolese Order, Ambrogio Traversari (1386–1439), urged
Eugenius to conclude Union on June 1, 1439.51 Furthermore, given the
close affinity between Kennedy and the Scottish crown, and the presence
of the king’s chaplain, as well as one of his counsellors, Hugh Kennedy, in
his retinue, it is reasonable to presume that the bishop could in some way
speak for the Kingdom of Scotland, and so his mission may be considered
a “delegation” at least in a loose sense. This said, their objective in coming
to Florence was probably not to take part in the Council per se. Rather,
their aim was likely to cement papal support for the royal faction in Scottish ecclesiastical politics, as in any case the individual Latin delegations
played relatively minor roles in the Council, since the Greeks’ acceptance
of Catholic doctrine was the main focus proceedings.
While the details of Kennedy’s remit in Florence and exactly what was
discussed are not known, it was in all probability related to the dynastic situation and the ongoing persistence of the conciliar faction in Scotland. It
is also clear that whatever Kennedy proposed, it was well-received by the
curia. In September 1439, Kennedy was awarded Scotland’s richest
monastery at Scone in commendam, meaning that he could draw a revenue
from it while delegating his obligations.52 After a pilgrimage to Rome in
late 1439, Kennedy then returned to Florence, where, after receiving news
that the incumbent had died, Eugenius transferred him to the premier diocese of Scotland, St Andrews.53 In so doing, the pope was ensuring that a
48. CSSR, 4:620.
49. Ditchburn, Scotland and Europe, 1:37.
50. On the definition and limits of the term “delegation” today, see: John Beal, James
A. Coriden, and Thomas J. Green, New Commentary on the Code of Canon Law (New York,
2002), 188–92.
51. Ambrogio Traversari, Latinae epistolae, ed. Lorenzo Mehus (Florence, 1739), col.
66: “Adveniunt, ut audio, Legati Principum, et vehementer cupio, ut inveniant confectum
negocium.” CSSR, 4:623.
52. CEPR, 270; Burns, Scottish Churchmen, 64.
53. John Fordun and Walter Bower, Scotichronicon, ed. John MacQueen, Winifred
MacQueen, and Donald E. R. Watt, 9 vols. (Aberdeen, 1995), 3:412–v14: “In sequenti xxii

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well-connected and loyal prelate occupied the foremost see in Scotland.
The fervor with which Kennedy pursued pro-papal policies upon his return
is a testament to the faith placed in him by Eugenius who gave Kennedy
the power to rehabilitate former schismatics, thus helping to bring the
Scottish Church back under papal control.54
Another member of the Kennedy’s circle in Florence was William
Turnbull, canon of Glasgow and papal chaplain, who also enjoyed Eugenius’ favor during his brief stay in Florence. Like Kennedy, he too was a
learned figure of some renown in Scotland, having studied law at Louvain in the early 1430s, before entering papal service and being sent as a
nuncio to Bologna for Eugenius in 1433. Back home, James I constituted
him as royal proctor at the court of Rome, after which he returned to the
curia in Florence and later travelled around Tuscany in the pope’s
entourage. He then traveled to Pavia in June 1439 to receive his doctorate in canon law before making his way to the Council, arriving around
a week before the main body of Scots.55 Almost immediately upon his
arrival, Turnbull also began to receive papal patronage, being granted the
right to hold three incompatible benefices as well as a papal exception.
Whether this was from episcopal jurisdiction, or simply from papal taxes,
the records do not say, but the curia’s favorable attitude towards him is
undeniable.56
Choosing not to accompany Kennedy on his pilgrimage to Rome,
Turnbull left Florence for Scotland in the autumn of 1439. Neither his reasons for coming to Florence (except to join Kennedy), nor for leaving Italy
are known. However, having already spent extended periods in Rome as a
trusted member of the papal familia, a pilgrimage to the eternal city may
have been a less attractive option. Furthermore, as arguably the leading
expert in canon law in the mission he was perhaps chosen to return home to
begin the process of resolving the divisions in the Scottish Church. Indeed,
we know that once in Scotland he played a significant role in ecclesiastical
affairs, eventually overseeing the excommunication of adherents to Basel in
die mensis aprilis anno domini MCCCCXL postulatus est nobilis vir magister Jacobus
Kenedi, nepos domini regis Jacobi primi ex sorore sua comtissa de Angus episcopus
Dunkeldensis, per viam Sancti Spiritus. Qui tunc erat cum domino Papa Eugenio Florentiae
in curia; a quo anno prededente consecutus est monasterium de Scona in commenda. Sed
antequam pervenirent ad curiam decretum eleccionis et litere regales commendatitie, provisum est sibi de episcopatu Sanctiandr.”
54. CEPR, 8:238–39.
55. John Durkan, William Turnbull Bishop of Glasgow (Glasgow, 1951), 11–16.
56. ACSB, 317; CSSR, 4:565.

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1442.57 Later, he would become bishop of Dunkeld and then of Glasgow,
although his lasting legacy would, of course, be the University of Glasgow,
which he founded in 1451 on the model of the studium at Bologna.58 His life
was, therefore, a perfect example of how deeply imbricated Scotland was in
ecclesiastical politics and western European culture as a whole.
Scots and Byzantines in Renaissance Italy
Despite their relatively large numbers, as far as can be ascertained there
is no mention of the Scottish presence in Italian accounts of the Council,
which tend to focus on the Greek, Armenian, Ethiopian and other delegations. However, there may be a reference to the party of Scots led by Bishop
Kennedy in the Memoirs of Sylvester Syropoulos, the anti-Union grand
ecclesiarch of the Hagia Sophia. This represents the most detailed Byzantine account of the Council, and contains a second-hand report from
August 1439 of a Greek deacon stopping at a Bolognese hostelry on his
return to Venice where he met a mysterious group of travelers:
When they were just about to leave Florence, he [the Emperor] sent his
chaplains on ahead, among whom there was the aforementioned deacon
Philip. These men travelled and each night took shelter in hostels, as is
the custom in those parts. Thus it happened that they spent the night in
Bologna in a hotel where there were also ambassadors sent from Anclitera
to visit the pope.59

The unknown ambassadors then asked what had happened at the Council
and the Byzantine deacon responded that they had indeed achieved Union.
57. Rotuli Scotiae in turri Londonensi et domo capitulari Westmonasteriensi asservati, ed.
David Macpherson, John Caley, and William Illingsworth, 2 vols. (London, 1814–19), 2:315:
“Similis salvus conductus pro Willelmo Turnbull . . . xxiij die Novembrij 1439.” Christine
McGladdery, James II (Edinburgh, 1990), 27.
58. Munimenta alme universitatis Glasguensis, ed. Cosmo Innes, 4 vols. (Glasgow,
1854), 1:4: “Ac venerabilis frater noster Willelmus Episcopus Glasguensis ac successores sui
qui pro tempore fuerint Gasguenses Episcopi prefati Studii Glasguensis sint rectores Cancellarii nuncupati habeant super doctores magistros et scolares ac alios de Universitate Studii
huiusmodi similem facultatem et potestatem quam habent rectores scolarum dicti Studii
Bononiensis.”
59. Les “mémoires” du grand ecclésiarque de l’église de Constantinople Sylvestre Syropoulos sur
le Concile de Florence (1438–1439), ed. Vitalien Laurent (Paris, 1971), 514: “Μέλλων δ’
ἐξιέναι τῆς Φλωρεντίας ὁ βασιλεύς προαπέστειλε τοὺς τοῦ κλήρου αὐτοῦ κληρικούς, μεθ’
ὧν ἦν καὶ ὁ προδηλωθεὶς διάκονος ὁ Φίλιππος, οἳ διερχόμενοι καὶ ἐν πανδοχείοις
καταλύοντες καθ’ ἑκάστην νύκτα, ὡς ἔθος ἐκεῖσε, ἔφθασαν καταλύσαντες καὶ ἐν τῇ
Πολονείᾳ εἰς πανδοχεῖον, οὗ καὶ εὑρέθησαν πρέσβεις ἐκ τῆς Ἀγκλιτέρας ἀπερχόμενοι εἰς
τὸν πάπαν.”

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The foreigners then asked how it happened, and which doctrine had prevailed. He responded that the Council had agreed that both the Greek and
Latin views on the Creed and the Eucharist were correct. The travelers
then exclaimed that this was not Union at all, but agreement in division!
That Syropoulos took some rhetorical liberties in attributing to the
unknown foreigners a view that closely mirrored his own is clear. Yet, there
is no reason to believe that the meeting was entirely fictitious. What
remains difficult to ascertain, however, is the actual origin of the group
Philip met. The leading historian of the Council, Joseph Gill, was not
entirely certain, but decided that they were most likely English, interpreting “Ἀγκλιτέρα” as a transcription of the Italian Inghilterra in the sense of
“England.” On the other hand, the editor of Syropoulos’ Memoirs was not
so sure: “[Gill] might have been mistaken about the nationality of travelers
who for that matter may well have been Irish or Scottish.”60
While it is impossible to be certain, there are several compelling reasons why the group may have been from Scotland, rather than England or
Ireland. First, there is vanishingly little evidence of an English presence at
the Council of Florence in this period on the scale of the Scottish, making
the chances higher that Philip met the latter rather than the former.
Second, the turn of phrase used by Syropoulos to denote the origin of the
ambassadors (“ἐκ τῆς Ἀγκλιτέρας”) departs from contemporary Byzantine
usage when referring to the Kingdom of England. Indeed, rather than
transcribing from contemporary vernaculars late-Byzantine writers tended
to follow classical usage and refer to England as “Britannia” (Βρετανία).
This was certainly the case when the Emperor Manuel Palaeologus visited
England in 1400 when he referred to Henry IV as “the king of Britannia”
(ὁ τῆς Βρετανίας ῥήξ) despite presumably knowing that the island was
divided into separate kingdoms.61 Third, since the summer of 1439 saw the
arrival of a large number of Scots, it is not impossible that Syropoulos was
60. Ibid. 515, n. 7: “qu’il [Gill] se soit trompé sur la nationalité des voyageurs qui au
demeurant pourraient bien avoir été irlandais ou écossais.” Gill, The Council of Florence, 300,
n. 10.
61. Manuel Palaeologus, Lettres, ed. Emile Legrand (Amsterdam, 1962), 52. I have
found only one other instance where the classical terminology is not used, and this too appears
to be a transcription from a vernacular, a clarification rather than anything else. Patrologia
cursus completus, ed. Jacques-Paul Migne, Series Graeca, 167 vols. plus 2 vols. of Register
(Paris, 1857–66, 1928–36), 139, col. 784D: “καὶ ὁ τῶν πελεκυφόρων δὲ κατάρχων
Βρεττανῶν, οὕς νῦν φασιν Ἰγγλίνους.” Britain is not to be found on Byzantine lists of
ancient and modern place names: Aubrey Diller, Studies in Greek Manuscript Tradition (Amsterdam, 1983), 279–94.

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referring to latecomers from Kennedy’s party since we know that some
Scots did travel via Bologna.62 Fourth and finally, while it is likely that
English clerics would have been just as likely to strike up a conversation
with a Byzantine deacon as anyone else, late medieval Scots potentially had
an additional motivation. In contrast to contemporary English historians
who traced England’s origins back to Brutus of Troy, Scottish historians
saw Scotland as a joint foundation of the Greeks and the Egyptians, a fact
that would almost certainly have been known to many if not all of the Scots
present in Italy during this period, and may have added to the appeal of
such an encounter.63 Of course, without further evidence all this must
remain merely an interesting conjecture, although the mere fact that members of the Byzantine delegation may have encountered Scots while in Italy
for the Council is at the very least a poignant reminder of the extent of
connections between Scotland and the beating heart of Catholic Europe.
Conclusions
While many of the stereotypes fifteenth-century Italians had about
Scotland were not entirely without foundation, the extensive Scottish presence at the Council of Florence further undermines the myth that it was
quite so removed from the larger European context as many contemporaries thought. Indeed, not only were over forty clerics from Scotland present at the papal court in Florence at the highpoint of the Council of Union,
but among them was the cream of contemporary Scottish ecclesiastical and
intellectual life. In particular, figures such as James Kennedy and John de
Crannach stand out as men who not only shaped the political landscape in
their distant homeland, but were also players at a European level. Furthermore, the sheer number of lowly Scottish clerics at the curia underlines if
not the ease of travelling from Scotland to Italy, then the desire or necessity
for Scots to be present in person, with the case of Laurence of Lindores
showing that papal favor could be tremendously valuable, although there
was always the risk that such support might be short-lived. Looking at the
activities of the Scots at the curia during the Council as a whole, it is clear
that most were motivated to make the journey to advance their own, their
family’s, or their political faction’s interests back in Scotland, although for
some, such as John de Crannach and William Turnbull, the picture is not
so clear. However, this is not to say that their objectives were any more
62. ACSB, 123; CSSR, 4:620.
63. Maurice Buchanan, Liber pluscardensis, ed. Felix J. H. Skene (Edinburgh, 1877),
80–81: “Postquam de partibus Aegipti et Graeciae progressi fuerunt. Ex quo patet quod
antiquissima Scotorum nacio a duobus nobilissimis mundi regionibus principaliter exorta est.”

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parochial than those of the other visitors to Ferrara and Florence. Indeed,
were the Greeks not at the Council effectively in a bid to secure military
assistance in a regional dispute that affected their onetime empire, the territorial expanse of which was even less even than that of contemporary
Scotland?
Motivations aside, the Council of Florence was a key moment in a
longer process of exchange in people and ideas between Scotland and continental Europe that led first to the rise of university culture in the early fifteenth century and from the late fifteenth century onwards classicizing
Renaissance art, architecture, literature, and philosophy. While recent
attention has focused on the interactions between Scottish humanists and
the seventeenth-century European Republic of Letters, the origins of such
exchanges can be traced back to the fifteenth century and beyond.64
Indeed, though the Council’s precise influence on Scotland’s cultural landscape is difficult to ascertain due to the painfully thin historical record for
this period, the number of intergenerational connections (one of the few
ways to infer cultural genealogies given the lack of evidence) between those
who traveled to Florence for the Council and the first generation of
humanists is striking.
Indeed, it is unlikely to be coincidental that the eponymous son of Sir
Walter de Ogilvie who visited the curia in Florence went on to become
Scotland’s most colorful early humanist orator. Likewise, it is probably no
accident that the similarly eponymous (though illegitimate) son of William
Elphinstone who spent three months in Florence around Christmas 1438
went on to travel extensively in Italy before founding King’s College in
Aberdeen, which had a decidedly more Renaissance bent than earlier Scottish seats of learning. Indeed, Elphinstone Jr. was not only a close friend of
the humanist orator Archibald Whitelaw and a patron of the humanist historian Hector Boece, but was also one of the first Scots known to own a
manuscript of Lorenzo Valla’s famous handbook of humanist style (Elegantiae linguae Latinae) that alongside the texts of civil and canon law
owned by his father survives in the library of the University of Aberdeen.
Family connections to Italy seem to have foreshadowed interest in Italian
cultural exports. As a result of this wide-ranging learning and reforming
zeal, in 1521 John Law would later dub Elphinstone a “new Nicholas of

64. “Bridging the Continental Divide. A project led by the University of Glasgow and
funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council 2012–2015,” https://www.dps.gla.ac.uk
[accessed 5/5/2020].

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Cusa” (alter Cusa), a figure who had incidentally played an important role
in the Council of Florence.65
Finally, as a hitherto unknown moment in the longstanding process of
exchange in people and ideas that has to a greater or lesser extent always
characterized European history, the Council of Florence is a reminder of
the important role of ecumenical councils and the Catholic Church more
broadly in an early version of the process that we might today call “European integration” or perhaps even “globalization.” While in its intension an
opportunity to repair the Great Schism, the presence of the curia in Ferrara
and Florence within the context of an ecumenical council called at a
moment of crisis for the Church also provided a unique opportunity for
Scottish clerics to pursue a range of aims, both large and small, and to
experience people, places, and ideas quite different from those commonly
found in their native country. The presence of visitors from a land “rough,
wild and untouched by the winter sun” is therefore a microcosm of a larger
process of Catholic globalization that in the last two millennia has (with
inevitable ebbs and flows) contributed to cultural interactions, often verging on integration, between different parts of the world. While hardly the
“global Jesuits” that have recently captured the imagination of many historians, the Scottish visitors to fifteenth-century Ferrara and Florence were
part of the same larger trend.66

65. Rutledge, “The Development of Humanism,” 253; Leslie J. Macfarlane, “William
Elphinstone’s Library Revisted,” The Renaissance in Scotland: Studies in Literature, Religion,
History, and Culture Offered to John Durkan, eds. Alasdair A. MacDonald, Michael Lynch, and
Ian Borthwick Cowan (Leiden, 1994), 66–81; idem, William Elphinstone, 290–402; Stephen
Mark Holmes, Sacred Signs in Reformation Scotland: Interpreting Worship, 1488–1590 (Oxford,
2015), 59.
66. Luke Clossey, Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missions (New York,
2008).

368

SCOTS AT THE COUNCIL OF FERRARA-FLORENCE

Appendix: Scots Recorded at the Curia During the Council of
Ferrara-Florence, 1438–144067
The Kennedy Mission
Richard Cady, priest of Glasgow diocese
July 8, 1439–September 5, 1439
James Cameron, priest of St Andrews diocese, canon professed of Holyrood
July 8, 1439
Robert Drydane, priest of St Andrews diocese, chaplain to the king of Scots
August 13, 1439
Andrew de Fyf, priest of St Andrews diocese
c. June 18, 1439–June 1, 1440
Hugh Kennedy, canon of St John of Sens, counsellor of the king of Scots
October 10, 1439
James Kennedy, MA BDec, bishop of Dukeld and St Andrews
c. July 2, 1439–September 1, 1440
Donald MacMohan, MA BDec, priest of St Andrews diocese
October 4, 1440
William Turnbull, MA DCL, canon of Glasgow, dean of Moray
June 26, 1439–September 10, 1439

The Brechin Party
John de Crannach, MA, bishop of Brechin
February 15, 1438–July 2, 1438
David de Crannach, clerk of Aberdeen diocese
March 8, 1438
David Reid, priest of Glasgow diocese, chaplain to bishop of Brechin
November 7, 1438–October 15, 1440
John Steil, BDec, canon of Brechin
February 27, 1439

Other Named Scots
John de Balfour, MA, rector of Kyrkforthir
December 17, 1437–February 27, 1440

67. Compiled from CSSR, ACSB, and CEPR.

STUART M. MCMANUS

369

William Brown, priest of St Andrews diocese
Died while returning from curia between June 20, 1438 and November 3, 1438
John de Camera, priest of Glasgow diocese
June 22, 1439
James Croyser, clerk of Glasgow diocese
August 4, 1440
William Croyser, MA, archdeacon of Teviotdale, papal nuncio, papal acolyte
January 6, 1439–February 28, 1439
Thomas Donyne, MA, clerk of Dunblane diocese
June 30, 1439
Andrew de Dunnovin, BDec, clerk of Ross diocese
Throughout period
William Elphinstone, MA BLeg
c. December 14, 1438–March 14, 1439
William Hog, priest of Glasgow diocese.
July 15, 1439
James Innes, MA, canon of Moray
October 3, 1440
Andrew de Keyth, MA, from St Andrews diocese
January 30, 1439
Robert Ladre, MA BDec, canon of Glasgow, nuncio of the king of Scots
September 1, 1440
Alexander Lichton, MA BUJ, canon of Moray
July 27, 1440
Laurence of Lindores, abbot of Culross, papal chaplain
December 24, 1437–November 22, 1439
Robert de Logton, clerk of St Andrews diocese
c. July 1, 1440–September 1, 1440
John Louthiane, priest of Glasgow diocese
Died travelling from Ferrara to Florence before 28 July 1439
Robert de Lychow, clerk of Glasgow diocese
August 4, 1440
Donald de MacNaughton, DCL, canon of Glasgow
Died returning from curia before October 4, 1440

370

SCOTS AT THE COUNCIL OF FERRARA-FLORENCE

John Moneypenny, MA, clerk of St Andrews diocese
December 14, 1440
Adam de Montegomerie, MA, priest of Glasgow diocese
March 5, 1439–June 20, 1440
David Ogilvy, priest of St Andrews diocese
July 9, 1440
Thomas Penven, MA Bdec, priest of Glasgow diocese
Throughout period
Laurence Piot, canon of Glasgow
Throughout period
John de Ranwyk, clerk of Glasgow diocese
August 4, 1440
William Sanquhar, clerk of Aberdeen diocese
c. July 4, 1437–July 4, 1439
David Seras, BA BDec, priest of Brechin diocese
August 6, 1440–October 12, 1440
William Scott, rector of the parish church of Cultir
Died in curia before June 30, 1439
David Stewart, MA, canon of Ross
October 15, 1440
Walter Stewart, rector of Mynto in diocese of Glasgow
March 21, 1438
Alexander de Thornton, BDec, rector of Benham
June 1, 1439–July 11, 1439
Thomas de Tullach, BDec, bishop of Ross
November 22, 1440
John Wrycht, BDec, priest of Brechin diocese
March 11, 1439
Alexander Young, priest of Aberdeen diocese
November 3, 1440

Whose Restoration Is It?
Acrimony and Division in the Fight for
Sant’Apollinare in Classe, Ravenna (1814–30)
CHRISTOPHER KORTEN*
This article examines the administrative decisions in attempting a
restoration following 1814 and the defeat of Napoleon, which led to
many frustrations and conflicts, especially involving religious orders
and their monasteries within the Papal States. Against those who
would put a positive spin on the period, this article lays plain the
human factors at play and reveals how deeply frustrating and divisive
this period actually was for the affected monasteries and the men who
ran them. A prominent case study, Sant’Apollinare in Classe, reveals
the struggle between the Camaldolese, the municipality of Ravenna,
and the Jesuits for control of Sant’Apollinare. This struggle was by no
means unique, rather it defined the period.
Key words: Restoration, Catholic Church, Pope Pius VII, religious orders, Camaldolese, Jesuits

I

n Hubert Jedin’s seminal series on the history of the Catholic Church,
volume seven discusses the Restoration and is written in part by Roger
Aubert. Pope Pius VII and his Secretary of State Ercole Consalvi are portrayed in admirable terms. The pope, Aubert writes, “devoted the final nine
years of his pontificate to laying a solid foundation for the rapid rise of the
Church. . . . The effort of Pius VII and his successor Leo XII toward the
reorganisation of the Church was the prerequisite for the revival of
Catholic vitality.”1
*Dr. Korten is professor of history at Adam Mickiewicz University (Poznan, Poland)
and at Moscow State Institute of International Relations. Dante Bolognesi has provided very
helpful background information on Ravenna and Sant’Apollinare for this article, as well as
important bibliographical information and resources, otherwise unattainable for the author
during this period of COVID-19. He also wants to thank Tiziana Fusco at the National
Library of Rome and Monica Matteoli at the Italian Institute for Historical Studies in
Naples. Both were able to assist him in accessing materials critical for the completion of this
article. His email address is chriskorten@yahoo.com.
1. Roger Aubert, “The Catholic Church and the Revolution,” in: The Church between
Revolution and Restoration, eds. Roger Aubert, Johannes Beckmann, Patrick J. Corish, and

371

372

WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

Aubert had in mind a more spiritual revival. On the day-to-day aspects of
the Restoration, those that concern this study, Aubert devotes a meagre
paragraph, on regaining lost properties.2 As this article will attempt to
show, this coverage is disproportionate to the events which unfolded. For
the leadership of religious congregations, local dioceses and communities,
and the Roman curia, this period was deeply divisive and frustrating. Aubert
correctly, though too succinctly, describes the men and women involved as
having “disturbed minds.” This article will detail how and why this was so.
During the preceding Napoleonic period, the French plundered or pillaged much of what was valuable within religious orders and within the
Catholic Church more generally. This left monasteries and their congregations in desperate search of lost income, properties, and movable assets
after 1814. The bulk of energy exerted by cardinals was on the minutiae of
the Restoration; each cardinal represented—or “protected”—a half-dozen
or so ecclesiastical organizations, which necessitated their involvement in
lengthy and time-consuming petitions and appeals, most often related to
money and property.3 Therefore, the problems which beset individual
organizations were also the problems which occupied the Roman curia.
Concerning the Church’s diminished political authority through lost
ecclesiastical properties, Aubert suggests that their secularization contained a silver lining, as the Church gradually rallied around its spiritual
authority, producing revival. Yet this observation is deduced from hindsight and betrays the feelings of clerics at the time and the desperation that
drove them to act as they did. This article will highlight these negative
aspects, in order to redress the balance. Aubert’s understanding of the loss
as catalysing support from European public purses is true, but also misleading.4 To the extent European governments were financially healthy enough
to assist the Roman Church through charitable donations was in large part
due to the vast plundering of Church assets by the French Empire in the
preceding period to lower or eliminate onerous public debt, strengthen the
tax base, and enrich those in positions to act charitably.
Rudolf Lill, [History of the Church, 7, ed. Hubert Jedin], (London, 1981), 1–84, here 83–
84. Although dated, the Aubert account has not been substantially overturned and comes
closest of any work that this author is familiar with to touching upon the ideas discussed in
this article. See also Mario Caravale and Alberto Caracciolo, Lo Stato pontificio da Martino V
a Pio IX, [Storia d’Italia, 14, ed. Giuseppe Galasso], (Torino, 1978).
2. Aubert, “The Catholic Church after the Congress of Vienna,” in: The Church between
Revolution and Restoration, 85-103, here 88–89.
3. Aubert, “The Catholic Church and the Revolution,” 84.
4. Aubert, “The Catholic Church after the Congress of Vienna,” 89.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

373

Drawing on original documents from the Vatican Archives and those
of the Camaldolese order, this article adopts a novel methodology in
analysing the period of the Restoration: it captures the many layers of dissension that existed at the time. The article accomplishes this through a
case study of Sant’Apollinare monastery in Classe, prominent enough to
capture all of the vexatious nodes that mark the period, but common
enough to represent the experiences of many institutions. In showing the
multiple layers of disharmony, this article reveals not only how unhappy
most—or all—in leadership were, it also reveals the contrasting perceptions of the Jesuits after 1814 and brings understanding to some hitherto
unresolved historical questions, surrounding the mis- (or little) understood
person of Mauro Cappellari, later Pope Gregory XVI (1831–46) and his
relationship with the Society of Jesus. Until now, there has been a nagging
inconsistency in the historiography. How was it that Gregory was a
reputed opponent of the order in the conclaves of 1829 and 1830/31, but
later became one of its biggest proponents during his pontificate? The
answer lies in what occurred before 1829 in Ravenna.
General Description of the Restoration
It is by now established fact that the Restoration (1814–30) is a misnomer for the Catholic Church in Italy.5 For it was impossible to undo
everything that the French did. Between 1796 and 1814, too many ecclesiastically-owned properties had been sold to too many important men; too
much damage and looting had been done to structures formerly in possession of religious congregations; and too much money had been taken.
The situation was bleakest for religious orders. All were affected, and
all had their assets siphoned off; the greatest financial blow was the
removal of their non-ecclesiastical properties which had provided the
income for monasteries to function. With all forty-six religious orders desperately seeking a return of their properties and accompanying assets, as
well as a resumption of revenue, often associated with these purloined
assets, the Church was placed in the unenviable position of having to select
a percentage of monasteries to reopen and properties to return, unable
financially to resuscitate all of them. This created unhealthy competition
amongst religious orders and monasteries and spawned division and acrimony in every diocese of the Restoration. In Ravenna, the focus of this
5. On the limits of the Restoration, see Owen Chadwick, The Popes and European Revolution (Oxford, 1981), 591–99; and Francesco Traniello, “Restaurazione,” in: Dizionario
degli Istituti di Perfezione, 10 vols. (Rome, 1974–2003), VII (1983), 1690–97.

374

WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

article, there had been more than twenty monasteries prior to the Revolution; only a handful resumed after 1814. Their previous owners were left
embittered, if the feelings of the Camaldolese are any indication.
Sant’Apollinare in Classe, near Ravenna, Italy, was one of those
affected. But this was no ordinary monastery, as one of central Italy’s oldest
and most historical institutions. Thus, it stands to reason that the litigation
over who would govern it was as intense as it was during the Restoration.
Nonetheless, the particular aspects of contention were commonplace.
Despite its renowned status, the story of the fight for the rights to
Sant’Apollinare has never been properly told—and not in the important
context of the Restoration.6 During it, the venerated monastery was eventually awarded to the city and employed as a public library and an educational facility, which the Jesuit order was called in to administer, in lieu of
the Camaldolese. Not only had the latter been in possession of Sant’Apollinare for nearly eight centuries, not only was it the order’s most important
monastery economically, but it was where S. Romualdo, the founder of the
Camaldolese, experienced his monastic conversion, and it was where his
relics were subsequently kept. City officials, an archbishop, several monastic orders, curial congregations, cardinals, as well as several popes were
involved at some stage of this conflict, which endured for more than fifteen
years. Emotions ran high, tension was thick, and opinions were deeply
divided. What this article will ultimately show are the lingering effects that
struggles such as this one had on the institutions and persons involved,
and, in the end, on the Church itself. This was, by and large, an unhappy
period, especially for the Italian Church, despite Aubert’s—and many
others’—depiction to the contrary.
Early History of Ravenna and Sant’Apollinare
The city of Ravenna was strategically important during the Middle
Ages as a port city. It served as the capital of the western part of the Roman
Empire in the early fifth century until its demise in 476. Later, the Ostrogoths, the Byzantines, and finally the Lombards had, in succession, used
6. Alberto Gibelli, L’antico monastero de’ santi Andrea & Gregorio al clivo di scauro sul
Monte Celio; i suoi abati, i castelli & le chiese dipendenti dal medesimo (Faenza, 1892), 183–84,
gives a rather laconic account; see also Leonella Coglievina, “Lo ‘stabilimento di educazione
e di istruzione,’” in: Ravenna. La biblioteca Classense, ed. Marco Dezzi Bardeschi (Casalecchio
di Reno, 1982), 135–49, here 135; and Giuseppe Croce, “Monaci ed Eremiti Camaldolesi in
Italia dal Settecento all’Ottocento,” in: Il Monachesimo Italiano, ed. Francesco G.B. Trolese
(Cesena, 1992), 198–306, here 257n.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

375

FIGURE 1. Photograph of Sant’Apollinare. by Unknown, Undated. Public
Domain

the city for key political purposes, which recent archaeological research has
suggested retained its regional importance all the way through the reign of
Holy Roman Emperor, Otto III (d. 1002).7 Sant’Apollinare was also part
of the Cluny reforms that took place around the time of S. Romualdo’s
presence in the monastery in the late tenth century.8 Still later, popes in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries took special notice of the monastery and
the Camaldolese order, bestowing upon them various financial and spiritual dispensations, as well as military protection.9 In the modern era,
Ravenna retained its importance in the region, as a first-class city, along
with Forlì, in the province of Romagna.10
Sant’Apollinare in Classe lay “one league” or nearly five kilometres from
Ravenna; this structure should not be confused with the basilica Sant’Apol7. Judith Herrin and Jinty Nelson, “Introduction,” in: Ravenna: its role in earlier
medieval change and exchange, eds. Judith Herrin and Janet [Jinty] L. Nelson (London,
2016), 12.
8. Dates differ depending on when Romualdo’s birth is given, which is reported anywhere from 940 to 974.
9. Alberto Bellenghi’s “Dissertazione sulla Basilica di S. Apollinare in Classe e Monastero anneso” and “Se la Cristianità dovette attittrarsi per il recente infortunio,” section A, cassetta 6, file 2 (hereafter A.6.2), Archivio storico di Camaldoli, Italy (hereafter AC).
10. See Dante Cecchi, L’amministrazione pontificia nella 2. Restaurazione (1814–1823),
(Macerata, 1978), 154–55.

376

WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

linare Nuovo in Ravenna, which was administered by the Observant Franciscans (or Order of Friars Minor), until the Napoleonic suppressions, and is
not part of this current investigation. The Camaldolese remained at Sant’Apollinare in Classe until 1515. Following the battle of Ravenna in April
1512, when the abbot was killed by French troops, the monks decided to
move to the center of Ravenna and inhabit a new monastery, all the while
maintaining the ownership of the former. They restored the Santa Maria
della Misericordia hospital, which they had held since the early fifteenth century, and refit it as their monastic residence.11 Annexed to this monastery
was the church of S. Romualdo. It was this monastery, the former hospital,
which would be the source of contention during the Restoration.
Uncertainty During the Napoleonic Period
One of the immediate problems for monks and nuns during the
Napoleonic period was the uncertainty surrounding their status and fate.12
Rumours of suppression began circulating wherever the French invaded.
Following military victories over the Austrians in 1796 and 1797,
Napoleon incorporated the north central part of Italy into what became
known as the Cisalpine Republic (1797–1802). Ravenna was included in
this new political reconfiguration. Monks and nuns were addressed as “citizens” almost immediately, taxed accordingly, and removed from their
positions.13 Also at the beginning of 1797, religious institutions were
stripped of their tax privileges and land leases;14 only allodial properties
were guaranteed by French officials, when property was nationalised in
August 1798. Also, war booty was extracted from important churches such
as San Vitale and Sant’Apollinare, forced to turn over their silver and pay
a hefty 6000 scudi. By late 1798, Sant’Apollinare was nationalized.15
11. See Romano Pasi, La millenaria storia ospedaliera di Ravenna (Ravenna, 2006),
189–93.
12. Liise Lehtsalu, “Rethinking Monastic Suppressions in Revolutionary and
Napoleonic Italy: how women religious negotiated for their communities,” Women’s History
Review, 25.6 (2016), 945–64, argues that female orders negotiated their fate with local
authorities.
13. Giorgio Porisini, Il contenuto economico dei rogiti notarili di Ravenna. Le abbazie di S.
Vitale, S. Apollinare in Classe, S. Maria in Porto e S. Giovanni evangelista dagli inizi del secolo
XVIII al 1815 [Fonti, ricerche, testi, 2] (Milano, 1963), 77, and “Terreni in questo Agro
Cesenate,” n.d., A.9.7, AC.
14. The rest of the paragraph is from Porisini, Il contenuto economico dei rogiti notarili di
Ravenna, 77–80.
15. “Libertà Eguaglianza. In Nome della Repubblica Cisalpina una, ed indivisibile
questo di 4 Germinale = Anno Sesto Repubblicano [March 25, 1798],” last page, A.9.7, AC;
Croce, “Monaci ed Eremiti Camaldolesi,” 224.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

377

FIGURE 2. Portrait of Mauro Cappellari (1765–1846), 1835. Engraving by R.
Dudensing. Public Domain

As Mauro Cappellari, the Camaldolese order’s Procurator General
(from 1807) and Vicar General (from 1823), reported later, the community
of Ravenna’s decision to convert their monastery into an educational facility was based on the premise that the Cisalpine government had ceded it
control of the monastery.16 From the city’s perspective, this (educational)
designation solidified the property’s status as public. The Law of 9 Messidoro Anno VI (27 June 1798), passed by the central authorities of the
Cisalpine Republic, stated that the establishments of public beneficence
and instruction are under the immediate direction of the municipality.
Cappellari later noted that the monks were determined not to abandon their mission at Sant’Apollinare and found many ways to make themselves useful in order to remain there.17 They exercised all care and vigilance
for the conservation and maintenance of the property. At the time, how16. “Le ragioni adotte dalla Comune di Ravenna,” n.d, G.46.3, AC, and M. Cappellari
to the Congr. Della Riforma (1817), busta (hereafter b) 22, Congr. Della Riforma, ASV.
17. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” Cappellari’s Petition to Pius
VII, n.d. (ca. 1817), b. 40, S. Gregorio, Archivio di Stato di Roma (hereafter ASR).

378

WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

ever, the talk was much less sanguine. The former rector, Apollinare Rasi,
spoke often of the obstacles that were placed in his way.18
In the years following the initial suppression in 1798, the situation for
religious clerics and their monasteries was fluid, mirroring the political
uncertainties of the time. In spring 1799 Austria occupied Ravenna and
the surrounding area and employed Sant’Apollinare as a prison for captured Frenchmen.19 According to one account, the Austrians assisted in
the monks’ recovery of many sacred ecclesiastical paraphernalia [suppellettili] taken during the period of “democracy”; at that time, the Camaldolese
were commissioned to take custody and reorder the library and museum.20
Soon after, in June 1800, the French returned and ordered the monks to
abandon custody of the Basilica.21 However, at least two of their number
remained at Sant’Apollinare monastery in a secular capacity, cohabiting
with diocesan priests, in an attempt to retain a toe hold on their prized
possession.22
Even though Ravenna experienced relative continuity through the
three regime changes—Cisalpine Republic (1797–1802); the Italian
Republic (1802–05); and the Kingdom of Italy (1805–14)—and even
though Sant’Apollinare remained an educational institution throughout,
modifications took place. Initially, Sant’Apollinare was a college of philosophy for local youth. The ex-monks “subjected themselves” to teaching at
the college. Unlike the Jesuits, Dominicans, and Piarists, the Camaldolese
were not a teaching order, taking up their new responsibilities with some
reluctance. Old age and debilitating health restricted the efforts of some
and most certainly tempered their enthusiasm.23
In 1804 the citizens of Ravenna wanted to transfer the Patrio Collegio
to Sant’Apollinare monastery, since it was one of the few religious institutions in the city that had been well-preserved and required little or no
money for repair and where there were already teachers present; other
buildings would have required the city “costly reparations.”24 Rasi com18. Apollinare Rasi letter to M. Cappellari?, 19 April 1800, F.2.3, AC. Rasi also signed
his name on occasion “Agostino.”
19. Rasi letter to Cappellari, 12 December 1800, F.2.3, AC.
20. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.
21. “Nelle comuni disaventare che nel 1798,” n.d., A.2.7, AC.
22. Rasi letter to Cappellari, 25 May 1800, F.2.3, AC; Croce, “Monaci ed Eremiti
Camaldolesi,” 224.
23. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.
24. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

379

mented, “The College is destined to open at the beginning of March
[1805] in this locale, Sant’Apollinare. But there is so much confusion that
I do not understand what is happening, even in view of the imminent
changes of the government.”25 It was almost certainly this discouraging
state of affairs which provoked the nearly-blind Rasi to petition his superior to allow him to leave the order in 1806: “The Priest Agostino Rasi of
Ravenna, monk and Camaldolese abbot in the suppressed Monastery of
Classe, no longer seeing any way to be able to return to Religion, implores
your Esteemed for absolute Secularization.”26
In 1808 there were again plans to alter slightly the educational purpose
of the monastery and convert it into a boarding school for secondary-level students. The community brought its request to the government, and the viceroy
of Italy, Eugene Beauharnais, the adopted stepson of Napoleon I, confirmed
their plans, nominating three laymen to run it. By 1809, the situation grew
worse for the Camaldolese, who were forced to abandon the premises.27
The Restoration
The Restoration of the Papal States came in two stages, depending on
the location. Sant’Apollinare belonged to the second period or recuperation, as it is commonly referred to in the Italian literature, being located in
Romagna, part of the legations handed back to the Church following the
Congress of Vienna in the middle of 1815.28 The first recuperation com25. A. Rasi letter to P. Zurla, 5 February 1805, letter 260, b. 100, Cam. Ben. S. Gregorio, ASR: “Il primo del entrante Marzo è destinato p[er] l’apertura del Collegio in questo
Locale di Classe; ma tali e tanti sono li imbarazzi, i contrasti, e le disunion[e] che non so peragirne bene, anche in vista della iminente o mutazione, o modificazione di Governo.” On
France’s politicization of schools in the Republic and Kingdom of Italy, see Alexander Grab,
“Secondary schools in Napoleonic Italy (1802–1814),” Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 20.4
(2015), 527–46: “Il primo del entrante Marzo è destinato p[er] l’apertura del Collegio in
questo Locale di Classe; ma tali e tanti sono li imbarazzi, i contrasti, e le disunion[e] che non
so peragirne bene, anche in vista della iminente o mutazione, o modificazione di Governo.”
26. Cappellari letter, ca. 10 May 1806, F.I.2, AC: “Il Sacerdote Apollinare Rasi di
Ravenna, già Monaco e abate Camaldolese nel soppresso Monro [Monastero] di Classe di
detta città, non vedendo oramai più modo di poter tornare in Religione, implora umlmte
[umilmente] dalla Sta Vra [Santa Vostra] la sua Secolarizzazione assoluta.” He is normaly
referred to as Apollinare Rasi.
27. For evidence that they continued officiating at the Church, see: Pro-Memoria
riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.
28. On the second restoration, see Cosimo Semeraro, Restaurazione, chiesa e società: la
“seconda ricupera” e la rinascita degli ordini religiosi nello Stato pontificio (marche e legazioni,
1815–1823), (Rome, 1982); Paolo Alvazzi Del Frate, “Riforme giudiziarie e Restaurazione
nello Stato pontificio (1814–1817),” in: Roma fra la Restaurazione e l’Elezione di Pio IX, eds.

380

WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

prised the area of modern day Lazio and Umbria—those areas of the pontifical state—and began in May 1814, following a four-year hiatus.29 At
that time, each religious order was granted the opening of its flagship
monastery. For the Camaldolese order that was S. Gregorio al Celio
located on one of the Seven Hills of Rome (the Coelian hill). But the order
suffered great misfortune, as S. Gregorio was in a state of dereliction,
having been pillaged numerous times and the victim of an earthquake.30
Only two rooms located in the front of the building were inhabitable. The
rest would have to wait for renovation and the funds from the Roman
Curia to restore it. Their back-up plan was to move temporarily to S.
Romualdo, not far from S. Gregorio; this had been the living quarters of
the Camaldolese leadership; yet this option was also blocked initially, as
the new owner of the property refused to return it.31
In the papal legations, part of the second recuperation to which Sant’Apollinare belonged, religious orders could petition the Congregation of
Reform to reopen three of its monasteries, reflecting the importance that
each held for their order.32 Sant’Apollinare headed up the trio of monasteries requested by the Camaldolese. The other two included S. Fabiano in
the Marches, where the relics of S. Romualdo were kept, after their transference from Sant’Apollinare, and S. Salvatore in Forlì.33
Anna Lia Bonella, Augusto Pompeo, and Manola Ida Venzo (Rome, 1997), 55–61; Cecchi,
L’amministrazione pontificia nella 2a Restaurazione (1814–1823); Antonio Quacquarelli, La
crisi del potere temporale nel Risorgimento, 1815–1820 (Bari, 1940); and Alfonso Ventrone,
L’amministrazione dello Stato Pontificio dal 1814 al 1870 (Rome, 1942).
29. The best studies on the first recuperation or restoration are: Carmelo A. Naselli,
La soppressione napoleonica delle corporazioni religiose: contributo alla storia religiosa del primo
ottocento italiano (1808–1814), (Rome, 1986), 199; Maria Moscarini, La Restaurazione Pontificia nelle provincie di “prima ricupera” (maggia 1814–marzo 1815), (Rome, 1933), 62; and
Lajos Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria nell’età della Restaurazione: Organizzazione ecclesiastica e vita religiosa,” in: Atti dell’Ottavo Convegno di Studi Umbri (Perugia, 1973), 63–99,
here 63–64. On the Roman Restoration more generally, see: Massimo Petrocchi, La Restaurazione romana: (1815–1823), (Florence, 1943); Alberto Acquarone, “La restaurazione dello
Stato Pontificio ed i suoi indirizzi legislativi,” in: Archivio della Società Romana di Storia
patria, LXXVIII, (Rome, 1955); Raffaele Colapietra, La politica economica della restaurazione
romana (Naples, 1966); and Adolfo Omodeo, Aspetti del cattolicesimo della Restaurazione
(Rome, 1946).
30. Gibelli, L’antico monastero, 7.
31. See the article by Christopher Korten, “A house divided: The implications of land
expropriated during the Napoleonic years—A case study in the Papal States,” Journal of
Modern European History, 18.2 (2020), 207–28.
32. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, Archivio Apostolico Vaticano
(formerly Archivio Segreto Vaticano), hereafter AAV.
33. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV.

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The system used to determine which monasteries would reopen
encouraged competition—and division—amongst the orders. Perhaps
such an outcome was inevitable, given the dire financial conditions; it was
inconceivable that all religious houses could reopen. The Congregation of
Reform, which had been set up in June 1814 and which was led by its energetic and headstrong secretary, Giuseppe Antonio Sala, devolved power to
local bishops, who determined which monasteries would reopen, to whom
they should be given, and for what purpose.34
The resistance and feuding should have been anticipated, given the
tensions historically by religious orders, desiring their independence from
local dioceses and governments, as well as bishops, who were eager to control them. The Roman curia became quickly bogged down with appeals to
the Congregazione Deputata by disgruntled monasteries and religious
orders, challenging the decisions of bishops. In the case of Sant’Apollinare,
there would be appeals for more than a decade, even reaching the papal
office on multiple occasions.
Each bishop had a list of points to consider before making a decision
about a particular institution: only one monastery of any given congregation could reopen in a diocese; at least twelve able-bodied members had to
be available; repairs for damaged monasteries had to be affordable; and the
wishes of the local community were to be given strong consideration.35
Bishops were also to suggest how to apportion the movable assets which
still remained in the suppressed monasteries. In general, bishops (and communities) desired functional buildings to be used to benefit the public, such
as for schools or hospitals. As was so often the case, especially in areas such
as the Papal States where patronage schemes were strong, politics played a
large role. The relationship between bishop and monastery or between
monastery and local leaders counted as much as anything and could influence a final outcome, as it did in the case of Sant’Apollinare, to the order’s
detriment. Most decisions were controversial, even if no appeal resulted
from them, since determining to open one monastery meant others
remained closed. More troubling, each bishop invariably used a slightly
different set of criteria in arriving at his decisions.
Lajos Pasztor highlights the inconsistencies among dioceses, in an
article devoted to the bishops in Umbria during the Restoration.36 Chiefly,
34. Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria,” 63–65, until 2 March 1818; Naselli, La soppressione napoleonica delle corporazioni religiose, 199.
35. Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria,” 69–71.
36. Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria,” 69–70.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

bishops had vastly different ideas on the limits of restoration: the bishop of
Spoleto wanted to close two-thirds of the monasteries in his diocese, while
the bishop of Assisi desired all but three to reopen. In a move that mirrored
the situation in Sant’Apollinare, the bishop of Todi wanted to replace one
religious order with another in one monastery.37 And while the focus of
Pasztor’s study is Umbria, similar patterns were found in other regions.38
Returning to the curial decision to allow congregations to reopen three
monasteries in the legations, the Camaldolese selected two in Romagna.
The region was rather small—comprising today’s southeast part of EmiliaRomagna. S. Salvatore in Forlì and Sant’Apollinare lay approximately 30
kilometres apart. The Church of S. Salvatore dated back to 1257 with a
Camaldolese presence in it almost from the beginning. S. Salvatore’s fate
also lay in the balance at the beginning of the Restoration, as the order
pleaded for its reopening to house what it claimed were many of its thirtysix monks in the region.39
At one point, Bellenghi lamented the loss of S. Salvatore, feeling certain that it would be given to the Congregazione della Missione:
the Vicars General and the Camaldolese monks have had the regret of
losing all hope of [re-obtaining] the Monastery of Classe, and today they
must suffer the mortification of even being threatened with the loss of
Forlì, the desire being to assign it to the Congregation of the Mission
despite our demanding it, [and despite] many others [demanding it],
including the bishop and nobility in Forlì.40

Persistent petitions from the order and its Cardinal Protector, Pierfrancesco Galeffi, ultimately reversed the initial decision, and the Camaldolese re-occupied S. Salvatore in 1821.41 A letter from January 1822
37. Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria,” 72.
38. See, for example, Chadwick, The Popes and European Revolution, 594–595.
39. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV.
40. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV: “il Vicari Generale, ed i
Monaci Camaldolesi ebbero il dispiacere di perdere ogni speranza sul Monastero di Classe,
ed in oggi debbono soffrire la mortificazione di essere minacciati della perdita anche di quello
di Forli volendosi assegnare alla Congregazione della Missione non ostante che prima ancora
fosse richiesto dai Camaldolesi, quel Monsignor Vescovo ad istanza. . . , e di molti del . . .
Nobile Forlivese per replicate volte lo abbia domandato alla anzidetta S.C. [Sacra Congregazione] per il ripristino dai Camaldolesi.”
41. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV. See also Cappellari’s
notes (at the bottom of Bellenghi’s undated draft to Consalvi), n.d. but sometime after 1814
(1817?), A.III.5, AC; Cardinal Pierfrancesco Galleffi’s letter to Sala, 7 March 1818, folder
“Forlì Relazione di Monsig.r Vescovo,” b. 28, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV. See also Folder

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reveals that relief over the return of Forlì was overshadowed by the loss of
Sant’Apollinare, robbing the order even of temporary joy. One of its
administrators wrote: “I, along with Cappellari, am to ask for another year
in order to consider the resurrected Monastery of Forlì; I have always
wanted the revival of Sant’Apollinare, because it had this [financial] subsidy, but since God allowed instead of this, that of Forlì. . . .”42 While the
fate of the order’s monastery, S. Salvatore, remained uncomfortably in
limbo for more than six years, a Jesuit house in the same town was one of
the first to be reopened. But it would be another clash with the Jesuits,
involving Sant’Apollinare, which would have more lasting effects on the
Camaldolese and the men who led it.
Restoration: Municipality vs. Camaldolese Order
The struggle between the city of Ravenna and the Camaldolese order
to secure the rights to Sant’Apollinare was a most acrimonious affair. City
leaders wanted the Jesuits to instruct the youth in Sant’Apollinare.43 The
Camaldolese were offered to relocate to a former home of the Canonici
Lateranensi, most likely Santa Maria in Porto,44 a decision which outraged
them; not only were they being told to leave a monastery that they had
occupied for centuries, and where their founder began, but they were being
replaced by an order that would be executing the same educational functions the Camaldolese had provided during the French occupation.
The city of Ravenna explained that the public desired the change. It
justified the decision legally, claiming that the Cisalpine government had
ceded the monastery to it in 1798.45 The Camaldolese cause was not helped
by the fact that they had lived a distinctly separate existence, endowed as the
monastery was, with great wealth: the monks were often seen riding in
gilded carriages, while the locals lived in miserable conditions.46 A French
“Lettere dell’arciv. di Ravenna e del vesc. di Forlì al Bellenghi sul ripristino dei monasteri
(1817–1822),” A.II.2, AC.
42. Clemente Morigi to Bellenghi, 24 January 1822, folder “Corrispondenza con Religiosi,” A.III.4, AC: “Sono poi a pregarla unitamente al P. Revd.o [Padre Reverendissimo]
Capellari, per un altr’anno di avere in considerazione il risorto Monastero di Forlì, mentre io
ho sempre desiderato il risorgimento di Classe, perche avesse questo sussidio, e giacche Dio
a permesso in vece di questo, quello di Forlì.”
43. Rasi letter to Cappellari, 26 August 1815, A.III.5, AC.
44. “Lettera diretta d S. E. il Sig. Delegato Apostolico di Romagna,” 16 September
1815, G.46.3, AC.
45. “Le ragioni adotte dalla Comune di Ravenna,” n.d., G.46.3, AC
46. Croce, “Monaci ed Eremiti Camaldolesi,” 217n.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

student of art observed in 1715 that “the city is rather big, poor, [and]
deserted.”47
If this were not enough, the order’s position had been further weakened by its lack of able-bodied men, a requirement (of twelve) that it did
not meet. There were eight Camaldolese “of distinguished merit” still
residing in the monastery—holdovers from the pre-revolutionary years—
, but most were old or in poor health.48 The average age was sixty one.49
And according to an internal memorandum of the Congregation of
Reform, the order had no replacements, a problem that was felt by all religious orders at the time: “S. Classe of Ravenna and other historically
famous monasteries are running the risk of remaining completely deserted
or lying in ruin.”50
Moreover, the community argued that it, in fact, built the order’s
monastery with its own (public) funds. Originally designed as a hospital,
Santa Maria della Misericordia was given to the Camaldolese by the elders
of the city in 1433 because the order offered assistance to the “infirm and
poor.”51 Therefore, it was argued that since the monastery was originally a
gift from the town, it remained an establishment that was to be used for
public benefit, and thus, de facto, under its direction.52
These legal justifications did little to dissuade Cappellari and his order
of their right to the property. Cappellari countered, in an appeal to Pope
Pius VII, claiming that after 1515 the order incurred the costs of enriching
the library and museum, as well as the building repairs to Sant’Apollinare,
which had been damaged during the French sacking of Ravenna.53 He
made an impassioned defense on behalf of his order:
47. Anne-Claude-Philippe de Caylus, Voyage d’Italie 1714–1715 (Paris, 1914), 154–59:
“La città è abbastanza grande, povera, deserta.”
48. “Ravenna Piano di Monsig.re Arcivescovo,” in folder “Allegt. A.B.C.D. . . ,” b. 34,
Congr. Della Riforma, AAV, lists the names and a short description of the eight. This rule of
twelve was very loosely and unevenly applied.
49. “Ravenna Piano di Monsig.re Arcivescovo,” in folder “Allegt. A.B.C.D. . . ,” b. 34,
Congr. Della Riforma, AAV.
50. Letter 35, folder VIII, b. 9, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV: “Classe di Ravenna, e così
altri monasteri celebri anche nelle storie, correranno pericolo di rimanere affatto deserti, e di
andare in ruina.”
51. “Ravenna”, b. 36, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV; “Pro-Memoria riguardante il
Monastero di Classe.” Gibelli, L’antico monastero, 183–184; http://www.lionsravennahost.it/
public/ml_attach/Ravenna%20Pontificia.pdf, Section III.17 [August 2019]
52. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.
53. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR.

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How much praise do the citizens of Ravenna merit, vivamente sustaining
the supposed title of public benefactor from 1798, in order to keep the
monastery of Classe from the Camaldolese? After the return of the Pontifical Government, the community resorted to arguments from past
centuries, the base of which never took place. In fact, this [gifting of
Sant’Apollinare] might just as easily be called a donation by the Polentani [family]. It is undeniable that the fondo [land] became the property of
the Camaldolese and is now four centuries removed from being a hospital
and whose essence changed into a monastery, with all expenses incurred
by the monks. It is certainly most strange, to pretend now to make assessments, in order to deprive the Camaldolese of its monastery; those reasons, the same ones which were adopted under the Cisalpine government
to conserve it [the monastery]. They have twisted the meaning of the law
. . . to prove the alleged assignment and donation that the Monastery supposedly made to the Community, [and to the] the Cisalpine Government.
. . . [But this was] not secession, not donation, but simply administration
[on the part of the city] which finished when the Pontifical government
regained authority over the province and thus concluded any further rights
of the community over the monastery. Did in fact the Cisalpine government ever donate [donare] the monastery to the Community? There was
no contract of sale on the part of the government, neither was there an
acquisition on the part of the citizens of Ravenna.54

Cappellari was clearly frustrated with the authorities of Ravenna, and
the Roman curia’s apparent support of them. On another occasion he
penned:
54. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” ff. 7-8, b. 40, S. Gregorio,
ASR: “Quanto però di lode meritavano i Sig.ri [Signori] Ravennati nel 1798, vivamente
sostenendo il supposto titolo di pubblica benficenza per conservare il Monastero di Classe alli
Camaldolesi; [perhaps a question?] altrettanto fuor[i] di proposito dopo il ritorno del Pontificio Governo, si scorge essere il ricorrere agli andati secoli, e il dedurre argomenti che giammai ebbero luogo. Infatti, qualunque fosse la donazione dei Polantani, è innegabile, che il
fondo divenne un’assoluta proprietà dei Camaldolesi, e che corre ormai il quarto secolo da che
l’Ospedale cambiò natura, colla fabbrica del Monastero fatta a tutte spese dei Monaci. Ed è
certamente stranissima cosa il pretendere di far ora valere, per togliere alli Camaldolesi il
lor[o] Monastero, quelle ragioni, le quali furono addotte sotto il Governo Cisalpina per conservarnelo. Oltre di che vantano a torto i Sig.ri Ravennati la suddetta Legge . . . per comprovare la pretesa cessione e donazione, che di detto Monastero ne abbia fatta alla Communità
il Cisalpino Governo. . . . Dunque non cessione, non donazione, ma semplice amministrazione, fù quella, che da quel Governo ottenne detta Communità. Terminata perciò, col
ritorno di quella Provincia sotto il Pontificio dominio, una tale Amministrazione, venne a cessare per conseguenza ogni e qualunque diritto di essa Comunità sopra quel Monastero. Ma e
poi, supposto anche e non concesso, che il Monastero di Classe fosse stato dalla Cisalpina
donato a detta Communità; che perciò? La donazione, non è già un contratto di vendita per
parte del Governo, nè di acquisto per parte dei Sig.ri Ravennati.”

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?
Against these pretensions and schemes [of the city that the building was
a gift], the Vicar General [Bellenghi] and Procurator General of the
Order [Cappellari] have not neglected to present, in the course of three
years, various supplications and reasoned writings . . . without, however,
having known until now some result, and without having received any
communication on the part of the Community on the precise reasoning
adopted in order to succeed in their intent.55

Interestingly, the richest man in Ravenna, indeed of all Romagna, was
Count Alessandro Guiccioli, who himself had benefited from a Jesuit education.56 He is best remembered today as being cuckolded by his teenaged
wife Teresa with Lord George Gordon Byron, who famously lived in
Ravenna (with the Guicciolis) between 1819 and 1821 and actually used
the Classense library to write his novels. But the more relevant point is that
Guiccioli profited from the confiscation of church lands and subsequent
sell-offs, accruing political importance in the process. 57 He was one of the
largest proprietors of Ravenna and led the way in dispersing land within
the city during the Napoleonic years.58 In 1797, the French named him
President of the Central Administration in Emilia, which also had jurisdiction over Ravenna.59 He was also involved in the sale of public lands,
described by one source as “serious disputes.”60 And he was almost certainly involved in the community’s decision to transfer Sant’Apollinare to
the Jesuits.
Restoration: The Pope vs. Camaldolese Order
Returning to Cappellari’s petition to Pius VII, the reports from within
the order depict a receptive pontiff, “inclined” to accept its request. But a
“complexity of combinations,” or obstacles, meant that these wishes were
55. Cappellari to the Congr. Della Riforma, 1817, b. 22, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV;
Cappellari petition to the Congr. Deputata, “Pretende la Comunità di Ravenna,” n.d., b. 40,
S. Gregorio, ASR, a copy: “Contro siffatti pretensioni e maneggi non mancarono il Vicario
Genle [Generale] e il Prore Genle [Procuratore Generale] dell’Ordine di presentare, nel corso
di circa tre anni, varie suppliche e ragionate scritture . . . senza però averne saputa finora alcun
risultato, e senza che sia stato ad essi comunicato il preciso dettaglio delle ragioni addotte per
parte di d.a [detta] comunità onde riuscir nel suo intento.”
56. Lorenzo Miserocchi, Ravenna e Ravennati nel secolo XIX (Ravenna, 1927), 139.
57. See Porisini, Il contenuto economico dei rogiti notarili di Ravenna, 84.
58. Dante Bolognesi, “‘Un colosso d’opulenza’. Il patrimonio dei Guiccioli fra Sette e
Ottocento,” in Dove visse Byron a Ravenna. Palazzo Guiccioli, ed. Donatino Domini,
(Bologna, 2019), 95–123, 110–12.
59. Miserocchi, Ravenna e Ravennati nel secolo XIX, 139.
60. Bolognesi, “Un colosso d’opulenza,” 103: “grave vertenze.”

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

387

never acted upon.61 This might have been illusory on the part of the order,
since by 1820, Pius’ support for the community in this matter was known.62
The Governor of Rome, Tiberio Pacca, delivered the news that the pope
backed the public in handing Sant’Apollinare to them. The conflicting
feelings of the pope, being pulled by both sides, were indicative of the
period and were even experienced by cardinal protectors, whose support
the order could normally count on. At the beginning of this affair, the
Camaldolese protector was Cardinal Romualdo Braschi-Onesti (d. 1815),
the nephew of Pius VI (r. 1775–99). Bellenghi called on him often in 1815
to do the order’s bidding;63 however, Braschi, a native of the province, from
Cesena, forty kilometres south of Ravenna, was also the cardinal protector
of the region, producing conflicts which ultimately disadvantaged the
Camaldolese. While Bellenghi was asking Braschi for support, Pius VII
commended the cardinal for his backing of the city, suggesting as well Pius’
priorities in this matter:
We received, and read with pleasure, your letter of 12 July [1815] from
the Deputies of Ravenna. The commitment deserves all praise, which
Your Eminence shows for the advantages of the aforementioned City of
which you are Regno Protettore. We desire, to the extent possible, to do
the greater good for the Provinces, [which] now return to the obedience
of the Holy See [i.e. the second recuperation]; we will distinctly cherish
the prosperity of Romagna, and above all of Ravenna, which deserves for
itself the same, and for the just care that Your Eminence has [for it].64

Pius’s take on the matter could have been influenced by the archbishop of
Ravenna, Antonio Codronchi (1785–1826), whose relationship with the
pontiff had recently been reconciled, following a turbulent period earlier
when the pope had denied his promotion to cardinal after Napoleon publicly urged Pius to do so. Codronchi’s cosy relationship with the French
required forgiveness during an in-person meeting in April 1814, just a year
61. “Camaldolese,” folder Giugno 1824, Congr. Episc. E Reg., sez. Reg., AAV.
62. “Ravenna Religiosi Regolari,” b. 34, Congr. Della Riforma, AAV.
63. “Supplica del Bellenghi al card. Braschi-Onesti per il recupero di Classe,” 1815,
A.II.2, AC.
64. Pius VII letter to Braschi, 25 July 1815, fasc. 14, b. 30, Misc. Famiglia, ASR:
“Abbiamo ricevuta, e letta con piacere la sua lettera dei 12 Luglio recataci dai Deputati di
Ravenna. Merita ogni lode l’impegno, che Vra Emza [Vostra Eminenza] Rimostra pe’vantaggi dell’anzidetta Città della quale è il Regno Protettore. Noi volendo, e cercando, per
quanto possiamo, di fare il maggior bene delle Provincie ritornate ora all’ubbidienza della
Santa Sede, avremo distintamente a cuore la prosperità della Romagna, e sopratutto di
Ravenna, che merita e per se medessima, e per la giusta premura, che Vra Emza ne ha, tutti
i nostri riguardi.”

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

or so prior to the Sant’Apollinare petitions.65 It was Codronchi, who
defended the decision to hand the monastery over to the Jesuits.
Restoration: Roman Curia vs. Camaldolese Order
This affair worsened for the Camaldolese when it understood that the
Jesuits would be occupying the venerated monastery.66 The Jesuits had had
a prominent place in the city prior to 1773 and its suppression, educating
young, aristocratic men in Letters and the Arts.67
The reports about the Jesuits in Ravenna from the barely-legible letters
of the aging former rector, Rasi, surely aggravated the matter: four or five
persons were needed at the college, ten were coming, and all would be
living at the monastery.68 After 1815 his letters to Cappellari are filled with
extraordinary rue, suggesting that all of the Camaldolese monks felt similarly. Cappellari certainly did: “Eccole, the [Papal] Bull to restore the
Jesuits,” he wrote in 1814, “[Meanwhile], the affairs of the other orders
progress very slowly.”69
The gush of sympathy for the Society of Jesus and the accompanying
favor that they were to receive during the Restoration were no doubt due
in part to the perceived injustices, following the order’s global suppression
by Clement XIV (r. 1769–74). Pius VI (r. 1775–99) was sympathetic to the
Society, but not in a position to act on their behalf, given the proximity in
time to the actual suppression. His successor, Pius VII (r. 1800–23) was
too hampered by French incursions into his territory, his own imprisonment, and the financial concerns of his beleaguered state, to address this
issue until Napoleon’s defeat. Finally, in 1814, one of his first acts upon his
return to Rome was to rehabilitate the Society. Communities throughout
65. www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/antonio-codronchi_(Dizionario-Biografico)/
[August 2019]
66. See Clemente Morigi-Cappellari correspondence found in AC.F.II.2 (5 and 14
October 1815) and AC.F.II.3. (19 December 1815). Gibelli, L’antico monastero, 183–184.
67. Primo Uccellini, Dizionario storico di Ravenna (Ravenna, 1855), 197. Korten’s article is the first to point out the Jesuit’s role within Sant’Appolinare within the literature on the
history of Ravenna.
68. Rasi letter to Cappellari, 1815, A.III.5, AC.
69. Cappellari to Fabio Mutinelli, Venezia, 10 September 1814, f. 101, b. 3205, Cod.
Cicogna, Biblioteca Museo Correr, Venice: “Eccole la Bolla di ripristiniazione dei Gesuiti.—
Gli affari degli altri ordini Religiosi vanna assai lentamente.” On anti-Jesuit feelings during
the Restoration, see Thomas Worcester, “A Restored Society or a new Society of Jesus?” in:
Jesuit Survival and Restoration: A Global History, 1773–1900, ed. Robert A. Maryks and
Jonathan Wright (Leiden, 2015), 13–33, here 15.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

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Italy still remembered their effectiveness as educators and desired their
return. The popularity of the Jesuit order was plainly visible, observed
Giuseppe Tognon, in his thought-provoking article: bishops of the second
recuperation were attracted to the prestige of a Jesuit presence in their local
religious schools.70 Archbishop Codronchi in Ravenna was no exception.
And in the milieu of 1814, where the gains of one order represented the
losses of another, as the Sant’Apollinare case makes clear, the envy and bitterness which they attracted from other congregations was inevitable.
The Camaldolese remained undeterred. Cappellari and Bellenghi
countered with compelling appeals to the Congregation of Reform, along
with support from Cardinal Protector Pierfrancesco Galeffi, who replaced
the deceased Braschi-Onesti in 1815. But this appeared to matter little. In
December 1818, the order made another appeal, this time to the Auditor
Monsignor Belisario Cristaldi, who referred the matter to the Congregation of the Deputata under the direction of Monsignor Tiberio Pacca, governor of Rome and director general of the police—and nephew of Cardinal
Bartolomeo Pacca. The narrow-minded and short-tempered Monsignor
Pacca was fed up with the persistence of the Camaldolese and with Cappellari in particular, as the matter, to his mind, had already been decided
long ago.71 Cappellari wrote,
The Governor Monsignor Tiberio Pacca replied with an imperious sound
that enough is enough, that the deal passed through his hands when he was
a delegate to Forlì, that the community of Ravenna incurred many expenses
for the College, that the Jesuits have already been working there for five
years, [and] that everything already exists in the Pontifical Chirograph. The
Monsignor Governor, with this discourse, silenced everyone; and thus the
affair was concluded without any rescript of the congregation.72

But Cappellari persisted nonetheless, noting that the chirograph was
not yet available. His level of frustration is revealed in the margins of one
70. Giuseppe Tognon, “La Politica Scolastica nello Stato Pontificio tra Restaurazione
e Unificazione (1814–1860),” in: Chiesa e prospettive educative in Italia tra Restaurazione e
Unificazione (Brescia, 1994), 681–705, here 686. On Jesuit popularity in educating youth in
Umbria, see Pásztor, “L’Umbria nell’Età della Restaurazione,” 85.
71. http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/tiberio-pacca_%28Dizionario-Biografico%29/
[August 2019]
72. Cappellari writing, b. 40, Cam. Ben. S. Greg., ASR: “Monsig.r Pacca Governatore
con suono imperioso ha risposto, che è ora di finirla, che l’affare è passato per le sue mani
quando era delegato a Forlì; che la communità di Ravenna fece moltissime spese per quell
Collegio; che dopo cinque anni vi anderanno li Gesuiti; che tutto è già esiste il Chirografo
Pontificio. M.r [Monsignor] Governatore chiuse con questo discorso la bocca a tutti; e cosi
fù finito l’affare senza verun rescritto della Congne.”

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

undated draft letter to the Secretary of State, Consalvi: “With respect to S.
Classe, [it is] with the greatest grief that one must give up all hope of reobtaining it.”73
Such moments provide insight into the quote by Cappellari which
summarized not only his feelings, but those of most in ecclesiastical leadership at the time:
I confess the truth. My small talent is no longer of use. . . . If we were in
different times and in circumstances with a more favorable wind, with
half of the energy that we have been operating on, we would have
obtained much more than what we now ask for. . . . And in fact, neither
would there be a need even to ask for it.74

Desperate, the order gifted in 1826 the above-mentioned Cristaldi with a
relic of S. Apollinare, the patron saint of Ravenna, in what can be understood as an attempt to suborn the future cardinal. Cristaldi was a known
collector of relics.75
Restoration: Importance of Non-ecclesiastical Property
and Other Income
Overlooked in the historiography of the Restoration is how non-ecclesiastical properties impacted the period, creating an additional source of
division. Each monastery, as was mentioned earlier, relied on its portfolio
of revenue-producing lands to maintain itself. In the case of Sant’Apollinare, the number of properties in its possession was very large—around
seventy, a testimony to its longevity and prestige in the region. A portion
of these lands had been stripped from the monastery and sold off by the
French. Others were administered by the papal government, while the
monastery functioned as a college. In cases where property was returned,
some pieces were sold to provide a given monastery with liquidity to allow
for repairs of other, more important properties, or simply to allow it to
meet its monthly financial obligations. Thus, in the archives there are
numerous references to documents from assessors, builders, and city offi73. Cappellari notes (at the bottom of Bellenghi’s undated draft to Consalvi) n.d. but
sometime after 1814 (1817?), A.III.5, AC: “Rapport al Monro [Monastero] di Classe, . . .
con somme suo dolore . . . di dovere ormai deporre ogni speranze di ottenerlo.”
74. Cappellari draft letter to Vanni, 14 January 1818, F.I.1, AC: “Confesso la verità il
mio poco talento non mi dà di più. . . . Se fossimo in altri tempi e in circostanze di un più
favorevole vento, con la metà di quello che si è operato si sarebbe attenuto molto più di quello
che ora chiediamo . . . anzi neppure sarebbe stato bisogno di chiederlo.”
75. Anonymous letter, 24 Feb 1826, b. 70, Misc. Famiglia, ASR.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

391

cials, as in the case of one plot of land in the region of Cesena.76 The order’s
administrator received 907 scudi, not an insignificant sum.77 From the
context, it appears to be a credit from a local lending agent, based on the
land, perhaps used as collateral.
In most cases, a given monastery was dependent on non-ecclesiastical
properties for its survival, such as income from wineries or rental properties.
In one petition, Cappellari underscored this fact: “meanwhile there remain
as well many properties belonging to Classe, those [which] have not been
sold, and consist, as best as can be gathered, of sixty-eight farms, a vineyard,
and a fishing pond. Those properties are administered partly by diverse congregations of Carità, partly by [the treasury].”78 The income from one
unsold property, a factory, formerly in the monastery’s possession, totalled
2400 scudi annually, enough to sustain comfortably a monastery of twenty
for a year.79 The problem was, in order to have unequivocal rights to such
lands, one needed to be in possession of the affiliated monastery.
In addition to the 2400 scudi up for grabs, and which amounted to a
third of Sant’Apollinare’s pre-revolutionary income, there was money
from earlier unpaid debts.80 More than 8000 scudi were owed them by
debtors when the French arrived in the late 1790s.81 The matter was more
complicated now. Was that money owed to the order or to the monastery,
irrespective of who was running it? It would seem that the order was in a
stronger position, since, when it came to its own pre-revolutionary debts,
it was still on the hook for them. In June 1817, while Sant’Apollinare was
occupied by the Jesuits, Cappellari received a notice of payment for 137
lire for grain the monastery had received just prior to its suppression in
1798.82 In Cappellari’s reply, eight days later, he acknowledged the debt
and referred the matter to Rasi. This was a period when people earnestly
tracked down debtors to collect their money, but, as debtors themselves,
they offered up a myriad of excuses for non-payment.
76. “Segue il tenore della Perizia,” n.d., A.9.7, AC.
77. “Terreni in questo Agro Cesenate,” n.d., A.9.7, AC.
78. “Pro-Memoria riguardante il Monastero di Classe,” f. 9, b. 40, S. Gregorio, ASR:
“Oltre . . . vi rimangono ancora molti Beni spettanti a Classe, i quali non sono venduti, e consistono, per quanto si è potuto fin quì rilevare, in sessanta otto Poderi, la Pigneta, e la Pesca
. . . i quali Beni sono amministrati parte da diverse Congregni [Congregazioni] di Carità, e
parte dalla R.C.”
79. Bellenghi writing. “Nelle comuni disaventare che nel 1798,” n.d, A.2.7, AC.
80. Misc. Cappellari writings, F.I.2, AC.
81. Rasi to Cappellari, 25 May 1800, F.2.3, AC.
82. G. Casalini to “Generale di S. Gregorio,” 20 June 1817 and Cappellari’s response
on 28 June, A.III.5, AC.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

Another fiscal matter involved determining the rightful beneficiary of
the deceased. Who should be the benefactor of an inheritance which was
pledged to Sant’Apollinare? Should the monastery receive these postmortem proceeds, even though it was no longer run by the Camaldolese or
should the order itself receive them? This was a legal problem, since no one
could have envisioned the complications after 1814. The order addressed
this matter on at least three occasions to the Roman curia, arguing that
they were the rightful heirs.83
With the elevations of Camaldolese Placido Zurla to cardinal and
Cardinal Annibale della Genga to pope (Leo XII) in 1823, the order
renewed its efforts to re-acquire Sant’Apollinare, which was still “of the
highest importance.” The order offered to reimburse expenses, such as to
various architects incurred during this period of litigation, if awarded the
monastery. A letter from 1824 recounts how Zurla appealed to Pope Leo
personally on the order’s behalf.84 In his plea, he downplayed any discord,
though clearly frustrated at the short shrift given to his order, and instead
focused on the financial practicalities of the matter. He highlighted the
unsold properties which had formerly belonged to them, and which produced enough revenue to cover the costs of refurbishing the monastery, to
allow the monks to return:
It seems strange that in Ravenna, everything [good that happened
there] is because of the Monks: . . . [the cleaning up of] the Marshes,
the preservation of the forests, the bulwark of public health, which
without these, there would be very unhealthy air. . . . The more they
[the four great abbeys of Ravenna] do, the more marvellous they perform, the more that there are still many unsold properties due to the
above-mentioned abbeys, which would be enough to make a full
restoration. . . . In addition to the many farms that remained unsold,
but were then applied to other establishments, there is an annuity of
2407 scudi per year, formerly belonging to Sant’Apollinare but under
government administration. By agreeing to [give this back to the]
Camaldolese, this income would oblige them to repair and restore . . .
the grandiose building which was assigned to the College before it was
transferred to the Classe, so that it [the Camaldolese] could return to
its old premises.85

83. “Donazione,” A.9.7, AC. See the article by Christopher Korten, “The fight for
inheritances in the Papal States during the Restoration, 1814–1830,” Journal of Ecclesiastical
History, 71.1 (2020), 98–115.
84. “Camaldolese,” folder Giugno 1824, Congr. Episc. E Reg., sez. Reg., AAV.
85. Cappellari petition, “Camaldolese,” folder Giugno 1824, Congr. Episc. E Reg., sez.
Reg., AAV: “Sembra strano, che in Ravenna, che tutto deve alli Monaci, massime pel di pec-

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

393

The income from the unsold property which the Church was overseeing
since the Restoration totalled an additional 7000 scudi.86 Revealing the
degree to which this matter captured the order’s attention, Cappellari,
though no longer directly involved, was still discussing it and the efforts
being made to re-acquire Sant’Apollinare in August 1828. Zurla’s efforts
to this extent were even being questioned by some within the order. Cappellari wrote to one confrere, “I read your letter with regret, since no one
doubts the commitment of the Eminent [Vicar] General [Zurla] for
Classe.”87 Cappellari tried to assuage the monk’s concerns:
I am informed of everything, and I can assure you that he [Zurla] is very
busy. I also see, however, that it is not easy to explain this affair by letter,
as it is complicated. It would be necessary to speak to each other [in
person]. It requires so much [time]! Come to Rome in September, and
we [Zurla and I] will explain everything.

By 1828, both Cappellari and Zurla were cardinals and were also two
of the favorites of Pope Leo XII (r. 1823–1829), especially Cappellari.88
But the Jesuits as well were in good stead with the pontiff, thus creating
a standstill in this very sensitive affair.89 In September 1829, Cardinal
Vincenzo Macchi communicated the complexity of the case, and that his
hands were tied, as the college was now occupying all parts of the monacamento di sue Paludi [bog/marsh], e per la piantaggione [plantation] di Boschi, baluardi
della salute pubblica, che la disembono dagli influsso d’un aria la quale sarebbe senza questi
di essi del tutto insalubre, di Quattro insigni abbadie[sic], che vi esistevano, non vábbia ora
più per cosi divvestigia di Monachismo. Tanto più poi fà ciò meraviglia, quanto che vi rimangono tuttora molti Beni invenditi spettanti alle dette Abadie, i quali sarebbero sufficient onde
patornale(?) fare in qualche modo risorgere. . . . Otre i molti Poderi rimasti invendati, ma poi
applicati ad altri stabilimenti, vi è una Rendita di annui 2407:10 delle Pinete di ragione del
Monro di Classe, ma sotto amministrazione Camerale. Accordandosi ai Camaldolesi questo
Rendita si obbligherebbero essi di riparare e ristorare second la Perizia da farsi, la tuttora
esistente grandiose Fabbrica che era addetto al Collegio prima che venisse trasferito in Classe,
acciò questo ritornare possa nel suo antico locale, e lasciar libero il monro.”
86. Observation 4 in “Tasse di Monasteri,” F.I.2, AC.
87. Cappellari to Abbot R. Margotti, August 30, 1828, A.X.3, AC: “Ho letta la sua lettera con dispiacere, vedendo che ella ne dubita dell’impegno dell’Emo Gnle [Zurla] per
Classe.” “Sono informato di tutto , e posso assicurare V. P. Rmo che egli è impegnatissimo.
Vedo però anche, che non è facile poternela renderla intesa, e capacitarne la per lettera circa
il complicatissimo stato dell’affare. Sarebbe necessario parlarsi a voce. Ci vuol tanto! Faccia
una gita a Roma dentro Settembre, e cela intenderemo.”
88. See Christopher Korten, “Defining Moments: The Reasons Mauro Cappellari
became Pope Gregory XVI,” in Archivum Historiae Pontificiae, 47 (2009), 17–40, here 29–38.
89. For example, see Artaud de Montor, Histoire du Pape Léon XII (Paris, 1843), vol.
I, 208.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

stery; thus, co-habiting was not really an option.90 Even into 1830, the
order clung obsessively to the hope of regaining Sant’Apollinare. It even
nominated a titular abbot to their dispossessed monastery.91 In April
1830, as this long, drawn-out, unhappy affair was winding down, Clemente Morigi, former Camaldolese administrator in the region, in his
last days on earth, concluded one letter: “. . . in the name of the Holy
Father, kissing his feet [and] praising him [for] my desire for us in
Ravenna.”92
Repercussions from the Divisive Restoration
Proof of the acrimony was to be found not just in the direct fights
waged between religious orders and the various entities and persons mentioned above. There were indirect forms of conflict, often personal, which
have been overlooked by historians of the Restoration. The recommendations that Cappellari made as consultant for the Congregation of Studies
in 1824, highly critical of the Jesuits, desiring to break up their monopoly
at the University of Camerino, are likely not coincidental, but were formed
as a result of his bitter experiences over Sant’Apollinare and the Jesuit’s
control of it. After visiting the University of Camerino to provide a complete assessment of it, Cappellari highlighted the need to de-monopolize
the departments of Philosophy and Theology and to allow non-Jesuits to
teach in them.93 The frustrating tone of the report in places resembles that
found in his letters related to Classe, and is rarely exampled in his other
reports as educational consultant: “It is not enough [that the Jesuit have
monopolies in Theology and Philosophy]: the Archbishop would like that
the Rector pro-tempore would always be a Jesuit and that the Jesuits be
entrusted with the lower schools as well.”94
This anti-Jesuit animus was a point of discussion during the conclaves
of 1829 and 1830/31, supposedly threatening to derail Cappellari’s election. It was reported that some cardinals refused to vote for him because of
90. Card. Vincenzo Macchi letter, 25 September 1829, “Carteggio tra il card. Macchi
e don Romualdo Margotti relativo al recupero di locali nel monastero di Classe (1829),”
A.9.7, AC.
91. “Ravenna,” 1830 letters, A.9.4, AC.
92. Morigi to Bellenghi, 26 April 1830, A.V.2, AC: “. . . n mio nome al S. Padre baciadoli il piede ramentandoli il mio desiderio per noi in Ravenna.”
93. “Università di Camerino,” 1–2, b. 188, Congregazione degli Studi, ASR.
94. “Università di Camerino,” 1, b. 188, Congregazione degli Studi, ASR: “Non basta:
Vorrebbe l’Arcivescovo che il Rettore pro tempore fosse sempre Gesuita, e che ai Gesuiti fossero
affidate anche le Scuoli inferiori.” Emphasis Cappellari

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

395

his opposition to the Society.95 The English Cardinal Thomas Weld had
been told that Cappellari might even suppress the order were he to be
elected.96 It is interesting to note that Cappellari’s chief adversary during
the conclave was Cardinal Pacca, himself a key Jesuit supporter as well as
uncle of Tiberio, who had partly adjudicated against Cappellari in the S.
Appolinare affair (discussed earlier).97
But yet, as Pope Gregory XVI, Cappellari was known for his great
support of the Jesuits. In fact, most accounts portray a seamlessly positive
relationship between Gregory and the order, dating back to his childhood,
when he was educated by the Society in his hometown of Belluno, unaware
of the unpleasant interludes discussed in this article. The Dutch church
historian, Frederick Nielsen, made this his main theme, when describing
Gregory’s pontificate, which was “more and more dominated” by the
Jesuits.98 Superior General of the Society, Jan Roothaan, was known to
have the pope’s ear.99 And Cardinal Carlo Odescalchi, close friend and key
supporter of Cappellari during the conclave, felt the pull to renounce his
cardinalate and join the Jesuits, a wish that Gregory eventually granted
him, in 1838.
So how was it that Cappellari felt a degree of enmity towards the
Society in the 1810s and 1820s but promoted them during his fifteen-year
pontificate? His attitude towards the Jesuits softened the further into the
pontificate of Pope Leo XII (r. 1823–29) he went. Cappellari was greatly
beholden to Leo for promoting him to cardinal in 1826 and saw him as a
spiritual mentor; for his part, Leo admired both Cappellari and the Society and worked to promote both.100 The concerns at the subsequent conclaves were hangovers of Cappellari’s attitudes during the Sant’Apollinare
affair and the visitation of the University of Camerino. But by the time
95. David Silvagni (ed.), Diario dei Conclavi del 1829 e del 1830–31 di Mons. Pietro
Dardano (Florence, 1879), 76; Giorgio Maggioni (ed.), Il Conclave di Gregorio XVI nel diario
di Gaetano Moroni (Belluno, 1995), 37–38.
96. “Relazione,” 85, Barberini ms. 4662, Biblioteca Apostolica di Vaticano.
97. Moscarini, La Restaurazione Pontificia, 63.
98. Frederick Nielsen, The History of the Papacy in the XIXth century (London, 1906),
vol. II, 72. Earlier, Edward H. Michelsen, The Popes and the Jesuits of the Present Century
(London, 1890), 91; Nielsen’s work is flawed, but he gets this idea right. Most recently,
Emanuele Colombo and Marco Rochin, “Ritorno alle missioni. Jan Philip Roothaan, Gregorio XVI e le missioni della «Nuova» Compagnia di Gesù,” in: I gesuiti e i papi, ed. Michela
Catto and Claudio Ferla, (Bologna, 2016), 103–30, here 103-04.
99. Vincent Viaene, Belgium and the Holy See from Gregory XVI to Pius IX (1831–
1859), (Leuven, 2001), 285.
100. Leo restored the Roman College to the Jesuits in 1824.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

Cappellari was elected pope, he shifted his priorities from local affairs
involving his order to issues that threatened or affected the Church, such
as revolution and the concomitant liberal ideas. There was no bigger
champion of traditional Catholic values at this time than the Roothaanled Jesuit order.
Another overlooked act during Gregory’s first year as pope deserves
scrutiny, in light of the evidence presented in this article. On 19 August
1831, just months into his pontificate, he closed the Olivetan monasteries
in the Papal States and awarded his own order the four monasteries.101
Unusually, in one case, the bishop of Gubbio supposedly “requested” that
the suppressed Olivetan monastery in his diocese be given to the “industrious and exemplary Camaldolese monks.” So too, in Ascoli. To describe the
Camaldolese, a moderately ascetic order, as industrious was odd and rare
at this time. A more likely reason for the bishop’s decision was a desire to
curry favour with the new pope.102
In a conspiratorial manner, the decision about the Olivetan order was
made by a committee comprised mainly of Camaldolese. It was determined
that the Olivetan monasteries of Gubbio and Ascoli be given over to the
Camaldolese order. Valerio Cattana charitably wrote, “without passing
judgment, they [the Camaldolese] have good game [buon gioco]: a Camaldolese pope, through a cardinal visitor, also Camaldolese, transferred
Olivetan monasteries and properties to the Camaldolese order, designated
by a third Camaldolese, [himself] almost a cardinal.”103 Merited or not,
and the Olivetans did have their problems, this Camaldolese “win” came at
the expense of their Benedictine brethren, who, except for four, left the
profession following this act. From a distance, it is tempting to view this
as compensation for the closure of some of the Camaldolese monasteries
during the Restoration, especially Sant’Apollinare. Similar accusations
which the Camaldolese hurled at opponents in the Sant’Apollinare affair
101. The next two paragraphs are taken from Valerio Cattana, “Il Declino della Congregazione di Monte Oliveto,” in: Momenti di Storia e Spiritualità Olivetana, ed. Mauro Tagliabue
and Valerio Cattana [Italia Benedettina, 28], (Cesena, 2007), 339–59, here 347–53.
102. Although, interestingly, Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti, the bishop of Spoleto
and the future Pius IX (1846–78), objected to the plan for the Olivetan property in his diocese. (Cattana, “Il Declino,” 350: “richiesta” “operose ed esemplari monaci camaldolesi.”
103. Cattana, “Il Declino,” 351: “al di là di ogni guidizio di merito, avevano buon gioco:
un papa camaldolese, attraverso un cardinal visitatore apostolico pure camaldolese, trasferiva
monastery e beni olivetani a camaldolesi designate da un terzo camaldolese, quasi cardinal.”
and “cabale”; “uomo pio e mansueto.” His well-researched account is overly generous towards
the Camaldolese.

CHRISTOPHER KORTEN

397

are found directed towards them on this occasion. One Olivetan abbot
accused Zurla of “abuse of power” following his stinging report that suggested a merger as the only way to save the order. And one Olivetan historian even claimed that Zurla never stepped foot in any of its monasteries.
This Camaldolese “cabal,” as one pamphlet described the affair, exonerated
Pope Gregory, who was described as “pious and meek.” In hindsight, this
might have been an overgenerous assumption.
Conclusion
What has the Sant’Apollinare affair revealed about the Restoration in
the Papal States? First, it confirmed that it was indeed incomplete; religious orders were partially restored; lands and properties partially returned;
and renovation of damaged property partially accomplished in most cases.
Controversies were abundant—shortages of money, men, a devaluing currency, and partially sold properties wreaked havoc on the process of the
Restoration.104 And land that was lost in the legations during the French
period between 1796 and 1814 was rarely returned; and if so, with great
difficulty, forced to overcome a “labyrinth of obstacles.”105 And the problems encountered by the famed monastery, Sant’Appolinare, were typical
of the period, as the (literally) 1000s of petitions found in the Congregation of Regulars and Bishops, the Congregation of Reform, and the Congregation Deputata between 1814 and 1818 reveal.
With the exception of the last one, these points have been more or less
understood. What this article has revealed are the many layers of dissension
and competing agendas present during the Restoration. Religious orders
fell into conflict with other orders, especially the Jesuits, bishops, local
communities, and the Roman curia, including the pope himself. And there
were various ways in which retaliation could be exacted by those in a position to do so, as the University of Camerino and Olivetan affairs reveal. In
this sense, the bitterness and loss encountered during this period could
easily last a lifetime.
The Sant’Apollinare affair was not just about a monastery, but the affiliated, non-ecclesiastical properties, so valuable for revenue to fund a
monastery’s operations and finance renovation. The Restoration was in
many ways a zero sum game, given the dearth of resources. The Jesuit’s
inheritance of Sant’Apollinare after 1814 came at the expense of the Camal104. See also Pasztor, “Per la storia dell’Umbria,” 69–71.
105. “Nelle comuni disaventare che nel 1798,” n.d., A.2.7, AC.

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WHOSE RESTORATION IS IT?

dolese. Contrasting terms could be appropriately juxtaposed to capture a
truer sense of the Restoration: revived and reviled; renewed and rejected.
Of course, friction between religious orders did not originate in the
Restoration. Long-standing feuds are well-documented, as orders jealously
competed for papal favur. Most famously, Jesuits and Augustinians were
embroiled in doctrinal disputes in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. On the eve of the Council of Trent, the Society of Jesus was officially established and became the self-appointed, personal servants of the
pope, a description which itself stoked competition and created hostility
amongst other congregations. And during the Restoration, the degree of
anti-Jesuit hostility was proportional to the order’s popularity throughout
communities of Italy.
Ironically, the glossing of or overlooking of the Sant’Apollinare affair
in understanding the Restoration has a well-known antecedent. In volume
fifty-six of Gaetano Moroni’s Dizionario, there is an entry entitled
“Ravenna.” This whole affair is omitted, and instead, when Sant’Apollinare
is mentioned, it is in connection with Gregory XVI’s ordering of the
reconstruction of the Basilica and consecration of the principal nave.106
About the history of the college, which eventually occupied Sant’Apollinare, Moroni wrote laconically, omitting the controversy: “A magnificent
establishment of public education or municipal college is located in the
ancient monastery of S. Romualdo . . . which in 1515 had moved there
from Classe.”107 Moroni would have certainly been aware of the order’s
struggle over Sant’Apollinare since he had befriended Cappellari by late
1810s and was his personal assistant from the mid-1820s. Yet Moroni’s
version, masked the great unhappiness that marked this period for Pope
Gregory XVI, his order, and his Church.108

106. Gaetano Moroni, Dizionario di Erudizione storico-ecclesiastica (Venice, 1852), vol.
56, 183.
107. Moroni, Dizionario, vol. 56, 196.
108. It is even possible that Gregory himself wrote part or all of this entry. One contemporary source claims that Gregory wrote “many” articles in this “excellent work.” See
S.N.T., La Vida de Gregorio XVI y anales de su pontificado especialmente en sus relaciones con la
iglesia Española (Madrid, 1846), 29.

Romances of No-Popery:
Transnational Anti-Catholicism in
Giuseppe Garibaldi’s The Rule of the Monk
and Benjamin Disraeli’s Lothair
DIANA MOORE*
Through an analysis of Conservative British politician Benjamin Disraeli’s Lothair (1870) and Italian patriot Giuseppe Garibaldi’s The
Rule of the Monk (1870), this article highlights the connections
between anti-Catholic literature and anti-Catholic politics in Victorian
Britain and reveals how a diverse set of transnational actors simultaneously shaped and utilized British anti-Catholic discourses. It argues that
not only did anti-Catholicism motivate British support for the Risorgimento, but the actors and events of the Risorgimento and the Papal
response to it informed and reinforced popular anti-Catholic beliefs.
Keywords: Transnational, Anti-Catholicism, Britain, Italy,
Literature.

C

onservative Prime Minister of the United Kingdom Benjamin Disraeli (1804–81) shared few political goals with Italian patriot and radical republican Giuseppe Garibaldi (1807–82). A staunch believer in tradition and established institutions, Disraeli opposed the same revolutions
Garibaldi championed and consistently advocated against British intervention in the Italian Risorgimento, the process of liberation and unification
of the Italian peninsula. In the spring of 1870, however, the politicians
found common ground, both choosing to publish anti-Catholic novels to
the British public. In late February, Garibaldi published the English translation of his work Clelia o il governo dei preti under the title The Rule of the
Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century, while Disraeli published his
own novel, Lothair, less than three months later in early May. Both novels
included not only standard anti-Catholic tropes and stereotypes, but depictions of recent revolutionary Italian attempts on Papal Rome. While many
anti-Catholic Gothic works were set in the distant past, these novels
* Dr. Diana Moore is Adjunct Assistant Professor of History, John Jay College of Criminal Justice, CUNY. Her email address is dmoore@jjay.cuny.edu.

399

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ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

offered dramatic renderings of the immediate past, included thinly veiled
or fictionalized versions of important political personages as characters,
and spoke directly to contemporary political concerns.
By juxtaposing Disraeli’s Lothair and the English translation of
Garibaldi’s The Rule of the Monk, this article reveals how a diverse set of
transnational actors from a variety of political backgrounds simultaneously
shaped and utilized British anti-Catholic discourses. Drawing attention to
the important connections between anti-Catholic literature and antiCatholic politics in Victorian Britain, it argues that not only did antiCatholicism shape British support for the Risorgimento, but the events of
the Risorgimento and the Papal response to it from 1848 to 1870 informed
and reinforced preexisting ideas of Victorian anti-Catholicism. Moreover,
the article shows how Italian revolutionaries themselves actively participated in this culture of anti-Catholicism, making appeals to the British
public that reinforced popular ideas about the despotism of the Papal government and the inherent opposition between Catholicism and the
modern ideals of freedom and progress.
Despite the inherently transnational status of the Catholic Church and
of the resultant attacks upon it, the transnationalism of nineteenth-century
anti-Catholicism has only recently received focused scholarly attention.1 As
Timothy Verhoeven argued in his 2014 study on the transatlantic nature of
American anti-Catholicism, “historians have interpreted anti-Catholicism
within different conceptual frameworks, but these varied approaches share,
almost without exception, a rigid focus on domestic circumstances.”2 Those
works that acknowledge the transnational nature of anti-Catholicism,
moreover, tend to focus on relations between Protestant-majority countries.
With his monograph on the connections between American and French
anti-Catholicism, Verhoeven was one of the few authors to devote extended
analysis to a Catholic-majority country.3 Exceptions to this trend include

1. Christopher M. Clark and Wolfram Kaiser, eds., Culture Wars: Secular-Catholic Conflict in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2009); Yvonne Maria
Werner and Jonas Harvard, eds., European Anti-Catholicism in a Comparative and Transnational Perspective (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2013); Stephen Conn, “‘Political Romanism’: ReEvaluating American Anti-Catholicism in the Age of Italian Revolution,” Journal of the Early
Republic, 36, no. 3 (Fall 2016), 521–48.
2. Timothy Verhoeven, “Transatlantic Connections: American Anti-Catholicism and
the First Vatican Council (1869–70),” The Catholic Historical Review, 100, no. 4 (Autumn
2014), 695–720, here 696.
3. Timothy Verhoeven, Transatlantic Anti-Catholicism: France and the United States in
the Nineteenth Century. (New York, 2014).

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the works of historian Manuel Borutta on Italian anti-Catholicism and its
connections to Germany and an article by Donald MacRaild on the
transnational careers of anti-Catholic preachers from Catholic backgrounds.4 This article adds to these limited studies by emphasizing the role
that Italian actors and events played in Victorian anti-Catholicism.
Though studies of transnational anti-Catholicism are relatively sparse,
studies of specifically British anti-Catholicism and of the influence of antiCatholicism upon British Gothic literature are plentiful.5 Literary scholar
Miriam Burstein claimed that anti-Catholic sentiment was so pervasive in
nineteenth-century British and American literature, “that one is tempted
to call ‘anti-Catholic novel’ a redundant term.”6 In her study of the Gothic
novel, Diane Long Hoeveler similarly identified anti-Catholic plot lines
including, “a focus on perverse or frustrated nuns, deceptive priests, dark
and dank torture chambers of the Inquisition, and ruined abbeys,” as key
to the Gothic genre.7 Though many scholars have associated anti-Catholic
fiction with the Gothic novels of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Susan Griffin has demonstrated the popularity of anti-Catholic narratives in Britain and America well into the nineteenth century.8 By publishing novels that relied heavily on anti-Catholic themes, therefore,
Garibaldi and Disraeli were not engaging in particularly unique or transgressive behavior, but were following the standard conventions of midnineteenth-century literature.

4. Manuel Borutta, “Anti-Catholicism and the Culture War in Risorgimento Italy,” in:
The Risorgimento Revisited: Nationalism and Culture in Nineteenth-Century Italy, ed. Silvana
Patriarca and Lucy Riall (New York, 2012), 191–213; Manuel Borutta, “Settembrini’s World:
German and Italian Anti-Catholicism in the Age of the Culture Wars,” in: European AntiCatholicism in a Comparative and Transnational Perspective, ed. Yvonne Maria Werner and
Jonas Harvard (Amsterdam, 2013), 43–67; and Donald M. MacRaild, “Transnationalising
‘Anti-Popery’: Militant Protestant Preachers in the Nineteenth-Century Anglo-World,”
Journal of Religious History, 39, no. 2 (June 2015), 224–43.
5. Irene Bostrom, “The Novel and Catholic Emancipation,” Studies in Romanticism, 2,
no. 3 (Spring 1963), 155–76; Denis G. Paz, Popular Anti-Catholicism in Mid-Victorian England (Stanford, CA, 1992); Patrick R. O’Malley, Catholicism, Sexual Deviance, and Victorian
Gothic Culture (Cambridge, UK; New York, 2006); Maureen Moran, Catholic Sensationalism
and Victorian Literature (Liverpool, 2007); Diane Long Hoeveler, The Gothic Ideology: Religious Hysteria and Anti-Catholicism in British Popular Fiction 1780–1880 (Cardiff, Wales,
2014).
6. Miriam Elizabeth Burstein, “Protestants against the Jewish and Catholic Family, c.
1829–1860,” Victorian Literature and Culture, 31, no. 1 (2003), 333–57, here 341.
7. Hoeveler, The Gothic Ideology, 5.
8. Susan Griffin, Anti-Catholicism and Nineteenth-Century Fiction (Cambridge; New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2004).

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ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

These scholarly studies of anti-Catholicism in British literature and
popular culture have generally acknowledged the importance of Italian settings but not of Italian authors or actors. Like many other areas of antiCatholic studies, they retain an overly national focus. Griffin’s 2004 work
on the connections between British and American anti-Catholic fiction is
a notable exception, but does not include actors from Catholic-majority
countries like Italy.9 The lack of inclusion of Italian authors is unfortunate,
as Italians were certainly participating in the creation and propagation of
shared transnational anti-Catholic tropes.
The nineteenth century witnessed a growing anticlerical and antiCatholic movement in Italy. Like many other southern European countries, Italy had suffered from a transnational orientalization of Catholicism
that cast Catholic countries as left behind in humanity’s march towards
progress.10 Italian patriots attempted to both embrace and overcome this
discourse by placing the blame for Italy’s relative lack of development and
political independence on the Catholic Church, both as a spiritual institution and temporal power. Moderate and radical Italians supported not only
a separation of church and state, but more far-reaching attacks on religious
orders, monasteries, the Papacy, and even aspects of Catholic ritual and
practice.11 In doing so, they participated in the transnational culture wars
of the nineteenth-century.
Moreover, it is interesting that works on anti-Catholicism in British literature do not focus more on Italy as numerous scholars have recognized the
pivotal role anti-Catholicism played in British support for Italian nationalism among Liberals and Conservatives alike.12 Historian Danilo Raponi, for
instance, claimed that British support for the Risorgimento came as a direct
result of a desire to spread Protestantism in the peninsula and was inextricable from British anti-Catholicism.13 While these authors have clearly
9. Ibid.
10. Borutta, “Settembrini’s World: German and Italian Anti-Catholicism in the Age
of the Culture Wars,” 54–56.
11. Martin Papenheim, “Rome o Morte: Culture Wars in Italy,” in Culture Wars: Secular-Catholic Conflict in Nineteenth-Century Europe, ed. Christopher M. Clark and Wolfram
Kaiser (Cambridge, UK, 2009), 202–26.
12. Carl T. McIntire, England against the Papacy, 1858–1861: Tories, Liberals, and the
Overthrow of Papal Temporal Power during the Italian Risorgimento (Cambridge. UK, 1983);
Danilo Raponi, Religion and Politics in the Risorgimento: Britain and the New Italy, 1861–1875
(Basingstoke, 2014); Colin Barr, Michele Finelli, and Anne O’Connor, eds., Nation/Nazione:
Irish Nationalism and the Italian Risorgimento (Dublin, 2014); Nick Carter, ed., Britain, Ireland and the Italian Risorgimento (Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, 2015).
13. Raponi, Religion and Politics in the Risorgimento.

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demonstrated the importance of anti-Catholicism to British-Italian relations
during the Risorgimento, they have largely ignored the role of literature.14
Through an analysis of Disraeli’s Lothair and Garibaldi’s The Rule of the
Monk, this article brings together these historical and literary fields of study
and contributes to the growing scholarship on the transnational nature of
nineteenth-century anti-Catholicism. The first section provides an
overview of the national and transnational sources of British anti-Catholicism before the novels’ creation, while the second section examines the
immediate impetus for Garibaldi and Disraeli’s novels and provides brief
plot descriptions. The third section argues that the authors used traditional
Gothic tropes of Catholic perversion and seduction but applied them
directly to the contemporary Papal government and Catholic population.
Continuing the discussion of the novels’ connection to ongoing political
events, the final section examines the novels’ description of the political
danger posed by Catholicism and the authors’ differing views as to whether
Italian radicals represented an appropriate solution to that threat.
Building Tensions:British Anti-Catholicism, the Risorgimento,
and Pius IX
By the beginning of the nineteenth century, anti-Catholic Protestantism was an established component of British identity.15 Though some
scholars have argued that British anti-Catholicism reached its peak with
the debate surrounding Catholic Emancipation in 1829, the popularity of
the Oxford Movement in the 1830s and 1840s kept fears of Catholicism
high and led to the formation of groups like the Protestant Association
(1835) that supported anti-Catholicism as a defense of Conservatism and
the Established Church.16 An increase in poor Irish Catholic immigrants

14. One significant exception comes in Raffaela Antinucci’s brief study of the Englishlanguage works of Italian-born author Giovanni Ruffini (1807–81) and the role Ruffini
played in winning the British public over to the Italian cause. Antinucci did not, however,
focus on the way in which Ruffini played into anti-Catholic stereotypes. See: Raffaela Antinucci, “‘An Italy Independent and One’: Giovanni (John) Ruffini, Britain and the Italian
Risorgimento,” in: Britain, Ireland and the Italian Risorgimento, ed. Nick Carter (Houndmills,
Basingstoke, Hampshire, 2015), 104–26.
15. Linda Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837, rev. ed. (New Haven,
2009), 377.
16. Kyle Hughes and Donald M. MacRaild, “Anti-Catholicism and Orange Loyalism
in Nineteenth-Century Britain,” in: Loyalism and the Formation of the British World: 1775–
1914, ed. Allan Blackstock and Frank O’Gorman (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 2014), 61–79, here
61; John Wolffe, The Protestant Crusade in Great Britain, 1829–1860 (Oxford, 1991), 91.

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and the spread of revolutionary Irish nationalism further contributed to
Victorian anti-Catholicism.17 Finally, anti-Catholic Britons were not just
reacting to domestic issues but were very much aware of and responding to
the actions of Pope Pius IX (r. 1846–78).
Inspired by the outbreak of revolutions in the spring of 1848, some
Italian liberals had originally looked to Pius as a potential leader of a
reformed and united Italy. It soon became clear, however, that Pius would
not support Italian nationalists in the north against the Catholic Austrian
Empire. In response, the patriots assassinated the Papal State’s Minister of
Justice Pellegrino Rossi on November 15, 1848 and began an outright revolution, driving Pius into exile. On February 9, 1849 the patriots declared
the formation of a Roman Republic. From his exile, Pius appealed to his
Catholic allies and found support from French President Louis Napoleon
who sent troops in April to restore Pius’s throne. Garibaldi led a valiant but
ultimately unsuccessful defense against the French troops and fled Rome
in early July 1849.
Pius IX’s opposition to Italian unification made it difficult for Italian
nationalists to support the Catholic Church as an institution that could be
part of a modern Italian future. The kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia, which
would assume a leading role in unification, began its attack on the Catholic
Church through the prohibition of the Jesuit order and the Siccardi Laws
of 1850, which called for the suppression of the separate system of church
courts and the legal immunity enjoyed by the clergy. In March 1855 Piedmont furthered this legislation with a more general law for the suppression
of religious orders. Popular Piedmontese newspapers like La Gazzetta del
Popolo supported the anti-clerical movement by publishing frequent
reports on clerical misconduct including, “sexual excesses, and capital
crimes such as the abandonment, sexual abuse and murder of children.”18
In response to the growing strength of Italian nationalism and the threat
it posed to his temporal reign, Pius IX worked to solidify the power of the
church establishment across Europe. An early step in this campaign was the
17. Walter Ralls, “The Papal Aggression of 1850: A Study in Victorian Anti-Catholicism,” Church History, 43, no. 2 (June 1974), 242–56, here 244–46, 253; Saho MatsumotoBest, Britain and the Papacy in the Age of Revolution, 1846–1851 (New York, 2003), 144–45,
149–50; Hughes and MacRaild, “Anti-Catholicism and Orange Loyalism in NineteenthCentury Britain,” 74–75.
18. Borutta, “Anti-Catholicism and the Culture War in Risorgimento Italy,” 191–96.
When Italy unified in 1861 it generally assumed the laws of the Piedmontese state, including
these attacks on the clergy and Catholic Church.

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reinstatement of a traditional Catholic hierarchy of bishops in England in
1850, more commonly known as the Papal Aggression.19 Later in the decade,
Pius IX also drew fire for his support of the Dogma of the Immaculate Conception (1854) as well as his involvement in the Mortara Affair (1858).20
Despite Pius IX’s opposition, the Risorgimento received a key victory
in the 1859 Second War of Italian Independence, after which the kingdom
of Piedmont-Sardinia received Austria’s territory of Lombardy.21 In the
summer of 1860, Garibaldi then achieved his greatest success with his campaign of the Thousand. Garibaldi’s small band of volunteer fighters seized
control of Sicily and southern Italy from the Bourbon Kingdom of the Two
Sicilies and set the stage for Italian Unification on March 17, 1861. To
Garibaldi’s dismay, however, Rome remained under Papal control and was
not incorporated into the new Italian state. Outraged that the historic capital and heart of Italy remained in the hands of a clergy that he viewed as
inherently corrupt and oppressive, Garibaldi raised a volunteer army and
began a march towards Rome in June 1862. The Italian government, facing
harsh pressure from the French and reluctant to allow the radicals to gain
more ground, opposed this action and on the morning of August 29th, Italian troops defeated Garibaldi’s forces and shot the famed general twice.
After his surrender, the Italian state arrested Garibaldi and imprisoned him
in the fort of Varignano.22 British audiences closely followed these events
and tensions over his arrest even led to the outbreak of riots.23
As Pius IX emerged more and more clearly as a self-described opponent of modern freedoms and national liberty, anticlerical and antiCatholic popular culture flourished among radical and progressive groups
in both Italy and Britain. Italian anti-Catholics attacked “central elements
of Catholic piety such as processions, belief in miracles, visions of Mary
19. Ralls, “The Papal Aggression of 1850,” 253.
20. In June 1858 Papal authorities seized six-year-old Edgardo Mortara from his
Jewish family’s home in Bologna after a former servant testified that she had secretly baptized
the child as an infant. Despite international outrage, Pius supported this action, citing Papal
law, which decreed that a Catholic child could not be raised in a non-Christian home. For
more on the international Protestant and Jewish reaction against the Mortara affair, see: Abigail Green, “Nationalism and the ‘Jewish International’: Religious Internationalism in Europe
and the Middle East, c.1840–c.1880,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 50, no. 2
(April 2008), 535–58.
21. Christopher Duggan, Force of Destiny: A History of Italy since 1796 (London, 2008),
204–05.
22. Ibid., 244–46.
23. Sheridan Gilley, “The Garibaldi Riots of 1862,” The Historical Journal 16, no. 4
(December 1973), 697–732.

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and the pilgrimages,” while famed authors like Giosuè Carducci published
vehemently anticlerical works, such as the Inno a Satana (Hymn to Satan,
1863).24 In Britain, a new form of anti-Catholicism triumphed by radical
Dissent emerged alongside the older movement centered on the Conservative Party and the Anglican Church. Historian John Wolffe has argued
that the new anti-Catholic societies of the 1850s, including the Scottish
Reformation Society (1850) and the Protestant Alliance (1851), “represented a significant change in the general profile of anti-Catholicism after
1850, from an agitation dominated by establishmentarian concerns to one
in which a concern for religious liberty conceived on Nonconformist terms
was very much in evidence.”25 This more radical branch, led to some extent
by the Protestant Alliance and its founder, Anthony Ashley-Cooper
(1801–85), the 7th Earl of Shaftesbury, supported anti-Catholicism as an
issue of freedom of thought and triumphed “no-Popery” lecturers like Italian former priest Alessandro Gavazzi as well as the Florentine couple the
Madiai.26 Their activities in many ways paralleled that of the older Conservative branch of anti-Catholicism and the Protestant Association, who
supported anti-Catholic preachers like Irishman William Murphy and
produced pamphlets, books, and posters denouncing Catholic priests, theology, and religious practices.27 Even popular periodicals like Punch participated in the movement and regularly published cartoons lampooning Pius
IX and the Catholic Church.28
As a self-proclaimed enemy of the Papacy and champion of the ideals
of progress and liberty, Garibaldi was incredibly popular among the British
24. Borutta, “Settembrini’s World: German and Italian Anti-Catholicism in the Age
of the Culture Wars,” 51; Laura Fournier-Finocchiaro, Giosuè Carducci et la construction de la
nation italienne (Caen, 2006), 155.
25. Wolffe, The Protestant Crusade in Great Britain, 1829-1860, 253–54.
26. John Wolffe, “North Atlantic Anti-Catholicism in the Nineteenth-Century: A
Comparative Overview,” in European Anti-Catholicism in a Comparative and Transnational Perspective, ed. Yvonne Maria Werner and Jonas Harvard (Amsterdam, 2013), 23-41, here 31–
32; Bernard Aspinwall, “Rev. Alessandro Gavazzi (1808-1889) and Scottish Identity: A Chapter in Nineteenth Century Anti-Catholicism,” Recusant History, 28, no. 1 (2006), 129–52;
Anne Lohrli, “The Madiai: A Forgotten Chapter of Church History,” Victorian Studies, 33, no.
1 (Autumn 1989), 29–50. Francesco and Rosina Madiai were Protestant converts imprisoned
in the Grand Duchy of Tuscany from August 1851 to March 1853. Their case attracted international outrage from those who believed the couple was persecuted solely for their faith,
including Queen Victoria and Prince Albert and King Frederick William of Prussia.
27. Hughes and MacRaild, “Anti-Catholicism and Orange Loyalism in NineteenthCentury Britain,” 66, 74–75.
28. Eleanor McNees, “’Punch’ and the Pope: Three Decades of Anti-Catholic Caricature,” Victorian Periodicals Review, 37, no. 1 (Spring 2004), 18–45.

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public. When he visited England in 1864, he was met with huge crowds
and near universal acclaim. As historian Lucy Riall has explained,
“Garibaldi’s stay in England became a political ‘moment’ an extraordinary
demonstration of ‘radical chic,’ trade union pageantry, popular Protestantism and private passion.”29 He was not entirely without critics, however, and Disraeli famously refused to meet with the patriot, declining “to
countenance the orgy of enthusiasm with which he was welcomed in England both by the populace and by Society.”30
Pius IX also remained unwilling to modify his platform or consider
giving up his status as a temporal ruler. Later that year, on December 8,
1864, he issued what was to many his most egregious act yet, the papal
encyclical Quanta Cura and the accompanying Syllabus of Errors. These
argued that no true Catholic could support freedom of speech, freedom of
the press, or freedom of religion and must support the temporal rule of the
pope.31 Opponents of the Papacy in both Italy and Britain viewed these
acts as signs that the Catholic Church had become a nearly irredeemable
tyrannical vestige of a medieval era.
Tensions Sparked: The Creation of Garibaldi’s and Disraeli’s Novels
After Italy’s acquisition of Venice in 1867, Garibaldi believed the
moment was right to attempt another attack on Rome. As in 1862,
Garibaldi raised a force of volunteer troops and marched into the Papal
States in the hopes that his actions would trigger popular or governmental
support. Neither materialized and French troops defeated Garibaldi’s
forces in a minor engagement at Mentana on November 3, 1867. Afterwards, Garibaldi was again arrested and imprisoned in the same fortress of
Varignano from November 5 to November 25, 1867.32
Frustrated with his lack of military or political success, Garibaldi
turned to literature and wrote three novels published during his lifetime,
Clelia, o il governo dei preti (Clelia, or the Government of the Priest [also
translated as The Rule of the Monk] 1870), Cantoni il volontario (Cantoni the
Volunteer, 1870), and I Mille (The Thousand, 1874). All three novels refer
back to key moments in Garibaldi’s political career: Cantoni was set during
29. Lucy Riall, Garibaldi: Invention of a Hero (New Haven, 2008), 331.
30. George Earl Buckle and William Flavelle Monypenny, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, vol. IV: 1855–1868 (New York, 1916), 327–28.
31. David I. Kertzer, The Pope Who Would Be King: The Exile of Pius IX and the Emergence of Modern Europe (New York, 2018), 340.
32. Duggan, Force of Destiny, 256.

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the Roman Republic of 1848–49, I Mille discussed his campaign in Sicily
and Southern Italy from 1860–61, and Clelia covered his second failed
attempt to take Rome in 1867. Despite Garibaldi’s fame, his novels have
garnered little scholarly interest.33 The lone extensive treatment of
Garibaldi’s literary career is Paolo Orvieto’s 2011 book comparing the
novels of Garibaldi with those of the staunch Jesuit Antonio Bresciani.34
The Rule of the Monk was a melodramatic tale of Papal villainy, despotism, and libertinism in Rome. Its heroine Clelia was the beautiful daughter
of Manlio, a sculptor in the working-class neighborhood of Trastevere in
Rome. Her beauty attracted the lascivious attentions of Cardinal Procopio,
who schemed to capture and defile her. Another neighborhood artist,
Attilio, also fell in love with Clelia and with the help of his compatriots
managed to save her at the last moment before strangling Cardinal Procopio and his henchmen. The rest of the novel tracked the actions of these
male heroes, Attilio, Muzio, and Orazio, as they planned uprisings against
Papal rule, fought under a fictional Garibaldi’s leadership in the 1867 campaign on Rome, fell in love with women who supported their dreams for
Italy, and died at the novel’s conclusion in a failed revolt. Throughout the
novel Garibaldi frequently paused to delve into the tragic backstories of his
characters to reveal further what he considered the horrors of priestly despotism. Through flashbacks, for instance, he disclosed that Muzio was left
an impoverished orphan after his grandmother’s confessor convinced her to
leave all of her money to the Catholic Church (before murdering her with
the help of a nun before she could change her mind).
Although Disraeli composed Lothair in secrecy, it is likely that he
began work on his novel in early 1869, approximately a year after Garibaldi
began his novel.35 Unlike Garibaldi, Disraeli had previously established
himself as a novelist. He had achieved minor literary success with The
Young Duke (1831) and Contarini Fleming (1832), before transitioning into
politics and entering Parliament in November 1837. As a member of Parliament, Disraeli then published his most famous works, the explicitly
33. Clive Edward John Griffiths, “The Novels of Garibaldi,” Italian Studies, 30, no. 1
(1975), 86–98; Daniel Pick, “’Roma o Morte’: Garibaldi, Nationalism and the Problem of
Psycho-Biography,” History Workshop Journal, 57 (Spring 2004): 1–33; Alfonso Scirocco,
Garibaldi: Citizen of the World (Princeton, 2007); Riall, Garibaldi; Alberto Mario Banti,
L'onore della nazione: identità sessuali e violenza nel nazionalismo europeo dal XVIII secolo alla
grande guerra (Turin, 2005), 222-28, 327-35.
34. Paolo Orvieto, Buoni e Cattivi del Risorgimento: I Romanzi di Garibaldi e Bresciani a
Confronto (Roma, 2011).
35. George Earl Buckle and W.F. Monypenny, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of
Beaconsfield, vol. V: 1868–1876 (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1920), 149.

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political Young England trilogy, comprised of Coningsby (1844), Sybil
(1845), and Tancred (1847). He later became a leader of the Conservative
Party and in February 1868, following the resignation of Edward Stanley
(1799–1869), 14th Earl of Derby, Disraeli became Prime Minister. As a
politician, Disraeli was not known for his anti-Catholicism and had participated in an alliance between Conservatives and Catholics in Parliament
based on an abstract defense of religion against atheism and secular liberalism.36 In 1868, however, the alliance fractured when Catholic Archbishop of Westminster Henry Edward Manning (1808–92) switched his
allegiance to Liberal leader William Gladstone (1809–98).37 Disraeli and
the Conservatives then lost the general election in December 1868. Blaming Manning for his loss and with more free time on his hands than he had
in years, Disraeli returned to literature and produced Lothair.
Inspired by the controversial conversion of John Patrick CrichtonStuart (1847–1900), the twenty-one-year-old 3rd Marquess of Bute to
Catholicism on Christmas Eve 1868, Lothair followed the eponymous
protagonist, a wealthy orphaned Scottish nobleman, through various
stages in his young life as he searched for meaning. Discontented with his
life among the English aristocracy, he looked for guidance from his formerly-estranged guardian, a convert-turned-prelate Cardinal Grandison
(a thinly-veiled Manning), and became involved with a group of English
Catholics, including the beautiful and pious Clare Arundel. Lothair contemplated conversion before meeting another woman, Theodora Campion, who inspired him with her fervent devotion to Italian nationalism to
follow her to Italy and fight in the Battle of Mentana in 1867 alongside
Garibaldi. Theodora tragically died in the battle and Lothair himself was
seriously wounded, but was discovered by his old companion Clare Arundel who nursed him back to health before claiming he was saved by an
apparition of the Virgin Mary. Disregarding that Lothair had fought
against the Papacy, the Catholic leaders in Rome claimed that he had
been miraculously saved so that he might convince others to overcome
heresy and apostasy and return to the Catholic Church. Disgusted with
36. J.P. Parry, “Disraeli and England,” The Historical Journal 43, no. 3 (September
2000): 699-728, here 714–15.
37. Vernon Bogdanor, “Introduction,” in Lothair, by Benjamin Disraeli (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1975), vii–ix. Disraeli had tried to solve the problem of the Anglican
establishment in Ireland by setting up a Catholic University in Dublin subject to lay control.
Manning claimed to support Disraeli in the venture but then the Irish bishops made it clear
that they wanted total episcopal control over the institution. At the same time, Liberal Leader
William Gladstone proposed full disestablishment of the Anglican Church in Ireland
prompting Manning to switch his allegiance to Gladstone.

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this perversion of the truth and manipulation of his public image, Lothair
fled Rome and spent the final third of the novel largely in Syria and
Jerusalem finding peace with his faith. He ultimately returned to England,
married Lady Corisande, an Anglican noblewoman he knew at the beginning of the novel, and assumed a comfortably traditional aristocratic
country life.
Disraeli’s novels, including Lothair, have received substantial scholarly
attention. Scholars have offered differing interpretations of the novel,
claiming that it was less about the threat of Catholicism and more about
the hazards of rationalism, skepticism, materialism, and potentially even
atheism, while others have argued it was intended as a criticism of the
English aristocracy. Some even denied Disraeli’s anti-Catholicism,
emphasizing his history of cooperation with Catholics, his support for
organized religion, including Catholicism, and sympathy for England’s
traditional Catholic gentry as opposed to new converts.38
Anti-Catholic feelings erupted anew in Britain just as Garibaldi and
Disraeli were preparing to publish their novels with the 1869 case of Saurin
v. Star and Kennedy, in which an Irish Catholic nun accused her superiors
in a Yorkshire convent of assault, imprisonment, libel, and conspiracy.39
Public attention surrounding the trial helped Conservative MP Charles
Newdegate finally gain support for his 1870 parliamentary inspection of
convents, which in itself heighted anti-Catholic tensions.40 Many British
Protestants were also worried by Pope Pius IX’s attempts to strengthen his
power by calling a Vatican Council for the first time in 350 years. 774 bishops and several hundred other church dignitaries showed up for the inaugural ceremony on December 8, 1869. Pius IX pushed the bishops to support a doctrine of Papal Infallibility, which they voted in favor of on July 18,
1870.41 Throughout the months of deliberation between December and
July, however, the council’s proceedings were closed to the public and
38. Nils Clausson, “English Catholics and Roman Catholicism in Disraeli’s Novels,”
Nineteenth-Century Fiction, 33, no. 4 (March 1979), 454–74; Michael Ledger-Lomas,
“’Glimpses of the Great Conflict’: English Congregationalists and the European Crisis of
Faith, circa 1840–1875,” Journal of British Studies, 46, no. 4 (October 2007), 826–60; Megan
Dent, “’There Must Be Design’: The Threat of Unbelief in Disraeli’s Lothair,” Victorian Literature and Culture, 44 (2016), 671–86.
39. Susan Griffin, “Revising the Popish Plot: Francis Trollope’s ‘The Abbess and
Father Eustace,” Victorian Literature and Culture, 31, no. 1 (2003), 279-93, here 281–82.
40. Walter L. Arnstein, Protestant versus Catholic in Mid-Victorian England: Mr.
Newdegate and the Nuns (Columbia, MO, 1982).
41. Kertzer, The Pope Who Would Be King, 341.

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shrouded in mystery.42 Both Garibaldi and Disraeli’s novels were published
during this interval when speculation was high and answers few.
The English translation The Rule of the Monk appeared in February
1870, less than three months after the beginning of the Vatican Council.
While it was just one of many international editions and translations of the
novel, it was the earliest and was published almost concurrently with the
original Italian version.43 Garibaldi’s magnetic personality and his support
from anti-Catholic radicals and republicans drew attention to the novel
and ensured its financial success. Less than three months after its initial
publication, the novel was into its third edition.44
Lothair was published in May 1870 to great acclaim and became the
strongest commercial success of Disraeli’s literary career. As the first novel
ever published by a former prime minister, Lothair captivated audiences
and sold over 7,000 copies within the first four days.45 Disraeli’s biographers Buckle and Monypenny claimed that, “All the world read the book;
every journal reviewed it. It was the principle topic of polite conversation
during the London season: a pretty woman was even heard to bet a copy
of Lothair on a race at Ascot. Horses, songs, and ships were named after
the hero and heroine.”46 It was later translated into multiple European languages and was a bestseller in America.47
Gothic Accusations of Catholic Perversion in a Contemporary Setting
In their novels both Garibaldi and Disraeli engaged in what historian
John Wolffe identified as “socio-cultural anti-Catholicism,” a type of antiCatholicism centered on “a core social-cultural perception of the Roman
42. Verhoeven, “Transatlantic Connections,” 716.
43. In 1870 alone translations were published in England, Canada, and America.
Garibaldi’s biographer Alfonso Scirocco claims that throughout the 1870s additional editions
were published in the cities of Paris, Lisbon, Stockholm, St. Petersburg, Moscow, Novi Sad,
Pest, Vienna, Prague, and Montevideo. Sergio Portelli, “Anti-Clericalism in Translation:
Anti-Catholic Ideology in the English Translation of Giuseppe Garibaldi’s Clelia o Il Governo Dei Preti (1870),” Forum Italicum, 50, no. 3 (2016), 1099–1108, here 1102; Scirocco,
Garibaldi, 394–95.
44. “Advertisements & Notices,” The Graphic, April 30, 1870.
45. Bogdanor, “Introduction,” vii; “Latest Commercial News,” Glasgow Herald, May
6, 1870.
46. Buckle and Monypenny, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, 1920, V: 1868–1876,
165–67.
47. Over 80,000 copies were sold by October 1870. James Cephas Derby, Fifty Years
Among Authors, Books and Publishers (Hartford, CT, 1886), 185.

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ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

Catholic Church as fostering immorality, especially in sexual matters.”48
Stemming from their belief that natural sexual desires would turn perverse
if denied the proper confines of a family environment, anti-Catholic
authors often depicted tales of sexual abuse at the hands of priests, monks,
or nuns. As previously discussed, scholars identified Gothic literature’s
reliance on these stereotypes through their plotlines of sexually abusive
clerics and sexually abused nuns.49 By publishing novels with anti-Catholic
tropes of sexual perversion, therefore, Garibaldi and Disraeli were not
engaging in controversial or innovative behaviors.
The contemporary setting of the works, however, along with the
claims of veracity bolstered by their authors’ status as famed politicians distinguished Disraeli and Garibaldi’s novels from much of the existing antiCatholic literature. Many anti-Catholic novels took on a confessional tone
and claimed to be memoirs taken from life. Most notably, the best-selling
American anti-Catholic novel, Maria Monk’s Awful Disclosures of the
Hôtel-Dieu Nunnery (1836), claimed to be based on Monk’s real experience
in a Montreal convent. Monk alleged that her tales of sexual crime and
perversion, including accusations that priests and nuns would routinely
smother their illegitimate children after birth and throw their corpses in a
lime pit, were grounded in truth.50 Unlike Garibaldi or Disraeli, however,
Monk was an unknown figure and her opponents easily dismissed her work
as a manipulative fiction.
Garibaldi’s novel repeated nearly all of the major themes and plot
points of anti-Catholic literature through its numerous minor characters,
seemingly added so Garibaldi could tell further tales of priestly horrors
beyond Cardinal Procopio’s failed seduction of the heroine Clelia. One
character, Camilla, was seduced and impregnated by Procopio who had
their child killed immediately following its birth. The shame of her fall
combined with the murder of her child drove Camilla to insanity and Procopio had her shut away in a mental institution. Another minor character
Marzio recounted how he rescued his wife from her forced confinement in
a convent. He further revealed that during their escape through the convent’s subterranean tunnels, they encountered a corpselike figure hanging
48. John Wolffe, “A Comparative Historical Categorisation of Anti-Catholicism,”
Journal of Religious History, 39, no. 2 (June 2015), 182–202, here 194.
49. Griffin, “Revising the Popish Plot,” 281.
50. Sandra Frink, “Women, the Family, and the Fate of the Nation in American AntiCatholic Narratives, 1830–1860,” Journal of the History of Sexuality, 18, no. 2 (May 2009):
237–64, here 238, 261–62.

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on the walls of a torture chamber. The man, Tito, had been sent to a
Roman seminary at age fifteen and was soon indoctrinated into a system of
sexual corruption in which the director of the seminary and the abbess of
the nearby convent traded off access to young Italian bodies. When the
abbess later discovered Tito’s preference for the younger nuns, she sent
him to the torture chamber in a jealous rage.
While Camilla’s seduction or Tito’s torture would not be unusual in a
Gothic novel, Garibaldi was atypical in that his adamant claims of veracity
went beyond literary conceit and were in explicit service of a political platform. The English translators of Garibaldi’s novel and authors of its preface, Jessie White Mario (1832–1906) and Esperanza von Schwartz (1818–
99), shared Garibaldi’s political leanings and aided the patriot in his
campaign by emphasizing his reliability as a witness.51 In the preface, they
recounted Garibaldi’s history in Rome and called the novel, “fact founded
upon fiction, in the sense that the form alone and the cast of the story are
fanciful- the rest being all pure truth lightly disguised.”52 After moments
that read as more fiction than fact, such as after the outrageous tale of the
doomed Camilla, White Mario and von Schwartz again directly appealed
to English audiences with claims of truthfulness. Their translation added:
“What a wild improbable story, we seem to hear some of our readers
remark, as they sit beside their sea-coal fires in free England. But Popery
has not been dominant in England since James II’s time, and they have forgotten it.” It went on to remind readers that Garibaldi had personally
searched the convents in Rome during the Roman Republic in 1849 and
that, “in all, without an exception, he found instruments of cruelty; and in
all, without an exception, were vaults, plainly dedicated to the reception of
the bones of infants.”53
Many newspapers repeated these references to Garibaldi’s personal
experience with Rome in their reviews of the novel, further spreading the
information to those members of the public who had not yet read it.54 In
51. Though they performed their work anonymously, private correspondence reveals
that in December 1867, Garibaldi asked the women to translate and edit the book for a
British literary public. Showing a great deal of trust in their judgment, Garibaldi gave the
women full control over the content of his work, allowing them take out but not alter any
potentially controversial political or religious ideas. Giuseppe Garibaldi, Epistolario Di
Giuseppe Garibaldi, ed. Emma Moscati, Vol. XII (Roma, 2006), 235.
52. Giuseppe Garibaldi, The Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century, vol.
1 (London: Cassell, Petter, and Galpin, 1870), xi.
53. Ibid., 1:29–30.
54. “Garibaldi’s New Work,” Liverpool Mercury, February 23, 1870.

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their review, The Belfast News-letter repeated these claims as part of their
explanation for the novel’s slightly, “exaggerated and over-coloured” nature.
Recognizing that Garibaldi’s perfect hatred of the priesthood informed his
writing, they argued, “We do not suppose Garibaldi to be impartial now.
But we should like to hear an advocate of the temporal power explaining the
cause which planted so bitter and implacable a passion in so generous and
unsuspecting a breast.”55 Their review indicates that at least certain segments of the British public were willing to consider Garibaldi’s claims,
though this may have been a result of preexisting anti-Catholic bias rather
than of any specific work by White Mario or von Schwartz.
Other papers, however, deemed Garibaldi’s tale as overly emotional
and prejudiced and revealed a struggle to accept that his stories of unending priestly corruption, seduction, infanticide, torture, and murder could be
accurate. A letter published in the Liverpool Mercury gives some idea of the
expected Catholic response. After criticizing the paper and its contemporaries for speaking of Garibaldi’s work, “as if it were a veritable history,” it
questioned why they gave their readers so many details from “the bombastical monomaniac’s dish of horrors” without giving their readers “the
slightest reason for suspicion that the ingredients are furnished forth from
a diseased imagination, or vouched for by lying tongues.”56 Authors who
did not specifically identify as Catholic also criticized Garibaldi’s novel. A
review from the Athenaeum called the work, “an impetuous, angry, unwise
book, which can produce no good result to Italy.”57 The adjectives chosen
by the reviewer echo popular stereotypes of Italian reliance on emotionality
rather than reason and illustrate the difficult position Garibaldi occupied in
his attempt to overcome negative perceptions of the Italians. Though Verhoeven has argued that Protestant Americans particularly enjoyed reading
French anti-Catholic works, believing that the French authors’ familiarity
with Catholicism gave them an added benefit of authenticity and credibility, this dynamic did not always translate and in this instance did not benefit Garibaldi in his interaction with British Protestants.58
In contrast to Garibaldi’s dramatic novel, Disraeli’s was markedly
more subdued and utilized fewer overt Gothic tropes when condemning
the seductive and manipulative power of the Catholic Church. Adopting a
55. “Literary Notices,” The Belfast News-Letter, April 14, 1870.
56. “Good Sound Protestant Lies,” Liverpool Mercury, March 10, 1870.
57. “Garibaldi’s New Book,” The Royal Cornwall Gazette, Falmouth Packet, and General
Advertiser, March 19, 1870.
58. Verhoeven, Transatlantic Anti-Catholicism, 9.

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415

seemingly balanced tone, Disraeli allowed his various characters to express
support for not only Anglicanism, but also Presbyterianism, Catholicism,
and even a type of Deistic free religion espoused by Theodora. However,
these favorable and flattering depictions of Catholicism in Lothair arguably
reflected a common tactic among anti-Catholic authors in which they
would praise the beauty of Catholic art and ritual to draw attention to
Catholicism’s seductive appeal to the senses.59 Recognizing this rhetorical
strategy, literary scholar Maureen Moran has argued that Disraeli’s flattering depiction of Clare Arundel was meant as a comparison to the Catholic
Church: though superficially attractive, both lacked substance and would
seduce the unwary to their undeserving cause with their physical beauty.60
Disraeli also participated in the popular and more overtly anti-Catholic
critique against the confessional and the sexual menace it presented to the
family. Italian and British authors alike claimed that confession threatened
the domestic hierarchy by casting a spiritual father in the role of the biological father and depriving a man of the loyalty he was due from his wife and
children.61 Garibaldi had included his own caution against the power of
confession with the storyline of Muzio’s grandmother. Disraeli included his
own attack on the confessional in a scene between Lothair and one of his
guardians, Lord Culloden, on the eve of Lothair’s majority. Lord Culloden
cautioned Lothair against the Catholic Church, stating,
A man should be master in his own house. You will be taking a wife some
day; at least it is to be hoped so; and how will you like one of these Monsignores to be walking into her bed-room, eh; and talking to her alone
when he pleases, and where he pleases; and when you want to consult
your wife, which a wise man should often do, to find there is another
mind between hers and yours?62

Though this is by no means as explicit a reference as those found in
Garibaldi’s novel, the allusion to the influence of confessors in the bedroom certainly contains sexual undertones.
In the rest of his speech, Lord Culloden then included a more explicit
discussion of the dangers of Catholicism’s subtle seduction and manipulation claiming that “Popery” was something much more nefarious than “just
59. Verhoeven, “Transatlantic Connections,” 715; Hoeveler, The Gothic Ideology, 10.
60. Moran, Catholic Sensationalism and Victorian Literature, 194–95.
61. Burstein, “Protestants against the Jewish and Catholic Family, c. 1829–1860”;
Borutta, “Anti-Catholicism and the Culture War in Risorgimento Italy,” 199.
62. Benjamin Disraeli, Lothair, vol. II (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1870), 169.

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ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

the sign of the cross, and music, and censer-pot.” He warned Lothair, “but
I tell you that if once you embrace the scarlet lady, you are a tainted corpse.
You’ll not be able to order your dinner without a priest, and they will ride
your best horses without saying with your leave or by your leave.”63 With
this description of the Catholic Church as simultaneously seductively feminine and potentially emasculating, Disraeli further echoed anti-Catholic
critiques that the Catholic Church perverted natural sexuality and led to a
confusion of sexual roles and familial hierarchy.
Though Disraeli framed his work as fictional, his status as politician
and inclusion of real-life personages as characters provided an air of
authenticity to the novel. Audiences saw strong connections between the
young Marquess of Bute and the novel’s protagonist and believed that the
character of Cardinal Grandison was merely a disguised Archbishop Manning. Attentive audiences also noted that Disraeli occasionally failed to
disguise sufficiently the inspiration for his characters, as he did in the third
volume when he referred to the character Monsignore Catesby by the
name Capel, revealing the character’s origin in the figure of Monsignor
Thomas John Capel (1836–1911), who had overseen the conversion of the
Marquess of Bute.64 Moreover, though Disraeli was less focused on the
particular sexual threat posed by the Catholic Church, he certainly
intended his novel as a condemnation of the political dangers of Catholicism and audiences received his work as such.
Anti-Catholic Literature and the Political Threat of Catholicism
British audiences recognized these novels as political acts that spoke to
the developing situation of the Papacy and Italian peninsula and its possible impact upon Britain. The Liverpool Mercury, for instance, published a
letter to the editor crediting the popularity of Garibaldi’s novel to rising
British anti-Catholicism following the opening of the Vatican Council in
December of the previous year. It lamented that, “Since the opening of the
council our Protestant newspaper correspondents have tasked their invention to feed the hungry English appetite for aught derogatory to Rome, its
pontiff, its religion, or the prelates therein assembled from all quarters of
the world.” The letter argued that this insatiable desire for anti-Catholic
content had caused Englishmen to accept Garibaldi’s novel without due
consideration for its accuracy or literary merit.65 The Irish Catholic Free63. Ibid., II:169–70.
64. “The Authorised Version,” The Northern Echo, May 9, 1870, Issue 109 edition.
65. “Good Sound Protestant Lies.”

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417

man’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser similarly condemned
Lothair, but connected the novel to Newdegate’s investigation rather than
the Vatican Council. The paper claimed that Disraeli “timed Lothair
admirably. It came out when the air was full of Newdegate and Protestant
fury against Convents.”66
The majority of Disraeli’s anti-Catholic rhetoric focused on the more
traditional Conservative argument that Catholicism politically threatened
both national stability and the international order. The heroine of the
novel, Lady Corisande, for example, repeatedly described noble British
converts to Catholicism as unpatriotic. In one conversation she stated, “I
look upon our nobility joining the Church of Rome as the greatest calamity
that has ever happened to England,” and added, “it is an abnegation of
patriotism; and in this age, when all things are questioned, a love of country seems to me the one sentiment to cling to.”67 In another scene, Disraeli
depicted the Catholic characters Lady St. Jerome and Monsignore Berwick
scheming to obtain global power. Revealing the Catholic Church’s aspirations to claim the primary loyalty of not just Britons but all Europeans,
Berwick stated, “Let Christendom give us her prayers for the next few
years, and Pio Nono will become the most powerful monarch in Europe,
and perhaps the only one.”68 By including these scenes, Disraeli played
upon longstanding fears that Catholics owed their allegiance to Rome
rather than Britain and could not be loyal citizens.
Lothair’s most notable criticism of the Catholic Church, however,
came after the Church, unable to win Lothair honestly, took advantage of
his injured state and publicly claimed him as a convert without his knowledge. Revealing a belief that the Catholic Church was subtle, manipulative,
and pernicious, Lothair lamented that he had been unable to recognize the
earlier smaller manipulations of his Catholic friends for what they were,
namely, “only part of a great and unceasing and triumphant conspiracy.”
He added that “the obscure and inferior agencies which he had been rash
enough to deride had consummated their commanded purpose in the eyes
of all Europe, and with the aid of the great powers of the world.”69 In this

66. “Dublin: Tuesday May 3, 1870,” Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser (3 May 1870).
67. Disraeli, Lothair, 1870, II, 145.
68. Benjamin Disraeli, Lothair, vol. I (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1870),
82–83.
69. Benjamin Disraeli, Lothair, vol. III (London: Longmans, Green, and Co.,
1870), 78.

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ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

scene, Disraeli expanded upon the previously-discussed fears of Catholic
seduction and subtle manipulation and showed them playing a role in an
international Catholic conspiracy designed to hurt the sovereignty of the
British state.
Audiences noted and appreciated this attack on the Catholic Church
that revealed its danger to both the British state and to international political stability. The Hull Packet and East Riding Times stated that a novel like
Lothair was necessary at this political moment when “the efforts, often too
successful, of Romanism to make, by any possible means, proselytes among
all classes in the metropolis were never more unremitting than now.”70 A
number of Protestant groups across the political spectrum also favorably
received Lothair. At a meeting of Orangemen in Liverpool in early May
1870, the speaker Mr. R. Louis Cloquet claimed he had just finished reading Lothair, which he “thought an admirable manual for Protestant schools
might be compiled out of . . . Such a guide to youth would be invaluable
in those days of rampant ‘Romanism, Ritualism, and Rationalism.’”71 Similarly, at a May 23rd meeting of the Evangelical Alliance, the Rev. Mr.
Thomas Binney thanked Disraeli, “for what he would call his extended
parable ‘Lothair,’ which was one of the finest anti-Romanist publications
ever written.”72 The frequent use of the terms ‘popery,’ ‘Romanish,’ and
‘Romish,’ in this praise is key as it revealed continued anxiety about the
Catholic faith’s connection to a foreign autocratic leader.73
With The Rule of the Monk, Garibaldi similarly attempted to advocate for
the Italian nation by exposing the political threat the Catholic Church posed
to Italy. Throughout the novel, he included numerous appeals to the young
men of Italy to seize the revolutionary moment and participate in further
attempts to reclaim the Eternal City for the Italian state. Garibaldi constantly praised the valor of his patriotic heroes and remonstrated against
what he viewed as the cowardly diplomacy and lethargy of the moderates. In
a scene early in the novel, one of the heroes Attilio gave a speech that allowed
Garibaldi to express more directly his views on the political threat of the
Catholic Church. Speaking to an assembled band of his patriotic brothers,
Attilio claimed, “not only do we aim at freeing our beloved Italy, but at freeing the entire world also from the incubus of the Papacy, which everywhere
70. “Signs of the Times,” The Hull Packet and East Riding Times, May 13, 1870.
71. “Dublin: Friday, May 6, 1870,” Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser,
May 6, 1870, 6.
72. “Summary of This Morning’s News,” The Pall Mall Gazette, May 24, 1870.
73. Moran, Catholic Sensationalism and Victorian Literature, 6.

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opposes education, protects ignorance, and is the nurse of vice!”74 By emphasizing the restrictions Catholicism posed to liberal freedoms, Garibaldi thus
appealed to radicals and moderates in both Italy and Britain.
In order to use this type of argument to gain British support for his
conquest of Rome, however, Garibaldi had to convince readers that his
vision for Italy would guarantee both political freedom and stability. He did
so in part by continually praising the English for their aversion to the priesthood and expressing support for English free government. In one instance
he claimed that Catholic priests “hate the English, because they are both
‘heretics’ and ‘liberals.’”75 Many reviews of the novel liked this strategy and
flattering reviews cited his appreciation for English government as evidence
that he was not overly radical in his political views. One review stated that,
“Much that Garibaldi has written is highly flattering to English pride. He
is an ardent admirer of this country and its institutions.”76 The Liverpool
Mercury similarly noted Garibaldi’s appreciation for the English constitution as evidence that he was not “a red republican” and was actually opposed
to “those democratic doctrinaires who preach revolution—not as a terrible
remedy, but as a trade carried on for their own advancement.”77
For Disraeli and many other Britons, however, it was difficult to distinguish their distaste for Roman Catholicism from their denigration of
Italians in general. They also saw the Italian revolutionary movement represented by Garibaldi as no improvement in stability or order over the
Catholic Church. When Garibaldi made his revolutionary attempts on
Rome throughout the 1860s, he did so without British state support. Neither Conservatives like Disraeli nor Liberals like Gladstone were likely to
risk damaging Anglo-French relations or exacerbating an already fraught
Irish political situation by supporting an attack on Rome.78
The moral of Lothair also cautioned against Italian revolutions. The
protagonist spent much of the novel torn between the opposing camps of
Roman Catholicism and Italian nationalism before returning to the fold of
Anglicanism. Moran has argued that Disraeli was somewhat sympathetic
to Garibaldi in Lothair due to their shared hatred of the temporal power of
the Papacy, but ultimately could not accept that the radical Italians offered
74. “The Rule of the Monk,” The Pall Mall Gazette, March 17, 1870, 22.
75. Garibaldi, The Rule of the Monk, I, 137.
76. “Metropolitan Gossip,” The Sheffield & Rotherham Independent (19 February 1870), 6.
77. “Garibaldi’s New Work,” Liverpool Mercury (23 February 1870).
78. Deryck M. Schreuder, “Gladstone and Italian Unification, 1848–70: The Making
of a Liberal?,” The English Historical Review, 85, no. 336 (1870), 475–501, here 494–96.

ROMANCES OF NO-POPERY

420

a better solution. She noted that Disraeli described both Catholic and revolutionary powers engaging in transnational movements of conspiracy,
secret societies, and foreign agents.79 In one scene, Disraeli stressed their
similarities with a speech by Monsignore Berwick, who claimed, “After all,
it is the Church against the secret societies. They are the only two strong
things in Europe, and will survive kings, emperors, or parliaments.”80 In
doing so, Disraeli revealed his belief that both Catholicism and revolutionary nationalism endangered his preferred mode of government by established authorities. While Garibaldi had tried to draw a clear line between
the actions, methods, and failings of the Church and those of the Italian
republican nationalists, Disraeli focused on the parallels between them.
Conclusion
As this article has demonstrated, Victorian anti-Catholicism was not
solely a response to tensions with Ireland or local economic concerns but
was a multi-faceted transnational phenomenon shaped by both events and
actors from the Italian peninsula following the revolutions of 1848. Just as
anti-Catholicism motivated British support for the Risorgimento, the
events of the Risorgimento likewise impacted the development of Victorian anti-Catholicism. Pius IX’s intransigent response to Italian nationalism informed and reinforced preexisting ideas about the threat the
Catholic Church posed to the modern nation and brought together traditional anti-Catholic Conservatives like Disraeli alongside more radical
anti-Catholics like Garibaldi.
By examining these issues through an analysis of Disraeli’s Lothair and
the English translation of Garibaldi’s The Rule of the Monk, this article also
drew important attention to the political uses of anti-Catholic fiction.
Though studies of anti-Catholicism in fiction often avoid domestic and
international politics, both Conservative leaders like Disraeli and radical
leaders like Garibaldi wielded the tools of anti-Catholicism and antiCatholic fiction in their campaigns. Therefore, these novels also challenge
our interpretation of how politics operated in the Victorian era. While
Disraeli and Garibaldi were both somewhat atypical in creating novels to
promote their political agendas, they were clearly not unique. Their actions
thereby prompt a reevaluation of what constituted appropriate or at least
feasible behavior for a respected politician in the nineteenth century.

79. Moran, Catholic Sensationalism and Victorian Literature, 198–200.
80. Disraeli, Lothair, 1870, II, 226.

“We Were All Prejudiced More or Less
against Him”: The American Bishops’ Response
to Father Mathew’s Temperance Tour, 1849–1851
JOHN F. QUINN*
This article examines Father Theobald Mathew’s American tour of
1849–1851. The prospect of a visit from Ireland’s famed “Apostle of
Temperance” drew an excited response from Whig politicians and abolitionist leaders, two groups not usually linked with Irish Americans.
Both groups genuinely admired Mathew, however, and hoped that by
tying themselves to him they would be able to draw Irish Americans
into their ranks. Far less enthusiastic were the nation’s Catholic bishops, who were wary of the priest because of his associations with Protestants and abolitionists and his seeming deference to British authorities.
After some initial hesitation, Mathew chose to stay close to the bishops
and far from the abolitionists. By so doing, he was able to gain the
hierarchy’s support for what would prove to be an extraordinarily successful temperance mission.

I

n the early 1840s, American newspapers reported that Father Theobald
Mathew,1 Ireland’s celebrated “Apostle of Temperance,” would soon be
arriving in the United States.2 Mathew had enjoyed phenomenal success in
Ireland, administering the total abstinence pledge to five million Irishmen

* Dr. Quinn is professor of history at Salve Regina University in Newport, RI, email:
Quinn@salve.edu. He would like to thank Philip Gleason, Makenzie Sadler, Tricia Pyne,
and the editor and the anonymous reviewers of this journal for their assistance with this article. He is also grateful for financial support from the John E. McGinty Fund at Salve Regina
University.
1. Mathew was long neglected by historians, but there is now a substantial body of literature dealing with him: Elizabeth Malcolm, “Ireland Sober, Ireland Free”: Drink and Temperance in Nineteenth Century Ireland (Dublin, 1986); Paul A. Townend, Father Mathew,
Temperance and Irish Identity (Dublin, 2002); John F. Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade: Temperance in Nineteenth Century Ireland and Irish America (Amherst, MA, 2002); Colm Kerrigan,
Father Mathew and the Irish Temperance Movement, 1838–1849 (Cork, 1992); and George C.
Bretherton, “The Irish Temperance Movement, 1829–1847” (PhD diss. Columbia University, 1978).
2. The first notices appeared in the spring of 1843. See Providence Journal, April 29,
1843, 2; Newport Mercury, May 6, 1843, 2; The Emancipator, May 11, 1843, 7.

421

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

and women over a five year period.3 The prospect of Mathew’s visit was at
first eagerly anticipated by several of America’s Catholic bishops; they were
hopeful that he would be able to reach much of the Irish immigrant population which was then burgeoning and encountering increasingly sharp
opposition from nativists.4 However, as the bishops learned more about
Mathew’s liberal attitudes towards Protestants, his association with abolitionists, and his apparent deference to the British Crown, some came to
distrust him. In 1849 when Mathew finally set sail for the United States,
Bishop John Hughes of New York admitted to Archbishop Samuel Eccleston of Baltimore that he was sorry to hear that Mathew was “determined
on this undesirable visit.”5 Over the course of his stay, though, Mathew
was able to win over Hughes and most of the other members of the hierarchy and lay the groundwork for the sizable Catholic temperance movement that would emerge after the Civil War.
A Transatlantic Movement
Temperance came to Ireland in the 1820s by way of America, which
was then in the midst of the Second Great Awakening. In 1826 Rev.
Lyman Beecher, a Congregationalist minister caught up in the religious
revival, helped to initiate the movement with his Six Sermons on intemperance. In these fiery addresses, he not only condemned drunkenness in no
uncertain terms but also urged his listeners to forego all distilled spirits.
Beecher called for the establishment of a nationwide organization to guide
the fledgling movement and so the American Temperance Society (ATS)
was founded that year in Boston with the backing of a variety of Protestant
clergy and laymen.6
One of the early supporters of the ATS was Rev. Joseph Penney, an
Ulster Presbyterian who had immigrated to Rochester, New York in 1819.
In 1829 Penney returned to Ulster for a visit and persuaded a group of Presbyterian ministers there to establish the Ulster Temperance Society (UTS)
in Belfast. Like the ATS, the UTS required its members to renounce spirits
3. Malcolm, “Ireland Sober, Ireland Free,” 125.
4. For pre-Famine Irish migration to America, see Kerby A. Miller, Emigrants and
Exiles: Ireland and the Irish Exodus to North America (New York, 1985), 193–201. For nativism
in the 1830s and ’40s, see George Potter, To the Golden Door: The Story of the Irish in Ireland
and America (Boston, 1960), 241–316.
5. John Hughes to Samuel Eccleston, April 16, 1849, quoted in Richard Shaw, Dagger
John: The Unquiet Life and Times of Archbishop John Hughes of New York (New York, 1977), 236.
6. See Robert H. Abzug, Cosmos Crumbling: American Reform and the Religious Imagination (New York, 1994), 86–90.

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for life. Later in 1829, two Quaker doctors founded the Dublin Temperance Society, which likewise forbade its members from drinking spirits.7
In the early 1830s, temperance advocates in Ireland and America
began to favor total abstinence. While the temperance leaders of the 1820s
permitted the moderate consumption of beer and wine, teetotalers argued
that this two-tiered approach did not appeal to the lower classes. Since
poorer people tended to be whiskey drinkers, they were being told to swear
off alcohol while the wealthy could continue to have wine at their dinners.
In 1835, William Martin, an elderly Quaker reformer, set up a total abstinence society in Cork, and in the following year, American temperance
leaders dissolved the ATS and replaced it with the teetotal American
Temperance Union (ATU).8
Mathew’s “Miracle”
While the message of total abstinence from all alcoholic beverages was
easy to understand and was free of the patronizing overtones of the antispirits movement, teetotal activists had trouble drawing many Catholics
into their ranks. Martin decided that the society needed a Catholic priest
at the helm if he and its other leaders hoped to make inroads in the
Catholic community. Consequently, he reached out to his friend Father
Mathew, a popular Capuchin friar who had been stationed in Cork for
more than two decades. Mathew was an ideal choice. Having grown up on
a large estate in County Tipperary with his Anglican cousins, he was more
willing to collaborate with Protestants than most of his fellow priests.9 His
attire was sure to put Protestants at ease as well. As one of his admirers
noted, “His dress is plain . . . nothing ultra-clerical.”10
Mathew deliberated over Martin’s offer for a few weeks before agreeing in April 1838 to take the pledge and become the president of the Cork
Total Abstinence Society (CTAS). Mathew quickly proved himself an
articulate and appealing spokesman for the cause. As word spread about
him, prospective teetotalers came from neighboring towns to take the
pledge at his hands, kneeling before him and swearing to God never to
7. Malcolm, “Ireland Sober, Ireland Free,” 61–62.
8. Malcolm, “Ireland Sober, Ireland Free,” 109–110; Ian R. Tyrrell, Sobering Up: From
Temperance to Prohibition in Antebellum America, 1800–1860 (Westport, CT, 1979), 144.
9. For Mathew’s privileged upbringing, see Bretherton, “The Irish Temperance
Movement,” 194–96.
10. James Birmingham, A Memoir of the Very Rev. Theobald Mathew, 2nd ed. (Dublin,
1840), 26.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

FIGURE 1. A total abstinence pledge card from Father Mathew’s American
tour, ca. 1850 (Courtesy of the Rare Books and Manuscripts, Boston Public
Library)

touch alcohol again. By the end of 1838, Mathew had enrolled 6000 members, making the CTAS the largest temperance organization in the United
Kingdom. By the summer of 1839, the CTAS had grown to 24,000 members and Mathew had established eight reading rooms in Cork where total
abstainers could gather to meet their friends, drink coffee and tea, and read
newspapers.11
In September 1839 Mathew decided to travel to neighboring towns to
promote the cause. In each locale thousands came to hear him and take the
pledge from him; and when Mathew returned to his home in Cork he
found hundreds more waiting to see him. By October almost 5000 people
were joining the CTAS per week and Mathew was gaining the attention
of Ireland’s notables. At a banquet in Cork, the nationalist leader Daniel
O’Connell praised Mathew effusively, declaring temperance a “moral and
11. Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade, 60–61.

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425

majestic miracle.”12 Catherine McAuley, foundress of the Sisters of Mercy,
was just as enthused. Writing to a member of her community in Cork,
McAuley remarked, “It is no longer a laughing matter. All description of
persons speak most seriously of his extraordinary success and all wish he
could extend his influence to every place.”13
American Offshoots
Word of Mathew’s remarkable success quickly reached America. In
November 1839, the Boston Pilot, a leading Irish American newspaper,
introduced him to its readers: “The success of a Catholic clergyman, the
Rev. T. Mathew, who has become an apostle of Temperance in the South,
appears to have been extraordinary and unparalleled. The people flock to
him in great multitudes, and the number of those whom he has induced to
abandon the horrible vice of drunkenness is beyond calculation.”14
Whig papers, eager to promote moral reforms such as temperance, also
picked up on Mathew quickly.15 The Boston Courier ran a story the same
week as the Pilot, lauding the “wonderful success of a Roman Catholic clergyman in the cause of Temperance.”16 Another Boston journal that was
closely following Mathew’s activities was William Lloyd Garrison’s Liberator. A staunch teetotaler as well as an abolitionist, Garrison was thrilled to
chronicle Ireland’s “temperance reformation.”17 The paper ran a series of
articles on Mathew in 1840, claiming in June that he had pledged 800,000
people. Garrison was clearly impressed with Mathew’s way of proceeding:
“Whenever this extraordinary man administers the pledge he admonishes
the people of the nature of the promise that they are about to make, and the
inviolability with which it should be observed. . . . He exhorts them also to
forget religious animosities, to live in peace with all.”18

12. Quoted in Father Augustine, Footprints of Father Mathew, O.F.M. Cap., Apostle of
Temperance (Dublin, 1947), 107.
13. Mother Catherine McAuley to Sr. M. Josephine Warde, October 18, 1839, in The
Letters of Catherine McAuley, ed. Mary Ignatia Neumann, RSM (Baltimore, 1969), 173.
14. Boston Pilot, November 9, 1839, 340. The Cincinnati-based Catholic Telegraph
reported on Mathew a few weeks later. See Catholic Telegraph, February 5, 1840, 7.
15. For Whig support of temperance, see Daniel Walker Howe, The Political Culture of
the American Whigs (Chicago, 1979), 159.
16. Boston Courier, November 11, 1839, 1.
17. Liberator, May 29, 1840, 88; For Garrison’s teetotalism, see Henry Mayer, All on
Fire: William Lloyd Garrison and the Abolition of Slavery (New York, 1998), 49–50.
18. Liberator, June 5, 1840, 92. See also April 3, 1840, 56, April 17, 1840, 64, and May
29, 1840, 88, for stories on Mathew.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

In 1840–41 Mathew traveled all over Ireland, adding large numbers to
his rolls with each trip. He enrolled 70,000 new members in Dublin,
80,000 in Wexford, and another 80,000 in Ulster.19 By the beginning of
1841 he claimed to have given the pledge to three million Irishmen and
women. While crisscrossing Ireland, Mathew tried to avoid Daniel
O’Connell who was then in the midst of his Repeal campaign, which
sought an autonomous Irish parliament in Dublin. O’Connell regularly
hailed Mathew and Irish teetotalism at his Repeal rallies, but Mathew did
not refer to O’Connell out of fear of appearing politically partisan and perhaps alienating the British authorities.20 Mathew did intervene in politics
on one occasion, however. In 1841 he agreed to sign the Irish Address, a
letter penned by abolitionists in Dublin which was sent to the Irish in
America, urging them to stand against slavery and “treat the colored people
as your equals.”21 By signing the appeal, Mathew raised his standing even
higher in the eyes of Garrison and other abolitionists.
As news of Mathew’s successes spread, priests began setting up
temperance societies in several American cities and towns in 1840.
When the bishops held their Fourth Provincial Council in Baltimore in
May 1840, they took up the question of temperance. While recognizing
that intemperance was a “vice [that] has spread wide desolation over
many lands,” the bishops were unwilling to endorse teetotalism.
Although welcoming “abstinence from ardent spirits,” the bishops
refused “to recommend . . . total abstinence from a beverage which the
Sacred Scriptures do not prohibit, and of which the most holy persons
have occasionally partaken.”22
At least one member of the hierarchy was not satisfied with his confreres’ cautious pronouncement. Francis Kenrick, the Irish-born bishop of
Philadelphia, produced a pastoral letter of his own one month after the
Baltimore meeting. He called for the establishment of “a society similar to
that, which has been established by the zeal of a humble priest in Ireland,

19. Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade, 76, 86.
20. In the fall of 1840, O’Connell declared himself a teetotaler which made it harder
for Mathew to evade him. See Townend, Father Mathew, Temperance and Irish Identity,
207–11.
21. The full text of the letter is printed in Liberator, March 25, 1842, 47. See also Douglas C. Riach, “Daniel O’Connell and American Anti-Slavery,” Irish Historical Studies 20
(March 1976), 3–25; Angela F. Murphy, American Slavery, Irish Freedom (Baton Rouge,
2010), 50–53, 102–05.
22. Hugh J. Nolan, ed., Pastoral Letters of the United States Catholic Bishops 4 vols.
(Washington, D.C., 1983), 1: 135–36.

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427

with the pledge of total abstinence from all intoxicating liquors.”23 By
August, Kenrick noted approvingly in his diary that 5000 men in his diocese had taken the teetotal pledge.24
In the succeeding months, Catholic total abstainers began to organize.
In Boston, Bishop Benedict Fenwick administered the temperance pledge;
in Newport, Rhode Island, Catholic teetotalers marched in the town’s St.
Patrick’s Day parade; in Dubuque and other Iowa towns, an Italian missionary, Father Samuel Mazzuchelli, O.P., set up societies; organizations
were also established in a host of other places including Worcester, Providence, Lowell, New York City, Rochester, and Washington, D.C.25 In
Cincinnati, Charles Dickens witnessed a massive temperance rally when he
visited there in 1842. Dickens noted in his journal that he “was particularly
pleased to see the Irishmen, who . . . mustered very strong with their green
scarves; carrying their national Harp and their Portrait of Father Mathew
high above the people’s heads.”26 In Sandusky, Ohio, a French-born priest,
Joseph Machebeuf, informed his bishop, John Purcell, that he had given
the pledge to twenty five Irishmen after first taking it himself. His German
parishioners were another matter, however: “[a] few of them are giving
very bad example and only one of them took the temp. pledge.”27 As
Machebeuf learned, most Germans had little interest in total abstinence.
They tended to drink beer rather than whiskey and had never experienced
the sorts of alcohol problems that had plagued the Irish for so long.28

23. Quoted in Edith Jeffrey, “Reform, Renewal and Vindication: Irish Immigrants and
the Total Abstinence Movement in Antebellum Philadelphia,” Pennsylvania Magazine of
History and Biography, 112 (July 1988), 407–431, here at 407.
24. Francis Patrick Kenrick, Diary and Visitation Record (Lancaster, PA, 1916), 191.
Garrison provided sympathetic coverage of Kenrick’s activities. See Liberator, July 17,
1840, 116.
25. Bishop’s Journal, June 6, 1841, Archives of Archdiocese of Boston, Braintree, MA
[hereafter abbreviated AABo]; Newport Mercury, March 19, 1842, 2; Samuel Mazzuchelli,
The Memoirs of Father Samuel Mazzuchelli, O.P. (Chicago, 1915; reprint, Chicago, 1967),
248–50; Robert H. Lord et al., History of the Archdiocese of Boston, 3 vols. (New York, 1944)
2: 347–48; Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade, 156.
26. Charles Dickens, American Notes for General Circulation (London, 1842; reprint,
New York, 1985), 207–08.
27. Joseph Machebeuf to John Purcell, June 3, 1842, Purcell Papers, University of
Notre Dame Archives, Notre Dame, Indiana [hereafter abbreviated UNDA]. Machebeuf was
appointed the first bishop of Denver in 1887. See Lynn Bridgers, Death’s Deceiver: The Life of
Joseph P. Machebeuf (Albuquerque, NM, 1997).
28. See Tyrrell, Sobering Up, 297–303; Joan Bland, SND, Hibernian Crusade: The Story
of the Catholic Total Abstinence Union of America (Washington, DC, 1951), 17.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

The Long-Deferred Visit
As early as 1841, temperance enthusiasts began reaching out to
Mathew and asking him to visit the United States. The first invitation
came from the leaders of the nonsectarian Young Men’s Total Abstinence
Society, who asked him to come to New York City.29 In April 1843, Kenrick wrote to Mathew, asking him to visit Philadelphia in time for the July
4th parade.30 Catholic teetotalers had taken a prominent part in the city’s
Independence Day celebrations in preceding years.31 Several newspapers
reported that Mathew would be coming in the summer but he had already
committed to a major trip to England in the summer, so he had to defer
his visit to Philadelphia for another year.32
In May 1843 the bishops assembled again in Baltimore for their Fifth
Provincial Council. By this time the bishops had come around to Kenrick’s
position on total abstinence: “The enormous evils of intemperance, which
no tongue can portray, have given occasion to a remedy apparently
extreme. Millions in Ireland, and many thousands in this country, have
publicly pledged themselves to abstain from the use of all intoxicating
liquors. We cannot but approve.” They then listed a series of caveats. First,
they stressed that the “moderate use of wine is of itself perfectly lawful.”
Secondly, the pledge must be regarded as a resolution rather than a solemn
vow so that pledge breakers should not fear that they have committed a
grave sin. Finally, they declared that the Catholic faithful should avoid
“societies not based on religious principles, nor directed by the ecclesiastical authority.”33 While the bishops had not mentioned Mathew by name,
two of their warnings were clearly directed at him. The CTAS was not a
Catholic organization and Mathew did not consider the pledge to be
simply a resolution. He thought such a view would lead teetotalers to take
a casual view of the pledge.
This time Kenrick appeared to be in step with his confreres. The bishops had endorsed teetotalism and not simply abstinence from spirits. How29. Dublin Weekly Herald, May 8, 1841, 4.
30. F. P. Kenrick to Theobald Mathew, April 18, 1843, Mathew Papers Church Street
Friary, Dublin, 2:198 [hereafter abbreviated as MPCSF]; Truth Teller, May 6, 1843, 142.
31. See John F. Quinn, “The Rise and Fall of Repeal: Slavery and Irish Nationalism in
Antebellum Philadelphia,” Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, 130 (January
2006), 45–78, here at 54; and Dale B. Light, Rome and the New Republic: Conflict and Community in Philadelphia Catholicism between the Revolution and the Civil War (Notre Dame, IN,
1996), 285-86.
32. For example, see Newport Mercury, May 6, 1843, 2.
33. Pastoral Letters, 1: 143–44.

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429

ever, they called for such societies to be under Catholic auspices like Kenrick’s organization in Pennsylvania. Kenrick also shared the other bishops’
concerns about the pledge. These issues made him wary of Mathew. In
September 1843 Kenrick told his brother Peter, who was the bishop of St.
Louis, that “Mathew seems to detract from religion and to rest too much
on the pledge alone, not without injury to the grace and truth of God. I am
sorry therefore that I gave consent to the petitions of those who wished
him invited to America.”34 In November, Kenrick shared his concerns with
Father Paul Cullen, the influential rector of the Irish College in Rome and
future Archbishop of Dublin.35 Kenrick warned that “if not checked and
regulated, [Mathew’s movement] would degenerate into fanaticism.”36
Cullen had heard similar concerns the year before from Michael O’Connor, the Irish-born bishop of Pittsburgh. O’Connor worried that Mathew’s
movement was not sufficiently rooted in Catholic teachings.37 These letters
no doubt reinforced Cullen’s own qualms about Mathew. In 1841 Cullen
had informed Mathew of a complaint that he was “too liberal towards
Protestants in matters of religion.”38
Kenrick’s diocesan newspaper, The Catholic Herald, also took issue with
Mathew, noting that the pledge should not be viewed as a binding oath,
but rather as a “holy resolution,” which should be “followed or preceded by
confession and . . . holy communion.”39 Mathew chose not to reply to the
Herald, but was no doubt annoyed. In 1842, he had written to Father
Tobias Kirby, Cullen’s assistant in Rome, expressing his frustration with
Kenrick’s approach:
The intention of that truly Apostolic Prelate, Right Revd. Dr. Kenrick,
to form the poor Irish Teetotalers into a confraternity with Rules etc.,
and a declaration that the Temperance Pledge does not bind under any
sin, has overwhelmed me with anguish. . . . Should the plan of Dr. Ken34. F.P. Kenrick to Peter Kenrick, September 9, 1843, quoted in Hugh Nolan, Most
Reverend Francis Patrick Kenrick: Third Bishop of Philadelphia 1830–1851 (Philadelphia, 1948),
412–13.
35. On Cullen, see Desmond Bowen, Paul Cardinal Cullen and the Shaping of Modern
Irish Catholicism (Dublin, 1983); and Emmet Larkin, The Making of the Roman Catholic
Church in Ireland, 1850–1860 (Chapel Hill, NC, 1980).
36. F.P. Kenrick to Paul Cullen, November 23, 1843, printed in Records of the American
Catholic Historical Society, 7 (1896), 311–12 [hereafter abbreviated as RACHS].
37. Michael O’Connor to Cullen, January 10, 1842, printed in RACHS, 7 (1896),
348–49.
38. Cullen to Mathew, October 10, 1841, printed in Peadar MacSuibhne, Paul Cullen
and His Contemporaries, 5 vols. (Naas, Ireland, 1961–77), 2: 9–11.
39. Catholic Herald, September 28, 1843, 308.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

FIGURE 2. Photograph of Thurlow Weed by Mathew Brady, ca.1855–1865
(Courtesy of Library of Congress)
rick . . . be confirmed in Rome, there is an end to Teetotalism in his
Lordship’s diocese. There may be a few congregated under his Rules in
every district, but the great mass of people will return to their drunken
habits, and become again the disgrace of Catholicity.40

While Kenrick and Mathew had grown wary of each other, many
other Americans remained quite interested in the friar’s doings and hopeful
that he would soon visit their country. In June 1843, Thurlow Weed, a
leading Whig operative and journalist, joined his friend Bishop Hughes of
New York on a trip to Ireland.41 Weed sent letters back to his newspaper,
the Albany Evening Journal, describing the meeting that he and Hughes
had with Mathew in Cork before he set off for his English temperance
tour. Weed praised Mathew as a “truly philanthropic Divine” and
informed his readers that “if he [Mathew] should be led to believe that his
presence and efforts among us would promote the cause to which he has
40. Mathew to Rev. Tobias Kirby, May 5, 1842, printed in Nolan, Most Reverend
Francis Patrick Kenrick, 411.
41. See John Loughery, Dagger John: Archbishop John Hughes and the Making of Irish
America (Ithaca, 2018), 152–156.

J OHN QUINN

431

devoted himself, he told me that he would endeavor to cross the Atlantic
about this time next year.”42 For the next several months, American newspapers reported that Mathew would be coming to America in the summer
of 1844. Indeed, in February 1844, the Providence Journal noted that a
merchant in New York, Henry Grinnell, had arranged for Mathew to have
free passage on a packet ship from Liverpool.43 Just a few weeks later,
though, Mathew again postponed his trip.
“Churches in Flames and Streets Flowing with Blood”
In the spring of 1844, long simmering tensions between Catholics and
nativists finally turned violent in Philadelphia.44 Trouble arose when Kenrick petitioned the city’s school board to allow Catholic children to read
from the Douai-Rheims version of the Bible rather than the Protestant
King James translation. As soon as Kenrick filed his appeal, rumors spread
among nativists that the bishop was trying to ban the Bible from the public
schools, and riots broke out in May and again in July, leaving thirty dead
and 100 wounded and two Catholic churches badly damaged.45 To an ecumenist like Mathew, such violence among Christians was horrifying.
Writing to the Reverend John Marsh, a Congregational minister who was
secretary of the ATU, he expressed shock and sorrow:
I have been long and anxiously looking forward to the happiness I
expected to enjoy during my sojourn in the States. Recent calamitous
occurrences have blighted all my hopes. . . . Since I heard the fearful
details from Philadelphia I can speak or write or think of nothing but
churches in flames and streets flowing with blood, with bloodshed like
Abel of Old by a brother [he] knew.46

While Mathew was certainly disturbed by the Bible Riots, the violence
was not the only reason for the postponement of his trip. Writing to Thurlow Weed in July, Mathew declared,
42. Thurlow Weed to Editor of Albany Courier, June 28, 1843, printed in Thurlow
Weed, Letters from Europe and the West Indies, 1843–1862 (Albany, 1866), 25.
43. Providence Journal, February 21, 1844, 2.
44. Tensions had been building for at least a decade before the riots. In the 1830s, John
Hughes, who was then a pastor in Philadelphia, engaged in a long running and often rancorous
newspaper debate with one of the city’s leading Protestant divines, John Breckinridge. Topics
ranged from the medieval papacy to transubstantiation to Maria Monk’s fabricated, but wildly
popular, account of convent life in Montreal. See Loughery, Dagger John, 79–85, 89.
45. For the Bible Riots, see Michael Feldberg, The Philadelphia Riots of 1844 (Westport,
CT, 1975); and Ray Allen Billington, The Protestant Crusade, 1800–1860: A Study of the Origins of American Nativism (New York, 1938; reprint, Chicago, 1964), 220–37.
46. Mathew to John Marsh, [May–June, 1844] MPCSF, 9: 804.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”
I have looked forward with anxious anticipation to the happiness of
making a temperance tour through the States. . . . The disappointment is
indeed a bitter one; but it would be uncandid of me, were I to attribute
it solely, to the dismal doings at Philadelphia. The claims of my own poor
country to another year of my labour had partly determined me to remain
in Ireland for that period. I am now firmly resolved to devote the ensuing
twelve months, to the consolidation of our glorious society, in my dear
native Ireland, and then God permitting, the United States will be my
destination.47

Mathew was more forthright with Weed than he had been with
Marsh, but he still was not acknowledging the financial issues behind his
decision to postpone his trip. Mathew had been losing large sums of
money since taking over the CTAS. He spent liberally on his trips around
Ireland and England and usually was not reimbursed for the medals and
membership cards that he distributed. By the summer of 1844, Mathew
had run up £7000 in debts and in August he was briefly placed under arrest
by a bailiff for having failed to pay monies he owed to an English medal
manufacturer. Out of deference to Mathew’s sensibilities, the press did not
publicize the story.48
In October 1844, Mathew allowed an English Unitarian friend, Rev.
Thomas Hincks, to inform the public about his plight. Newspapers in Ireland and America were quick to publicize the news and organizations were
set up in both countries to free Mathew from his debts. In December
Mathew wrote to an American supporter admitting that his financial
“embarrassments” had “deranged all my plans. Last June I was resolved on
crossing the Atlantic; but these painful though then concealed circumstances, prevented me.” Still, Mathew was confident that because of the
generosity of his friends that he would “soon be free to resume my exertions in the sacred cause of temperance.”49
In fact, Mathew was overly sanguine about the fundraising efforts
undertaken on his behalf. In Ireland, Mathew Relief Committees were set
up in Dublin and Cork. The Dublin-based committee, which included
47. Mathew to Weed, July 6, 1844, Mss. Collection AHMC-Mathew-Theobald,
New-York Historical Society, New York, NY.
48. Mathew had hoped to inherit monies from his wealthy cousin Lady Elizabeth
Mathew, but when she died in 1841, she did not mention him in her will. See Colm Kerrigan,
Father Mathew and the Irish Temperance Movement, 79; and Malcolm, “Ireland Sober, Ireland
Free,” 138–42.
49. Mathew to unnamed, December 21, 1844, printed in Emancipator, February 5,
1845, 163.

JOHN QUINN

433

Daniel O’Connell on its board, hoped to raise £20,000 for him.50 In the
United States, meetings were held in Boston and Salem to contribute to
the Mathew Fund, and supporters in Halifax, Nova Scotia, raised money
for him as well. In April, Thomas D’Arcy McGee, the Pilot’s editor, urged
“New Orleans, Albany and other places, where extensive Irish Temperance
Societies exist” to send funds to Mathew, but it is not clear that any of
these organizations heeded his advice.51 By May, Mathew was able to
report to a priest friend in County Westmeath that with the aid of his
friends in England “and some partial help from Ireland, a sum of over
£7000 pounds has been raised, and my debts are liquidated.”52 While this
amount covered Mathew’s debts, it did not help with his ongoing expenses
and he would continue to fret about finances in the months following.
“The food of a whole nation has perished”
As Mathew was seeking to get his financial affairs in order, his attention was turned to a terrible crisis unfolding which would take the lives of
a million Irish people and lead another million to immigrate to America.53
In September 1845 reports appeared in the press of a potato blight affecting roughly half of the nation’s crop. Since much of Ireland’s population
was dependent on the potato for sustenance, Mathew recognized the gravity of the situation and focused on famine relief.54 He set up a soup kitchen
in Cork, testified before Parliament about the Famine, and wrote repeatedly to officials in America and England to alert them to Ireland’s dire
state. He corresponded with at least two American prelates: Bishop John
Purcell of Cincinnati and Father Martin Spalding, the vicar general of
Louisville. This was probably his first contact with an American bishop in
three years. He told Purcell what sort of aid he thought would be most
helpful and thanked Spalding for his generous contributions.55 Mathew
was also frequently in contact with Charles Trevelyan of the British Treasury Department, hoping to arouse his sympathy. In August 1846, with
famine conditions worsening, he warned Trevelyan that “the hopes of the
poor potato cultivators are totally blighted and the food of a whole nation
50. Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade, 119.
51. Boston Pilot, April 12, 1845, 118.
52. Mathew to Rev. John Fitzgerald, May 1845, printed in Dublin Evening Post, May
15, 1845, 3.
53. Miller, Emigrants and Exiles, 281–92.
54. For the Famine, see James S. Donnelly, Jr., The Great Irish Potato Famine (Stroud,
2007).
55. Mathew to Purcell, March 3, 1847, Purcell Papers, UNDA; Mathew to Martin
Spalding, May 1, 1847, MPCSF, 6: 525. Spalding became bishop of Louisville in 1850.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

has perished.”56 In December Mathew sent Trevelyan an even grimmer
account: “Men, women and children are gradually wasting away…At this
moment, there are more than five thousand half-starved wretched beings,
from the country, begging in the streets of Cork.”57 However, no report
from Mathew, no matter how alarming, did much to stir a response from
Trevelyan, who was determined that Lord John Russell’s administration
would pursue a laissez-faire course.58
By the spring of 1847 Mathew believed that the Famine was starting
to ease. In a letter to Weed in March he thanked him for the aid he and
other Americans had sent and assured him that he was thinking again of
America and planning a trip there in the following summer.59 A month
later Mathew was offered free passage to America on the USS Jamestown.
The ship’s captain, Robert Bennet Forbes, had just delivered 800 tons of
food donated by Americans, and was preparing to set sail from Cork back
to Boston.60 Mathew declined Forbes’s invitation, though, because he
wanted to stabilize his financial situation before departing.
Turning to his friends in the British government, he sought and
obtained an annual pension of £300 from Prime Minister Russell. While
the London Times characterized Russell’s action as a “well-earned tribute”
for a “good and pious man,” many Irish nationalists were outraged that
Mathew was taking money from the British in the midst of the Famine,
when anti-government sentiment was at an unprecedented high.61
Mathew’s critics moved swiftly to punish him. As fate would have it, the
parish priests of the Diocese of Cork were meeting to select candidates for
bishop at the same time that Mathew was negotiating his pension. The
priests listed Mathew as their top choice. Becoming Bishop of Cork would
no doubt have been a great boost to Mathew personally and to the total
abstinence movement and as the decision was publicized in the press,
Mathew received a number of congratulatory letters. However, the archbishop of the province, Dr. Michael Slattery, wrote to the Roman authorities and asked them to appoint the priests’ second choice because Mathew

56. Mathew to Charles Trevelyan, August 8, 1846, MPCSF, 10: 927.
57. Mathew to Trevelyan, December 16, 1846, quoted in Augustine, Footprints of
Father Mathew, 413–14. Emphasis in original.
58. See Robin Haines, Charles Trevelyan and the Great Irish Famine (Dublin, 2004).
59. Mathew to Weed, March 31, 1847, printed in New London Morning News, April
28, 1847, 2.
60. Stephen Puleo, Voyage of Mercy: the USS Jamestown, the Irish Famine, and the
Remarkable Story of America’s First Humanitarian Mission (New York, 2020), 151–92.
61. London Times, June 28, 1847, 8.

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had accepted a pension and would therefore be perceived as beholden to the
British government. Rome accepted Slattery’s advice and announced the
appointment of Father William Delany as the new Bishop of Cork in July
1847. Writing to Father Cullen in Rome, Mathew admitted that the decision was a crushing blow: “[T]he setting of me aside by the Holy See is a
public disapproval of my exertions in this sacred cause. . . . I am degraded
forever, having been dignissimus [most worthy] on the list and set aside.”62
Despite this setback, Mathew soldiered on with the cause and continued with his plans to visit the United States. In the fall of 1847, he reached
out to Bishop Hughes, telling him that he planned to be in New York in
the following spring.63 In January 1848, he sent another letter to Weed,
acknowledging that conditions were still “very gloomy in Ireland.” Nevertheless, he was determined to proceed with his trip so that he could promote the “sacred cause” and also to thank the many Americans who had
sent aid during the Famine.64 A few days later, Mathew wrote to Hughes
again, thanking him for his “much prized invitation” and informing the
bishop that he would be leaving Ireland in late May.65 It is not clear when
Hughes extended an invitation to Mathew. They had met in Ireland in
1840 and again in 1843 when Hughes was accompanied by Weed.66
Hughes may have invited him at one of those meetings or perhaps in
response to Mathew’s letter in the fall of 1847.
In the weeks following, several American newspapers reported on
Mathew’s upcoming visit and the preparations being made to receive him
in New York City. Henry Clay, the Whig elder statesman, gave a St.
Patrick’s Day address to the Hibernian Society of Baltimore, and declared
that Mathew’s arrival was imminent.67 Clay and other Whigs were interested not just in temperance but in the Irish vote and did not want to con-

62. Mathew to Cullen, July 2, 1847, Irish College Correspondence Transcripts,
Catholic Historical Research Center of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, Philadelphia, PA.
See also Townend, Father Mathew, Temperance and Irish Identity, 252–58.
63. Mathew to Hughes, October 29, 1847, John Hughes Papers, Archives of the Archdiocese of New York, New York, NY [hereafter abbreviated JHP-AANY].
64. Mathew to Weed, [January 1848], printed in (Brattleboro) Semi-Weekly Eagle, January 18, 1848, 2.
65. Mathew to Hughes, February 12, 1848, JHP-AANY.
66. In 1840, Hughes attended one of Mathew’s temperance rallies. See Loughery,
Dagger John, 119.
67. Henry Clay, “Speech to the Hibernian Society of Baltimore,” March 17, 1848, in
The Papers of Henry Clay [hereafter abbreviated PHC], ed. Melba Porter Hay, 10 vols.
(Lexington, 1991), 10: 417–18.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

cede it to the Democrats.68 Mathew’s visit offered the Whigs a great
opportunity to connect with Irish voters.
Less than a month later, Mathew again postponed his trip. Just as he
had done in 1844, he offered different explanations to different people. He
told Rev. Marsh of the ATU that his provincial was requiring him to travel
to Rome to meet with his Capuchin superior and he would not return from
that trip until the fall.69 Word of Mathew’s changed plans was slower to
reach Ireland. In late April, the Dublin Freeman’s Journal, an influential
nationalist newspaper, decided to warn the Irish in America not to be
taken in by Mathew:
We understand that the Rev. Theobald Mathew, the great Apostle of
Temperance, visits America this month. We trust that the Irish in America will receive him as he deserves, in his capacity as temperance apostle, and
that the reverend gentleman will not be tempted through his unwise
devotion to the British Government, to travel out of his proper province,
and use his high name to influence the political sentiments of the Irish
whom he visits. We respect and reverence the man and his mission in
Ireland and it is one of our causes of deepest regret that he should have
sullied his high name by associating himself with the cause of his country’s oppression. That he has done so in Ireland and England is alas too
true. May an all-wise Providence guard him from committing a similar
error in the free land which he is now about to visit. His visit to America
ought to be solely as the Ambassador of Temperance and in nowise as
the secret ambassador of the British Ministry.70

While this indictment of Mathew was not picked up by many American newspapers, it did draw the attention of the Boston Pilot and its editor,
Patrick Donahoe.71 The Pilot reprinted the Freeman’s Journal salvo in its
entirety and then gave Mathew a chance to respond. Donahoe published a
letter Mathew had written to an American friend, Colonel John Sherburne, explaining the pension. Mathew noted that the £300 covered the
annual premium on a £6000 life insurance policy he had taken out to pay
68. For the Whigs’ pursuit of the Irish vote, see Michael Holt, The Rise and Fall of the
American Whig Party (New York, 1999), 185, 188, 695–97; and Howe, The Whigs and American Political Culture, 201.
69. Mathew to Marsh, March 10, 1848, printed in Boston Evening Transcript, April 11,
1848, 2.
70. Freeman’s Journal, April 22, 1848, 2; Boston Pilot, May 20, 1848, 7. Emphasis in
original.
71. The prior editor, Thomas D’Arcy McGee, had returned to his native Ireland in
1845.

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FIGURE 3. Portrait of Father Theobald Mathew wearing a temperance medal
and holding one in his hand. A temperance fountain is in the background, with
the autograph dedication: “I send you my Portrait. It is I am informed a faithful likeness. Farewell dear Colonel [John Sherburne]. I am with the highest
respect your ever grateful and affectionate Friend. Theobald Mathew.” 1874
(Courtesy of the Library of Congress)

off his creditors in the event of his death.72 Clearly, Mathew was in no
better financial shape than he had been at the time of his arrest in 1844. In
a follow up letter to Sherburne, Mathew explained that the “late Famine
devoured every thing I could scrape together. . . . I could not resist the cries
of my fellow creatures, suffering from extreme want and wrung with tormenting hunger.”73 Donahoe was moved by Mathew’s letters and decided
to establish a Mathew Liberating Fund to free him from his debts.
In the end, Mathew did not travel to Rome or the United States in
1848. On Easter Sunday he suffered a serious stroke and was in no condi72. Mathew to Col. John Sherburne, May 30, 1848, printed in Boston Pilot, July 1,
1848, 4.
73. Mathew to Sherburne, [September 1848], printed in Boston Daily Atlas, October
21, 1848, 2.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

tion to travel in the weeks and months following. Mathew’s many difficulties caused some of his American supporters to grow weary and wonder if
he would ever make the journey. In the summer of 1848, one New York
newspaper noted,
Some doubts have existed in the public mind respecting the intention of
. . . [Mathew] to visit America. . . . [A]bout the time first fixed for his
visit it was declared . . . that a call to Rome ‘from his superior’ compelled
him to postpone his visit; then a letter was published . . . assigning
another reason for the delay; and now the Boston Mail announces, ‘on
authority,’ that a paralytic stroke will compel Mr. Mathew to abandon
the intended visit altogether.74

Other backers empathized more with Mathew over his financial and medical difficulties and continued to hope that he would one day visit America. For example, Garrison’s Liberator remained in Mathew’s camp, pointing out that he had suffered an “attack of paralysis, which is a very afflictive
circumstance.”75
Setting Sail at Last
In the weeks following, Mathew redoubled his efforts to get to America. By the spring of 1849, William Rathbone, the former mayor of Liverpool, had agreed to provide Mathew with a £500 contribution to defray his
travel costs. Now that it looked like he would be going after all, Mathew
reached out once more to Bishop Hughes. This time he not only assured
Hughes that he was looking forward very much to seeing him again, but
he also alluded to his pension. Knowing that Hughes was an ardent Irish
nationalist, Mathew assured him that if he “were free from pecuniary
embarrassments, I would immediately resign the pension granted by the
British government,” adding that he considered it “a deep degradation.”76
Mathew also sent another letter to Sherburne, asking him to try to lower
expectations among his American followers. Mathew declared that he “was
but a mere wreck of what I was” and would not be able to give any public
lectures. “[The American people] must be satisfied with the results of my
past labours.”77

74. New York Commercial Advertiser, printed in Newport Mercury, June 17, 1848, 2.
75. Liberator, July 21, 1848, 113.
76. Mathew to Hughes, February 11, 1849, JHP-AANY.
77. Mathew to Sherburne, April 7, 1849, Ms. 5055, 15, National Library of Ireland,
Dublin, Ireland.

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439

At the same time, though, Mathew was excited about the prospect of
visiting America. Addressing a sizable crowd of well-wishers in Cork
before setting off on his voyage, he stated, “I go also to afford myself the
pleasure and consolation of beholding my countrymen, not, as here, lingering through a life of protracted starvation and constant misery, but in the
midst of prosperity, enjoying . . . all the comforts that plenty and domestic
comfort confer.”78 Mathew hoped to administer the pledge to many of
these affluent Irish Americans, but surely he must have hoped that some of
the more well-heeled immigrants would provide him with financial support as well.
Reaching New York
Mathew’s letter to Hughes does not seem to have done much to
assuage the bishop’s apprehensions. Writing to Archbishop Eccleston in
April as Mathew was planning to set sail, he assured the archbishop that
he would do all that he could to keep Mathew “out of the hands of the
Philistines”—presumably the Protestant temperance advocates—but he
admitted that he hoped “no good and dread[ed] much evil from his…
visit.”79 When Mathew arrived at the beginning of July, a host of notables,
including the city’s Whig mayor, Caleb Woodhull, and Reverend Marsh
from the ATU, were there to greet him. A great mass of Irish men and
women were waiting for him as well, but Hughes was not among them.
After administering the pledge to 5000, Mathew was taken to Irving
House, one of the city’s most fashionable hotels. A couple of days later,
Mathew went with a priest friend, Joseph Schneller,80 to an ATU meeting
at the Broadway Tabernacle, a large Protestant church that was often used
for temperance and abolitionist rallies.81 Hughes had appeared there as
well, lecturing on the Famine in 1847.82
Still, as Mathew was going to an evangelical church to take part in an
event presided over by Marsh and other Protestant clergymen, he would
need to tread carefully so as not to violate the prohibitions in canon law on
78. Quoted in Boston Pilot, June 2, 1849, 2.
79. Hughes to Eccleston, April 16, 1849, quoted in Shaw, Dagger John, 236.
80. Schneller (d. 1860) was pastor of St. Paul’s Church, a largely Irish parish in Brooklyn. See Catholic Encyclopedia (New York, 1907) 2: 800.
81. The Tabernacle opened in 1835 and was for several years home to Charles Grandison Finney, the evangelical preacher. See Edwin G. Burrows and Mike Wallace, Gotham: A
History of New York City to 1898 (New York, 1999), 530–531.
82. See Loughery, Dagger John, 186.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

FIGURE 4. Official portrait of Archbishop Samuel Eccleston of Baltimore by
G.P.A. Healy, ca. 1842–1851 (Courtesy of the Archives of the Archdiocese of
Baltimore, Associated Archives at St. Mary’s Seminary and University)

ecumenical ceremonies. When word reached Eccleston that the event
started and ended with prayers by Protestant ministers, he was irate. A
zealous convert from Episcopalianism, Eccleston wanted to keep Catholics
separate from Protestants as much as possible and thus he was aghast that
Mathew had participated in what the archbishop took to be an interfaith
service.83 Hughes too was upset and immediately sent a stern letter to
Mathew, asserting that
things could not perhaps have taken place more in accordance with the
wishes . . . of the Enemies of our Holy Faith in this country. For my part,
I wished to receive you as a distinguished clergyman of the Catholic
Church. . . . But it was natural of me to hope that you should not be connected with any proceedings at variance with the principles and the
honor of that divine religion for . . . which our ancestors, our country
have so deeply suffered.

83. For Eccleston, see Thomas W. Spalding, The Premier See: A History of the Archdiocese
of Baltimore, 1789−1989 (Baltimore, 1989), 127–147.

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Hughes also enclosed a letter from Eccleston which he noted reflected “the
general sentiment of the whole Hierarchy in America.”84
After receiving the letters, Mathew went right away to see Hughes
and was very conciliatory. Hughes claimed that Mathew readily agreed to
move out of Irving House and into the cathedral rectory.85 From this point
on, Mathew began visiting Catholic institutions, usually in the company of
Hughes or one of the diocesan priests. At the end of July, as Mathew was
about to depart for Boston, Hughes wrote to Eccleston and tried to reassure him: “After the affair at the Tabernacle. . . . I sent him the next day
the letter of which I enclose you a copy. He came immediately, explained,
apologized, etc. Since then I am quite satisfied with his course—and on the
whole I trust that his visit will be beneficial to religion.”86
Eccleston was not so trusting. He had been consulting with other
bishops and some agreed with him that Mathew must do an act of public
reparation to atone for the scandal he caused at the Tabernacle. Bishop
John Timon of Buffalo was of that view. He informed Eccleston that he
had “spoken strongly” to Mathew on these matters and believed that “a
declaration in the terms that you expressed would be most useful perhaps
necessary.”87 Hughes argued for leniency, telling Eccleston that an act of
reparation would “be inexpedient—for I believe he was fairly entrapped,
and deeply mortified at the Tabernacle. Still, I am of the opinion that,
having been so severely admonished as he has been, he will have no excuse
for any similar occasion in the future.”88
Mathew answered Eccleston as well, offering a spirited defense of his
actions:

84. Hughes to Mathew, July 9, 1849, JHP-AANY.
85. Years later, John Marsh offered a very different account of Mathew’s reaction to
moving out of Irving House: “He [Hughes] assigned him only a small room in the basement
of the cathedral, altogether too small and obscure. [This was] much to the chagrin and mortification of Father Mathew who unhesitatingly said, he would never have gone, had he supposed he should have a place so small and obscure assigned to him.” John Marsh, Temperance
Recollections (New York, 1866), 191.
86. Hughes to Eccleston, July 22, 1849, Eccleston Papers, Archives of the Archdiocese
of Baltimore, Associated Archives at St. Mary’s Seminary and University, Baltimore, MD
[hereafter abbreviated AAB-AASMSU].
87. John Timon to Eccleston, July 21, 1849, Eccleston Papers, AAB-AASMSU.
Emphasis in original.
88. Hughes to Eccleston, July 22, 1849, Eccleston Papers, AAB-AASMSU. Emphasis
in original.

442

“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”
I regret deeply that you should judge me harshly, without investigating
more closely, my conduct. Since I first had the honour to be introduced
to your Grace, my life has been before the public, and I am not conscious
of having ever violated, during that time period, the principles of our
Holy Religion.89 . . . My attendance at the “Tabernacle,” at New York
was entirely accidental. I had no idea that the meeting was to be opened
or concluded by prayer nor would I have gone there, but finding that the
Rev. Mr. Schneller was to attend, I considered there could be no harm in
my presence. It was the first, and it will be the last meeting of the kind
that I shall ever attend.90

Garrison’s Guest?
In late July Mathew left New York for Boston. In the eyes of the
public, Mathew’s tour was proving a great success. He had administered
the pledge to 20,000 in New York and Brooklyn and no one knew of the
rebukes that he had received from Bishops Hughes, Eccleston, and
Timon.91 In Boston the same sort of difficulties awaited him: the bishop,
John Fitzpatrick, was not enthusiastic about his visit, while the city and
state’s political leaders and its Protestant reformers eagerly awaited him.
Garrison was especially keen to see him. In the Liberator, he noted that
abolitionists would be holding a great rally in Worcester on August 3rd to
commemorate West Indian Emancipation.92 After listing all the people
who would be speaking at the event, he added that invitations had also
gone out to Ralph Waldo Emerson and “last, not least, FATHER
MATHEW, the distinguished philanthropist of Ireland.”93
Upon his arrival in Boston, Mathew was greeted by the state’s Whig
governor, George Briggs, and Boston’s Whig mayor, John Bigelow, and a
host of Protestant ministers, including Lyman Beecher who was a famed
temperance advocate but also notorious among Catholics for the part he
played in triggering the Charlestown Convent attack in 1834.94 In hailing
Mathew, the governor made reference to the “political oppression” of the
Irish in a bid to woo some Irish voters from the Democrats. As a British
89. Eccleston and Mathew met in 1825 when Eccleston visited Ireland. See United
States Catholic Magazine, December 22, 1849, 805.
90. Mathew to Eccleston, July 30, 1849, Eccleston Papers, AAB-AASMSU.
91. For estimates on pledge takers, see Boston Pilot, July 21, 1849, 5.
92. This had occurred on August 1, 1840.
93. Quoted in Liberator, July 27, 1849, 118.
94. Beecher had delivered three fiercely anti-Catholic sermons in Boston on the day
before the convent was burned. See Nancy Lusignan Schultz, Fire and Roses: The Burning of
the Charlestown Convent, 1834 (New York, 2000), 165–66.

JOHN QUINN

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pensioner, Mathew was not about to comment on Briggs’ remarks.
Instead, he thanked the people of Boston for all the aid that they sent to
Ireland during the Famine. After the ceremonies ended, Mathew was
escorted to a suite of rooms at the Adams House, a fashionable downtown
hotel much like Irving House in New York.
Fitzpatrick had not attended the welcoming ceremonies but was following events closely and was not at all pleased by the company Mathew
was keeping.95 Writing in his diary, the bishop lamented that Mathew
comes to this country from Ireland somewhat in the character of the
Nation’s guest. His actions must consequently be controlled in a great
measure by the public authorities . . . and by . . . ultra-reformers and
pseudo-philanthropists. . . . The platform was also covered by sectarian
fanaticks, calvinist preachers and deacons. . . . The appearance of fellowship between a Catholic priest and such men can hardly be without evil
results.96

To resolve these problems, Fitzpatrick went to see Mathew at Adams
House and invited him to stay at the cathedral. The meeting must have
been amicable because three days later Mathew was at the bishop’s side in
Worcester attending the first commencement exercises at the College of
the Holy Cross. Although Fitzpatrick was mollified, Mathew’s problems
were far from over. The day after Mathew returned from Worcester, Garrison came to see him. Mathew had clearly not seen the latest issue of the
Liberator because he expressed shock when Garrison presented him with
an invitation to speak at the West Indian commemoration.97 Mathew
immediately declined, declaring, “I have as much as I can do to save men
from the slavery of intemperance, without attempting the overthrow of any
other kind of slavery!”98
For Garrison this was a bitter disappointment. Like the Whig politicians, Garrison had been trying for years to appeal to the Irish community
and draw at least a few of them into the abolitionist movement but had had
95. Thomas O’Connor, Fitzpatrick’s Boston, 1846–1866 (Boston, 1984), 95–96.
96. Bishop’s Journal, July 24, 1849, AABo.
97. In the invitation, Garrison and his associates informed Mathew that the Irish
Address had “fallen powerless on the ear and the heart of the Irish in this country” and
expressed their hope that Mathew would “bear a clear and unequivocal testimony” against
slavery while in America. Garrison et al. to Mathew, July 26, 1849, printed in Liberator,
August 10, 1849, 126.
98. Wendel Phillips Garrison and Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison,
1805–1879: The Story of His Life, 4 vols. (New York, 1885), 3: 251.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

no success. Irish Americans saw the abolitionists as nativists and viewed
the pro-slavery Democratic Party as their protectors.99 Mathew’s appearance at the rally might have led some Irish Americans to rethink their
views on the issue. Instead, he refused to appear or even send a message of
support to be read at the meeting. Incensed, Garrison denounced Mathew
at the Worcester event and then attacked him for his cowardice in five subsequent issues of the Liberator, engaging in what one of Garrison’s biographers describes as a “veritable barrage of propaganda” against him.100 The
last letter was especially damning: “In Ireland, you professed to be an
uncompromising abolitionist. . . . Now that you are on American soil you
have signified your determination to give the slave no token of your sympathy. . . . [Y]ou have added to the anguish, horror and despair of the poor
miserable slaves, made their yokes heavier, and fashioned their yokes more
securely!”101
Other abolitionists shared Garrison’s disappointment but offered
more measured criticisms of Mathew. Frederick Douglass, who had taken
the temperance pledge from Mathew in Cork four years earlier, was sorry
that Mathew, like so many foreign visitors, had “fallen.” Douglass hoped
that Mathew would “see his error, [and] confess his fault . . . before he
leaves this country.”102 Wendell Phillips, another abolitionist stalwart, criticized Mathew but then confided to a Scottish friend that “[Mathew] is
doing great good here. . . . [The Irish] flock to him.”103
Outside of abolitionist circles, opinion was overwhelmingly behind
Mathew. Whig politicians like Senator William Seward of New York rushed
to his defense, arguing that Garrison was being shrill and trying to bully a
great philanthropist. The Catholic press likewise took Mathew’s side. Donahoe assailed Garrison, his long-time foe, labeling him an “Inquisitor.”104
More importantly for Mathew, Archbishop Eccleston approved of his
99. See John F. Quinn, “Expecting the Impossible? Abolitionist Appeals to the Irish
in Antebellum America,” New England Quarterly, 132 (December 2009), 667–710; and Noel
Ignatiev, How the Irish Became White (New York, 1995), 6–31.
100. Walter M. Merrill, ed., The Letters of William Lloyd Garrison, 6 vols. (Cambridge,
MA, 1973), 3: 543. See also Liberator, September 7, 14, 28, October 5, 12, 1849.
101. Liberator, October 12, 1849, 162.
102. North Star, August 17, 1849, 2, reprinted in Liberator, August 24, 1849, 133. See
also Tom Chaffin, Giant’s Causeway: Frederick Douglass’s Irish Odyssey and the Making of an
American Visionary (Charlottesville, VA, 2014), 79–83, 162–64.
103. Wendell Phillips to Elizabeth Pease, July 24, 1849, Anti-Slavery Collection,
Boston Public Library, Boston, MA.
104. Boston Pilot, August 25, 6, September 29, 5, and November 10, 1849, 6.

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actions and sent him a supportive letter. Mathew thanked him for his “truly
paternal . . . truly gracious . . . beautiful” letter and told him that he was
“proud of your high approbation of my reply to Mr. Garrison.”105
Fitzpatrick grew closer to Mathew as well. The day after Mathew’s
encounter with Garrison, Mathew left Adams House and took up residence with the bishop. At the end of August, Fitzpatrick sent Eccleston a
glowing report on Mathew: “I find in him a man quite different from what
I have expected. He is perfectly sound and uncompromising in the faith,
. . . and we all have reason to rejoice in the fruits of his mission amongst
us although we were all prejudiced more or less against him before his
arrival. I think your Grace will be pleased with him.”106
Before leaving Boston, Mathew wrote to John Maguire, a close friend
in Cork.107 He told Maguire, “Mr. Garrison . . . strove to entrap me,” but
“the whole American Press” had sided with him. He also noted that he had
not had any success raising money: “The Irish are not rich and the Native
Americans do not sympathise in our affairs.”108 Indeed, Donahoe would
only collect about $2500 for the Mathew Liberating Fund and a Catholic
temperance group in New York raised $150, nothing near the amount
Mathew was hoping for.109
Having pledged 15,000 in the Boston area, Mathew traveled around
the rest of New England in the following weeks. He visited Indian settlements in Maine and the major cities and towns in New Hampshire,
Rhode Island, and Connecticut. A Rhode Island journalist noted gladly
that “political and religious divisions seem to be laid aside, and all classes,
with the exception of a few rumsellers, are uniting to combat a common
enemy.”110 In November, a fatigued Mathew reached Philadelphia, and
105. Mathew to Eccleston, August 29, 1849, Eccleston Papers, AAB-AASMSU.
Mathew’s efforts to distance himself from Garrison would also have pleased Bishop Hughes
as he had sparred with Garrison over the Irish Address in 1842. See Murphy, American Slavery, Irish Freedom, 78–84.
106. John Fitzpatrick to Eccleston, August 31, 1849, Eccleston Papers, AABAASMSU.
107. Maguire, a journalist and politician, wrote a full-length biography of Mathew in
1864.
108. Mathew to John Maguire, August 20, 1849, MPCSF, 22: 2134. “Native Americans” refers to those of English descent.
109. Boston Pilot, January 19, 1850, 7; Boston Evening Transcript, July 9, 1849, 2.
110. Providence Journal, October 4, 1849, 2; Catholic Telegraph, October 4, 1849, 4;
Robert W. Hayman, Catholicism in Rhode Island and the Diocese of Providence (Providence,
1982), 83–84.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

there he met Bishop Kenrick, another of his critics. When he finally
encountered Mathew face to face, Kenrick was taken by him. The bishop
told his brother Peter that “Theobald Mathew is my guest here. He
appears to be a very excellent man [who] . . . ought to be welcomed by all
of our bishops; for his whole soul is in the work of weeding out a vice,
which bears upon our fellow citizens as a burden of dishonor often.”111
Over the course of a two-week stay, Mathew visited several churches,
pledged 3000 people and attended a reception at Independence Hall with
the mayor and other city officials.112 In his diary, Kenrick noted that the
crowds that came to see Mathew included “Non-Catholics and people of
every class.”113
In early December, Mathew reached Baltimore, home of his most
severe critic in the hierarchy, Samuel Eccleston. Mathew went to see the
archbishop straightaway and the Baltimore diocesan newspaper reported
that Eccleston was “delighted” to see him.114 Mathew did not stay with
him, but instead resided with one of the priests of the diocese. While in
Baltimore, Mathew was especially careful to see Catholic sites: Visitation
Academy, St. Mary’s Seminary, St. Patrick’s Orphanage, among others.
He also administered the pledge to about 1000 people, including the city’s
mayor. Mathew could not stay long in Baltimore, though, because he had
been invited to visit the White House.115
“A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing”
Mathew reached Washington just before Christmas. Upon his arrival,
he headed to Georgetown College, whose president, Father James Ryder,
S.J., shared Mathew’s zeal for teetotalism.116 Mathew was warmly received
by faculty and students alike and the administrators declared the following
day a holiday so that students could see Mathew visit the Capitol. Unfortunately for all parties involved, Congress had just come back into session
after a nine-month break and its members were bitterly divided over what
111. F.P. Kenrick to Peter Kenrick, November 30, 1849, printed in John P. Marschall,
“Francis Patrick Kenrick, 1851–1863: The Baltimore Years” (PhD diss., Catholic University
of America, 1965), 55.
112. Nolan, The Most Reverend Francis Patrick Kenrick, 414; Catholic Herald, December
6, 1849, 389.
113. Kenrick, Diary and Visitation Record, 257, printed in Nolan, The Most Reverend
Francis Patrick Kenrick, 414.
114. United States Catholic Magazine, December 22, 1849, 805.
115. Ibid., 805–807.
116. Quinn, Father Mathew’s Crusade, 163.

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447

to do with the land that had been acquired in the Mexican War. Many
Southerners were furious that the president, Zachary Taylor, a slaveholding Whig from Louisiana, was willing to admit California as a free state.
This would tilt the balance in the Senate toward the free states and increase
the free states’ advantage in the House of Representatives.
It was at this juncture, with many Southerners agitated over California, that the Whigs decided to tie themselves once more to Mathew by
honoring him with a seat on the floor of Congress. Normally, a symbolic
gesture such as this would have been approved unanimously. However,
Mathew’s quarrel with Garrison had been widely publicized in the South
by a Georgia judge, Joseph Lumpkin, who had been hounding Mathew
about his part in the 1841 anti-slavery address.117 Aware of Mathew’s
action, several Democratic senators took out their anger on him, including
John Calhoun of South Carolina and Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, the
future president of the Confederacy. The senators were careful to avoid
attacking Mathew on religious or ethnic grounds and did not gainsay teetotalism. Their focus was the Irish Address, which according to Davis
demonstrated that Mathew was in fact a “wolf in sheep’s clothing [who]
had attempted to incite the Irishmen . . . to unite . . . with the abolitionists
in their nefarious designs against . . . the South.”118 Clay and Seward and
other Whigs immediately rose to Mathew’s defense, and even Stephen
Douglas, a pro-slavery Illinois Democrat and future presidential candidate,
took Mathew’s side. Douglas reminded his colleagues that temperance, not
slavery, was the issue at hand: “It is doing injustice to the character of this
distinguished philanthropist to attempt to connect his name with the subject of slavery.”119 In the end, a majority of senators agreed with Douglas
and voted to grant Mathew a seat on the Senate floor.120
After leaving the Capitol, a weary and no doubt frustrated Mathew
headed to the White House to visit with President Taylor and fifty other
well-wishers. Taylor, who was no teetotaler, toasted Mathew with ice
117. Lumpkin, the president of the Georgia Temperance Society, had asked Mathew
to visit but withdrew his invitation after learning about the 1841 Address. See Timothy
Huebner, “Joseph Henry Lumpkin and Evangelical Reform: Temperance, Education and
Industrialization, 1830–1860,” Georgia Historical Quarterly, 75 (Summer 1991), 254–74, here
at 262–63.
118. Quoted in Congressional Globe, 21, pt. 1 (December 20, 1849), 52, 56.
119. Quoted in Congressional Globe, 21, pt. 1 (December 20, 1849), 56.
120. For a detailed analysis of the Senate debate, see Stephen E. Maizlish, “Rehearsing
for the Great Debate of 1850: The Controversy over Seating Father Theobald Mathew on the
Floor of the Senate,” Civil War History, 64 (Winter 2018), 365–84.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

water on this occasion. Taylor’s biographer claims that Mathew was
charmed by the president.121
Southern Sojourn
Despite the hostile comments from Davis, Calhoun, and other Southern Democrats, Mathew was determined to press on to the South. Although
there were relatively few Irish immigrants in the South and not all that many
temperance organizations, Mathew still wanted to be there.122 With winter
approaching, he was anxious to get to the South, hopeful that its mild climate would help restore his health. He was in Richmond on Christmas Day,
administering the pledge to all comers and preaching twice at a Catholic
chapel.123 From Richmond he headed to Charleston, stopping on the way in
Wilmington, North Carolina.124 In Charleston, Mathew resided with the
bishop, Ignatius Reynolds, and preached in the city’s impressive cathedral.125
In his spare time, Mathew would go to the city’s grand Hibernian Hall and
administer the pledge. The Boston Pilot reported that Mathew’s health “has
much improved since his visit to the South” and was pleased to note that
1500 people had taken the pledge from him in Charleston.126
Reaching Georgia in February, Mathew stopped first at Savannah,
which had a significant Irish population.127 He was able to pledge 2300
people in just four days.128 Having avoided an encounter with Judge
Lumpkin, Mathew headed next for Mobile, Alabama, where he took up
residence with the city’s French-born bishop, Michael Portier, and started
working with the 2000 Irish immigrants living there. Portier was thrilled
by all that Mathew was able to accomplish. After Mathew left for New
Orleans, Portier wrote to its bishop, Antoine Blanc, who was also a French
native: “I will forever thank God for the good this truly pious humble and
charitable religious has done in my diocese by his holy and benevolent
labours.” Portier could not help adding that Mathew would find Blanc’s
121. Holman Hamilton, Zachary Taylor, Soldier in the White House (Indianapolis,
1951), 260–61.
122. There were only about 55,000 Irish in the South in 1850. See David T. Gleeson,
The Irish in the South (Chapel Hill, NC, 2001), 26–27. For the temperance movement’s weakness in the South, see Ian R. Tyrrell, “Drink and Temperance in the Antebellum South: An
Overview and Interpretation,” Journal of Southern History, 48 (November 1982), 485–510.
123. Boston Daily Atlas, January 2, 1850, 2.
124. Boston Pilot, January 19, 1850, 5.
125. Boston Pilot, January 26, 1850, 6; U.S. Catholic Miscellany, January 5, 1850, 183.
126. Boston Pilot, February 2, 1850, 5.
127. The city was about 10% Irish in 1850. See Gleeson, Irish in the South, 35–36.
128. U.S. Catholic Miscellany, February 9, 1850, 217.

J OHN QUINN

449

diocese challenging: “New Orleans, will offer to his zeal an immense field,
a field worthy of his heavenly mission.”129
Indeed, Portier was right about the difficulties Mathew would face.
New Orleans, with a population of 115,000, was the South’s largest city,
and temperance advocates had never been able to make headway there. As
soon as Mathew arrived, he focused on the city’s 20,000 Irish immigrants
and ended up giving the pledge to 14,000 people before his two month stay
was over.130 From New Orleans, Mathew sailed up the Mississippi to
Natchez, where he was hosted by Bishop John Chance, S.S., for two
weeks. Chance sent Blanc a letter that was just as effusive as Portier’s:
“Father Mathew left us this morning early for Vicksburg. His stay here has
been of great good. Many more persons have taken the pledge than I
expected. . . . I am rather pleased with him and his visit.”131
Mathew’s next stop was Little Rock, Arkansas, which was sparsely
populated. At last, Mathew was in a place where he could try to rest. The
city’s Irish-born bishop, Andrew Byrne, urged him to go to Hot Springs to
bathe in the waters. The baths did not seem to help him much, though, and
Mathew left Arkansas in a fragile state. By October he reached St. Louis,
and there he stayed with Archbishop Peter Kenrick, brother of Francis.
For a month he resumed his grueling old schedule, giving sermons and
speeches and the pledge to whoever was interested. By the time he was
ready to leave, 10,000 had become total abstainers.132
With winter approaching, Mathew thought it imperative that he
return to the South. By Christmas he was back in New Orleans giving the
pledge to new members and administering it a second time to those who
had lapsed since taking the pledge from him earlier in the year. In March
1851, Mathew set off for Nashville, but suffered a severe and almost fatal
stroke on the way. This setback made Mathew realize that he had to end
his tour and return home to Ireland. He had hoped to visit a bishop in
Galveston, Texas, see Notre Dame, a newly founded school for boys in
Indiana, and meet Indian tribes in the western states, but none of those
trips would now be possible.133

129. Michael Portier to Antoine Blanc, March 22, 1850, New Orleans Collection,
UNDA.
130. Earl Niehaus, The Irish in New Orleans, 1800–1860 (Baton Rouge, 1965), v, 23.
131. John Chance, S.S. to Blanc, June 1, 1850, New Orleans Collection, UNDA.
132. Boston Pilot, January 4, 1851, 3; Catholic Telegraph, October 26, 1850, 2.
133. Bishop John Odin had invited Mathew to Galveston. See Odin to Blanc, March
19, 1851, New Orleans Collection, UNDA. Father Edward Sorin, C.S.C. had invited him to

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

Consequently, Mathew began to wind his way back to New York,
where he would get on a boat back to Ireland. On his way, Mathew decided
to stop in Kentucky and see Henry Clay at his famed plantation, Ashland.
Mathew hoped that Clay would help him raise some more money before he
returned home. Clay agreed and issued an “Appeal to the American Public,”
asking for help for “one of the greatest benefactors our country has ever
entertained.”134 Clay was in very poor health, however, and not able to
solicit funds actively on Mathew’s behalf.135 Mathew’s problems were compounded by the abolitionist press which ran a series of articles questioning
whether Mathew planned to use the monies raised for his temperance work
or to finish building a church in Cork.136 In the end, Clay’s appeal, like
Donahoe’s, would fail, only netting Mathew a few hundred dollars.137
From Kentucky, an ailing Mathew traveled to Cincinnati, the bustling
“Queen of the West,” and reached it by the end of June. The city’s Irishborn archbishop, John Purcell, was not there to greet him, however, as he
was then traveling in Europe.138 Mathew stayed at the episcopal residence
and preached in the cathedral and was able to add 12,000 more total
abstainers to his rolls.139 By July Mathew was in Pittsburgh, staying with
Bishop Michael O’Connor, another of his early critics. O’Connor, too, was
very pleased with Mathew when he finally met him. O’Connor invited him
to preach at a hospital benefit and to promote temperance in a sermon at a
Mass. At the end of the Mass, O’Connor was the first person who came
up to take the total abstinence pledge at Mathew’s hands.140
From Pittsburgh, Mathew headed to upstate New York before reaching New York City at the end of September. Before Mathew set sail for
Ireland, Hughes invited him to preach at St. Patrick’s Cathedral—a sure
Notre Dame. See Arthur J. Hope, C.S.C., Notre Dame: One Hundred Years, rev. ed. (South
Bend, IN, 1978), 230. For Mathew’s interest in the “Indian Settlements,” see Pittsburgh
Catholic, August 31, 1850, 196.
134. For the Appeal, see Boston Pilot, October 4, 1851, 7; and New York Times, September 25, 1851, 2.
135. Clay died in June 1852.
136. Independent, October 23, 1851, 2, and Frederick Douglass Paper, October 30, 1851,
2. Mathew made a series of conflicting statements about how the money would be spent and
the abolitionist papers highlighted Mathew’s missteps.
137. Clay blamed the appeal’s failure on “religious prejudice.” See Clay to Henry Grinnell, November 5, 1851, PHC, 10: 929.
138. The main purpose of Purcell’s trip was to obtain the archbishop’s pallium from
Pope Pius IX. See Boston Pilot, April 19, 1851, 3, and August 9, 1851, 3.
139. Boston Pilot, June 28, 1851, 2, and July 26, 1851, 3.
140. Pittsburgh Catholic, July 26, 1851, 156 and August 2, 1851, 164.

JOHN QUINN

451

sign that the tensions of 1849 had been put aside.141 Having often praised
America for the economic opportunities it offered Irish immigrants, he
now cautioned his listeners about the dangers of wealth. After Mass,
Mathew administered the pledge to 4000 people.142
Prior to departing, Mathew penned a “Farewell Address” that
appeared in several newspapers. He began by offering his “deep and grateful appreciation of the generous sympathy . . . which I have experienced in
every section of this vast Union.” He then expressed his pride in having
“been instrumental in adding to the ranks of temperance over 600,000 disciples in America.”143 Many newspapers agreed that he had achieved
much. The New York Herald noted that “he has visited . . . twenty-five
States of the Union, has administered the temperance pledge in over three
hundred of our principal towns and cities, has added more than half a million of our population to the long muster roll of his disciples; and . . . has
traveled thirty-seven thousand miles.”144 Only the abolitionist press
remained unmoved. Garrison ran a tart notice in the Liberator: “It is said
that Father Mathew is soon to return to Ireland. Pity he ever left it.”145
Mathew and America’s Temperance Revival
When Mathew left New York City in November 1851, he was gravely
ill and no more financially secure than he had been when he arrived in
1849. Although he lived for five more years, he was never healthy enough
to resume his temperance work. Despite the toll it took on Mathew, the
American tour was a resounding success for him, the crowning achievement of his career.
Mathew angered abolitionists and pro-slavery partisans alike, a clear
indication of the nation’s growing polarization on the issue.146 The Whigs,
however, remained steadfast supporters who sought to link themselves to
him whenever possible. Most other Americans were also favorably disposed
to him and supportive of the work that he was seeking to accomplish. Even
the bishops who had been initially suspicious of him became his firm sup141. Mathew preached in what is now called Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Construction
on the current St. Patrick’s Cathedral did not begin until 1858. See Loughery, Dagger John,
282–285.
142. Boston Daily Atlas, October 15, 1851, 2.
143. New York Times, November 10, 1851, 4.
144. New York Herald, November 8, 1851, printed in Maguire, Father Mathew, 517.
145. Liberator, August 29, 1851.
146. See Maizlish, “Rehearsing for the Great Debate of 1850,” 383–384.

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“WE WERE ALL PREJUDICED MORE OR LESS AGAINST HIM”

porters after getting to know him. Although he had a much more ecumenical outlook than the bishops, Mathew was willing to work with them and
support their Catholic total abstinence societies. He also deferred to them
on questions surrounding the nature of the pledge. Mathew’s efforts helped
to expand dramatically the size of these teetotal organizations.
When the temperance movement revived in America in 1870 after a
lull during the Civil War years, many of the men that Mathew had pledged
became leaders of a new organization, the Catholic Total Abstinence
Union (CTAU).147 The CTAU had the strong backing of a group of bishops known as Americanists because of their enthusiasm for American
institutions.148 The most prominent teetotalers among this group were
Archbishop John Ireland of St. Paul and Bishop John Keane of Richmond.
Both men liked to boast that they had taken the pledge from Father
Mathew when they were children in Ireland and had remained faithful to
it.149 Ireland, Keane, and the CTAU leadership honored Mathew in a host
of ways: with Father Mathew halls and statues, a proposed Father Mathew
Chair at the Catholic University of America, and parades each October
10th in honor of Mathew’s birthday.150 Of course, this generation reshaped
Mathew just as the midcentury bishops had done. For Ireland, Keane, and
the CTAU, Mathew was a wonderful example of a law-abiding, sober
Irishman. He was the perfect counter to nativists who depicted Irish immigrants as violent drunkards and he would be held up as a model for
Catholic immigrants until the 1920s when Prohibition’s unpopularity
caused the Catholic temperance movement to falter.151

147. Bland, Hibernian Crusade, 41–45; Potter, To the Golden Door, 525.
148. On Americanism, see the summer 1993 issue of U.S. Catholic Historian which is
devoted to the subject.
149. Marvin R. O’Connell, John Ireland and the American Catholic Church (St. Paul,
MN, 1988), 184.
150. On the effort to endow a Father Mathew Chair, see Patrick H. Ahern, The
Catholic University of America, 1887–1896 (Washington, DC, 1948), 81. For the Father
Mathew Hall in Worcester, see Timothy Meagher, Inventing Irish America: Generation, Class
and Ethnicity in a New England City, 1880–1928 (Notre Dame, IN, 2001), 163.
151. For Americanist support of temperance, see John F. Quinn, “Father Mathew’s
Disciples: American Catholic Support for Temperance, 1840–1920,” Church History, 65
(December 1996), 624–40; and idem, “’It’s Fashionable Here to be a Total Abstainer’: Temperance Advocacy at the University of Notre Dame, 1870–1940,” American Catholic Studies,
110 (Spring–Winter 1999), 1–27.

Spaces of Dissent: Violence and Cuban Catholic
Resistance, 1959–1961
DANIEL THOMPSON*
This article examines why the Catholic clergy’s political response to the
Revolutionary government increasingly resulted in violence from 1959
to 1961. This article focuses on two spaces—churches and public
Catholic celebrations—where violence between Catholics and government forces received the most attention. Violence erupted at these spaces
when they functioned as spaces of political dissent. Tracing the evolution of these spaces of dissent adds to more recent understandings of the
clergy’s political influence, which seems to have increased during this
period. The decline of Cuba’s free press and the position of Cuba’s
remaining press to denounce clerical opposition as illegitimate contributed to a heightened interest in the clergy’s political messages.
Catholic spaces operated differently than the press, which made
Catholic public dissent more resilient because it was more difficult to
control or close. The transformation of Catholic celebrations into spaces
of dissent also highlights the emergence of a more coherent Catholic
political identity that could challenge the government’s vision of a loyal
revolutionary. Given the resilience of Catholic resistance and the
movement of people to Catholic gatherings, pro-government forces
resorted to violence mainly to cripple opposition clerics’ political voices
and eliminate their spaces of dissent.
Keywords: Cuba, Catholic clergy, 1960s, violence, dissent, political mobilization

S

hortly after midnight on January 1, 1959, Fulgencio Batista fled Havana
with his family, ending his almost seven-year dictatorship over Cuba.
Cubans poured into the streets to celebrate Batista’s overthrow, which many

* Daniel Thompson received a Bachelor’s degree in history with distinction from the
University of Pennsylvania and a Master’s of Arts in Religion with a concentration in ethics
from Yale Divinity School. He would like to thank Beth Wenger, Ann Farnsworth-Alvear,
Dagoberto Valdéz Hernández, Teresa Fernández Soneira, the staff at the Cuban Heritage
Collection housed at the Otto G. Richter Library at the University of Miami in Coral Gables,
FL, and everyone else who read this paper and offered comments. Additional thanks to the
Gelfman International Summer Fund for their support.

453

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SPACES OF DISSENT

attributed to Movimiento 26 de Julio, the most prominent resistance movement to emerge during the revolution. Several prominent Catholic leaders
joined the chorus, as Archbishop Enrique Pérez Serantes published a pastoral letter that praised Movimiento’s leader Fidel Castro, describing this
period in Cuba as “a new life.”1 Less than twenty-four hours after Batista
fled, Fidel Castro delivered an address to the Cuban people. With Archbishop Pérez at his side, Castro symbolically affirmed the Catholic clergy’s
support for his fledgling Revolutionary government.2 Members of Catholic
hierarchy and some of the laity welcomed the opportunity to participate in
this revolution as Catholics, in other words, as Catholic revolutionaries.
Between early 1959 and late 1960, however, communist sympathizers
seized key positions in the Revolutionary government and forced opposing
viewpoints out of power, leading some clergy to question and oppose the
new regime.3 During this period, the relationship between Catholic leaders
and government officials deteriorated, as both sides became embroiled in a
rapidly bifurcating conflict that spilled from the public press into churches
and streets.4 This conflict culminated in September 1961, when the government exiled more than two-thirds of Cuba’s clergy, pushing dissident
clerics out of the public sphere.5
Clerics and government leaders did not always hold diametrically
opposed ideological and political views.6 Many priests supported socially

1. La voz de la Iglesia en Cuba: 100 documentos episcopales (México City, 1995), 53–59.
2. Earl T. Smith to the Department of State, January 2, 1959. NARA, RG 59, General
Records of the Department of State, 1955-1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3080.
737.00/1-259.
3. Many, but not all, of these leaders, including Raul Castro and Osvaldo Dorticós
Torrado, had ties with Cuba’s main communist organ, Partido Socialista Popular (PSP).
Although Fidel Castro did not declare Cuba to be a socialist state until May 1961, Lillian
Guerra argues that by October 1959, any claim that the Cuban revolution was non-communist or anti-communist could result in political suicide. Lillian Guerra, Visions of Power in
Cuba: Revolution, Redemption, and Resistance, 1959–1971 (Chapel Hill, N.C., 2012), 89–91.
For other overviews, see: Jorge I. Domínguez, To Make a World Safe for Revolution: Cuba’s
Foreign Policy (Cambridge, MA, 1989), 16–35; Phillip W. Bonsal, Cuba, Castro, and the
United States (Pittsburg, 1971), especially 25–37, 92–144, 165–70.
4. Raúl Gómez Trento, The Church and Socialism in Cuba, trans. Phillip Berryman
(Maryknoll, NY, 1988), 44.
5. Francis J Sicius, “The Miami Diocese and the Cuban Refugee Crisis of 1960–1961,”
Tequesta: The Journal of the Historical Association of Southern Florida, 61 (2001), 38–57, here
38–40; Montenegro A. González, “Historia e historiografía de la Iglesia en Cuba: 1959–
1976,” Anuario de Historia de la Iglesia, 18 (2009), 261–93, here 277.
6. Many prominent Church leaders who resisted the government, like Pérez and Boza
Masvidal, framed their political arguments in terms of their theology. It is difficult, if not

DANIEL THOMPSON

455

egalitarian reforms like land redistribution, especially in rural areas. Not all
clergymen aligned with emerging anti-government political movements, as
several explicitly associated themselves with the regime. During this period,
government officials did not aim to crush Catholicism altogether, and many
Catholic leaders like Bishop Boza Masvidal believed that Fidel Castro
intended to establish a state-run Church.7 Nonetheless, most of Cuba’s
Catholic hierarchy equated communism with tyranny and atheism. Church
leaders framed the government’s seizure of private institutions, especially
related to Catholic education, as an existential threat to their survival.8
Tracing the rise of Catholic gatherings from 1959 to 1961 as spaces of
dissent complicates most previous understandings of the clergy’s political
impact. Many analyses of this period emphasize the clergy’s lack of political influence compared to that of the government, which was compounded
by the voluntary and involuntary mass exile of many upper and middleclass Catholics.9 Comparatively fewer scholars contend that Catholic lead-

impossible to separate their theology and politics in many instances. In this vein, my use of
“political” attempts to capture the theological, philosophical, and other approaches that
Cuban clerics used to question and denounce the political legitimacy of government programs, government leaders, and the government itself.
7. In this vein, Lillian Guerra finds that Fidel Castro often wove Biblical references into
his speeches to cast the Revolution as a righteous struggle for justice and equality; Lillian
Guerra, “‘To Condemn the Revolution is to Condemn Christ’: Radicalization, Moral
Redemption, and the Sacrifice of Civil Society in Cuba, 1960,” The Hispanic American Historical Review, 89.1 (2009): 73–109, 78–79; “‘Fidel Castro Fracasó en el Intento de Crear una
Iglesia Nacionalista,’ dice el Obispo Boza Masvidal en España,” newspaper clipping, Sept. 29,
1961, in: Directorio Revolucionario Estudiantil Records, Cuban Heritage Collection, Box
No. 57, Folder 3; Cruzada Femenina, “Persecution Religiosa en la Republica Socialista Sovietica de Cuba,” Series 4, Fall 1960, in Iglesia y Religion en Cuba pamphlet collection, Cuban
Heritage Collection. Box No. 1.
8. The Cuban Catholic leadership forbade Catholics from supporting or promoting any
form of communism, highlighting the incompatibility between communism and Catholicism.
Bishop Boza Masvidal condemned communism as “the most oppressive of all tyrannies.” In
May 1960, the Catholic Hierarchy circulated one of Archbishop Pérez’s letters that explicitly
banned Catholics “from walking hand-in-hand with communism.” Trans. Author, Eduardo
Boza Masvidal, Voz En El Desierto (Miami, 1976), 29; Text of the publication found in: Godfrey H. Summ to the Department of State, November 16, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General
Records of the Department of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/11-1660.
9. Joseph Holbrook, “The Catholic Church in Cuba: The Clash of Ideologies” International Journal of Cuban Studies, 2.3/4, (2010), 264–75, here 265; Tomas E. Quigley, “The
Catholic Church in Cuba,” in: Catholicism and Politics in Communist Societies, ed. Sabrina P.
Ramet (London, 1990), 297–312, here 297–99; John M. Kirk, “From Counterrevolution to
Modus Vivendi: The Church in Cuba, 1959–84,” in: Sandor Halbersky and John Kirk, eds.,
Cuba: Twenty-Five Years of Revolution, 1959–84 (New York, 1985), 93–113, here 93–97;

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SPACES OF DISSENT

ers exercised political sway relatively equal to the government.10 Both
analyses assume that the clergy’s political influence in Cuba stagnated or
declined from 1959 to 1961. Instead, the clergy’s political influence seemed
to increase. A newer wave of scholarship has taken more seriously these
dynamics of Catholic political opposition.11 In this vein, this paper argues
that the relationship between Cuba’s free press, clerical dissent, Catholic
gatherings, and Catholic political mobilization has been understudied.
Studying certain patterns of violence during this period makes this relationship clearer.
In early 1959, most Cuban Catholics, especially those in rural regions,
did not attend Mass and clerics held differing views of the Church’s political
stance in relation to the Revolutionary government. Over the next two years,
however, many Catholics unified around a shared opposition to the government’s revolutionary project. Church buildings seemed to take on a new role
as spaces of dissent. This trend was augmented by the decline of Cuba’s free
press, which attracted opponents of the government who wished to continue
their opposition publicly. The increased antipathy toward dissident clerics in
Cuba’s remaining media also heightened political interest in other Catholic
celebrations, including holy days, congresses, and parades.
This work examines how the Cuban clergy’s political response to the
government culminated in violence during Catholic gatherings. Official
reports of violence between Catholic and pro-government forces note
shootings and stabbings, but violence generally took the form of brawls and
disorganized street fighting.12 Even though government officials often
charged dissident clerics as the instigators of violence, most of the fighting
seemed to involve Catholic and pro-government youth. The article’s analysis precludes the destruction and bombing of Catholic buildings and government offices, whose perpetrators remain unknown or disputed. This
Jorge Domínguez, “International and National Aspects of the Catholic Church in Cuba,”
Cuban Studies 19 (1989), 43–60, here 48; Margaret Crahan, “Catholicism in Cuba,” Cuban
Studies 19 (1989), 3–24, here 21; Denis Janz, World Christianity and Marxism (Oxford, U.K,
1998), 112.
10. Sicius, “The Miami Diocese,” 38; Miguel De La Torre’s stance on the Church’s
power compared to the government is not to the same degree as Sicius. Miguel De La Torre,
The Quest for the Cuban Christ (Gainesville, FL, 2002), especially 97–101.
11. Guerra, Visions of Power in Cuba, 103; Petra Kuivala, “Never a Church of Silence:
The Catholic Church in Revolutionary Cuba, 1959–1968” (PhD diss.: University of Helsinki,
2019), 78–123.
12. This definition of violence accords with Ekkart Zimmerman’s typology of direct
violence between persons. Ekkart Zimmerman, Political Violence, Crises, Revolutions: Theories
and Research, 1983 reprint (New York: Routledge, 2011), 9–11.

DANIEL THOMPSON

457

article also avoids speculations about other resistance roles that a handful
of clerics may have chosen, such as bombers and guerillas.13 This sectarian
and clandestine violence is deeply important to the legacy of Catholic
resistance, but this article focuses on broader recurring trends in violence
because they can help shed new light on Catholic political mobilization,
despite differences in bias among sources.
Studying violence between Catholics and government forces during
this period is particularly difficult, since bias greatly influenced the ways
that these confrontations were covered and reported. Most available
reports from this period can be divided into five categories, all with their
own sets of biases: individual testimony, foreign government reports,
reports from the foreign press, Catholic reports (often filtered through the
lenses of foreign agencies), and reports from the Cuban press.14 Reports of
Jesuit Marcial Bedoya’s violent confrontation with police in late August
1960 demonstrates the inconsistency between sources. According to the
State Department’s Catholic sources, G-2 agents shot and arrested Bedoya
because of his involvement in a plot to blow up the Managua powder magazine.15 The international press asserted that police shot Bedoya as he
shielded Catholic youths from arrest.16 Most of Cuba’s mainstream
domestic press did not comment on this incident, although leaders like
Raúl and Fidel Castro increasingly mentioned the involvement of Catholic
priests in bombings more generally.17
Given the problems with analyzing violence from 1959 to late 1961,
this article will focus on the two general points of convergence between
these sources: where and when violence erupted between anti-government
13. Eugene A. Gilmore to the Department of State, January 2, 1961. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
2452. 837.413/1-261; “Piden Paredón en Camagüey para un Terrorista,” Hoy, Jan. 7, 1961, 3.
14. Petra Kuivala’s article details some of the problems with the Cuban Church’s
archive. Petra Kuivala, “Is There Church History in Revolutionary Cuba? Accessing and
Analysing Cuban Catholic Sources,” International Journal of Cuban Studies 8.2 (2016), 309–
28, especially 321.
15. G-2 is a branch of the Cuban government’s secret intelligence force. Philip Bonsal
to Secretary of State. August 22, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department
of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 1605. 737.00/8-2260.
16. “Priest Shot by Police in Havana,” The Miami News, Aug. 22, 1960, A-1.
17. “Castro Spurs Anticlerical Drive,” The Christian Science Monitor, Feb. 8, 1961, 4;
Havana Associated Press, “Raúl Castro says Priest Set Bomb,” The Miami News, Feb. 8, 1961,
A-1; Fidel Castro, “Discurso en el acto de clausura de la plenaria nacional de la federación
nacional de trabajadores azucareros,” December 19, 1960. Discursos e intervenciones archive,
http://www.cuba.cu/gobierno/discursos/1960/esp/f191260e.html (accessed February 2, 2018).

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SPACES OF DISSENT

Catholics and pro-government forces. Although this article uses sources
mostly from the State Department, the Cuban clergy, and the foreign
press, these trends can be found in pro-government sources.18 Examining
sources from this perspective indicates that violence often emerged around
church buildings when priests read anti-government material and during
Catholic gatherings that offered anti-government messages. To explain the
timing and location of this violence, we must consider that violence
erupted in these spaces because they functioned as spaces of dissent.
The transformation of Catholic events and festivals into spaces of dissent illustrates the clergy’s reliance on large gatherings to spread their antigovernment message during this period. Like Mass, other Catholic celebrations also heightened public interest in the clergy’s political ethic.
Bishops and other Catholic leaders used these spaces to construct and reaffirm Catholic political identities, which increasingly contravened government officials’ demand for loyalty to the regime and its revolutionary ideals.
Since these Catholic events often took place in the public sphere, the
emergence of religious language as a form of political expression strengthened the confluence of these protestors’ Catholic and political identities,
transforming the public space they occupied into a Catholic space.19
The evolution of violence in these spaces of dissent suggests that progovernment forces were most concerned with silencing the clergy’s political
opposition, not with crushing Catholicism altogether. Government agents
initially attempted to dissuade Cubans from attending Mass. Government
leaders similarly construed Catholic gatherings as politically misguided or
illegitimate. When non-violent strategies failed, however, pro-government
forces began resorting to violence in mid-1960. Unlike other communist
regimes, officials did not execute clergymen and instead dismantled public
Catholic opposition by expelling priests and nuns.
18. This trend seems to occur much less frequently in pro-government sources. When
these sources did address violence, they tended to focus on the clergy, not the laity. This
reflects the bias of these sources (possibly downplaying the seriousness of Catholic political
dissent) and of the pro-Catholic sources (highlighting the brutality of the government; possibly overemphasizing the strength of Catholic opposition compared to pro-government
forces). For some examples, see: “Provocación Contrarrevolucionaria en la Iglesia, ‘La Milagrosa,’” Revolución, Dec. 12, 1960; “En Cuba,” Bohemia, Dec. 18, 1960, 71–41; “Multiple
articles,” Revolución, Aug. 12, 1960.
19. On “Public Space” in terms of the mediate sphere between the “Private Realm” and
the “Sphere of Public Authority” see Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the
Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, trans. Thomas Burger (Cambridge, MA, 1989), 30.

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The Decline of Cuba’s Free Press
By 1960, demonstrations of resistance from the Catholic clergy
received increased attention, since they remained one of the only organizations that continued to confront the Revolutionary government publicly.
Most of the clergy’s written invective against the government came in the
form of pastoral letters and political commentaries penned by Cuba’s
Catholic leadership, which clerics read and distributed during Mass. Archbishop Pérez, Bishop coadjutor of Havana Evelio Díaz, and Auxiliary
Bishop Boza Masvidal were the most vocal and politically active bishops
during this period.20 Although some leaders, like Cardinal Manuel Arteaga
y Betancourt and Bishop Carlos Riu, actively avoided the public spotlight,
they often supported their peers by signing on to their letters.
The decline of Cuba’s free media gave rise to the church building as the
predominant space for Catholic dissent. Following Batista’s overthrow,
Cuba enjoyed a relatively free media in early 1959, even after the Movimiento
26 de Julio seized Cuba’s most popular radio network CMQ.21 The government’s official newspaper, Revolución, lightly criticized Fidel Castro.22 Over
the next year, however, Cuba’s free media began to collapse, beginning with
provincial newspapers.23 The government’s role in closing Cuba’s free media
outlets remains contested and probably was not uniform. What seems clearer
is that the Cuban media increasingly began to uphold pro-government posi20. The Church leadership consisted of Manuel Arteaga y Betancourt (Cardinal and
Archbishop of Havana), Enrique Pérez Serantes (Archbishop of Santiago de Cuba), Eduardo
Boza Masvidal (Auxiliary Bishop of Havana), Jose Dominguez Rodríguez (Auxiliary Bishop
of Havana), Evelio Díaz Cía (Bishop Coadjutor of Havana), Alberto Müller (Bishop of Cienfuegos), Manuel Rodriguez Rosas (Bishop of Pinar del Río), and Carlos Riu (Bishop of Camagüey). The Papal Nuncio, Luigi Centoz, also played a significant role in directing the
Catholic Church’s official position toward the Revolutionary government. Between the
summer of 1959 and the summer of 1961, the only significant change in the Church hierarchy
occurred when Bishop Martín y Villaverde (Bishop of Matanzas) died of a heart attack in
early November 1960.
21. Michael Salwen, “The origins of CMQ: pre-Castro Cuba’s leading radio network,”
Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 13.3 (1993), 315–32, here 315 and 326–32;
Earl T. Smith to Secretary of State, January 1, 1959. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, 1955–1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3080. 737.00/1-159.
22. Revolución printed an apology to Fidel Castro after they criticized him. Daniel Braddock to the Department of State. February 27, 1959. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, 1955–1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3081. 737.00/2-2759.
23. In early January 1959, members of Movimiento 26 de Julio took over Diario de Cuba,
making the newspaper their official organ and renaming it Revolución. Park Wollam to the
Department of State, January 7, 1959. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department
of State, 1955–1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3080. 737.00/1-759.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

tions at the expense of all other political positions. Outlets that did not or
could not conform to these standards were closed. By the end of 1960, proCatholic national newspapers like Prensa Libre, Avance, and Diario de la
Marina had been removed.24 Neutral news outlets that featured the clergy’s
opinions, interviews, and public letters, like the national magazine Bohemia
and newspaper Información, also closed.25 Catholic media outlets were closed
as well, such as a prominent Saturday night television show anchored by
Father Lasaga.26 While underground newspapers continued to circulate subversive material, the Franciscan magazine La Quincena, Cuba’s last independent periodical, closed in early 1961.27
The Uniqueness of Catholic Spaces and the Bifurcation of
Political Opinion
As Cuba’s free press began to collapse, the clergy increasingly turned
to Catholic events to spread anti-government messages.28 Most commonly, priests read letters from the Catholic Bishops during Mass. These
letters often warned laity of the rising communist presence in the government. More Cubans began to attend Mass specifically to hear these letters,
increasing the Church’s political clout. In August 1960, the Cuban bishops
published a circular letter that berated the government’s increasingly
friendly relations with communist regimes, particularly the Soviet Union.29
Following the announcement of Archbishop Perez’s jeremiad “Rome or
Moscow” that November, State Department official William Bowdler
reported that “all Churches [in Santiago de Cuba] were packed for evening
24. “Cuba’s Press Fights Back,” The New York Times, Oct. 1, 1959, 34. During the
opening session of The National Congress in November 1959, government delegates voted
unanimously to condemn Prensa Libre, Avance, and Diario de la Marina. Guerra, Visions of
Power in Cuba, 103. The government seized the newspapers less than a year later.
25. Philip Bonsal to Roy Rubottom Jr., July 12, 1960. Library of Congress, The Philip
Bonsal Papers, Box No. 1, Folder 9; William Bowdler to the Department of State, December
30, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central
Decimal File, Box No. 1627. 737.00(W)/12-3060.
26. E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, October 3, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/10-360.
27. “Clausuran un Periódico Católico en Cuba,” Diario Las Américas, Jan. 7, 1961; E.A.
Gilmore to the Department of State, January 2, 1961. NARA, RG 59, General Records of
the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/1-261.
28. The closure of Catholic institutions of higher learning may have also increased the
Catholic hierarchy’s turn toward Catholic events to spread their message.
29. Himilce Esteve, “La Iglesia en Cuba,” El Nuevo Día, Dec. 24, 1995, 5; Yvon Bastarache, “El Regimen Socialista (1960–1992),” 6, in the Teresa Fernández Soneira Catholic
Schools Collection, Cuban Heritage Collection, Box 1. Folder 3.

DANIEL THOMPSON

461

mass after word that the pastoral letter was to be read and distributed
throughout the city.”30
The Catholic hierarchy used spaces to create and spread information
differently than the Cuban press, which helped sustain Catholic resistance
efforts during an era of increasing intolerance toward political dissent. Progovernment agents could intimidate, exile, or imprison journalists and
publishers or forcibly close news offices and radio stations.31 News buildings functioned as the focal point for the creation and distribution of information. Churches, by contrast, functioned as the spaces for the dissemination of written dissent, but not necessarily the places of their creation.
Unlike Cuban news networks, which typically relied on a handful of
offices, the clergy could convert every church into a distribution center of
anti-government messages. Church leaders and other clerics were the
sources of Catholic dissent. Buildings and gatherings were the endpoint of
dissemination—in terms of their direct engagement with people—not an
intermediary point, as in the case of news buildings. The government could
not achieve censorship of clerics by closing a handful of buildings. Apart
from silencing vocal Catholic leaders, pro-government groups could not
stop the creation of the clergy’s political dissent.
Much of Cuba’s remaining media began to uphold pro-government
Catholics’ opinions and denounce dissident clerics. Many government officials, especially Fidel Castro, did not condemn Catholicism and instead
upheld splinter Catholic movements that openly supported the regime.32
Catholic splinter movements seem to have pursued two common objectives: championing the Revolutionary government and condemning the
anti-government clergy as illegitimate. In the summer of 1960, one of
these Catholic movements, Con la Cruz y con la Patria, gained national
attention. The pro-government media featured Con la Cruz and its leader
Father German Lence more than any other Catholic organization.33 By
30. William Bowdler and W.S. Smith to the Department of State, October 8, 1960.
NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal
File, Box No. 1627. 737.00(W)/10-860.
31. The Catholic journal, La Quicena, remained the main exception until the spring of
1961, when it closed. In November 1960, La Quincena feature of Bishop Boza Masvidal’s article “Is the Social Revolution in Cuba Christian?” sold approximately 25,000 copies in less
than a week. Wayne Smith to the Department of State. November 12, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/11-1260.
32. Guerra, “‘To Condemn the Revolution,’” 73–109.
33. “Condenó el Padre Lence el Asesino de Lumumba,” El Mundo, Feb. 17, 1961, 1; for
Unión de católicos revolucionarios, see: “Católicos Revolucionarios,” Revolución, Sep. 7, 1960.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

contrast, officials and most of the Cuban media often cast dissident clerics
as disconnected counterrevolutionaries who lacked widespread support.
Some clergymen were framed counterrevolutionaries by their association
with other counterrevolutionaries, like the U.S. government, Batista, and
Franco.34 Fidel and Raúl Castro broadcasted and televised speeches that
accused dissident clerics of participating in counterrevolutionary activity,
fomenting unrest, and conspiring with foreign governments against the
Cuban people.35 The media also attempted to destroy the legitimacy of the
clergy’s pastoral letter-reading campaign, claiming that Catholics walked
out of churches and yelled “Long Live Fidel!” when priests read anti-government messages during Mass.36
The pro-government press polarized and bifurcated lay Catholic political opinion, pushing many of the politically active laity closer to the antigovernment clergy. In 1959, many Catholic clerics struggled to minimize
their public identification with Batista, their foreignness, and their history
of political conservatism in an era of reinvigorated Cuban nationalism.
Although a minority of lay Catholics, led by a handful of Catholic clergymen, continued to support the government, the government and the
media’s decision to highlight opposition clerics’ “counterrevolutionary”
traits drew many Cubans who opposed the regime closer to dissenting clergymen.37 In August 1960, Eugene A. Gilmore, the Acting Deputy Chief
of Mission, reported that “an increasing number of Cubans are turning to
the Church as never before [. . .] the movement toward the Church is a

34. “Conjunta Declaración Hacen Ordenes Religiosas,” Información, Jan. 8, 1960, A-1;
“Por Instigación de Curas Fascistas Agreden a un Profesor de Colegio Católico en Colón,”
Hoy, Mar. 22, 1961, 11.
35. United Press International, “Castro Calls Priests Fascists, Says U.S. Bribed Defectors,” The Miami News, July 19, 1960, A-1; Ruby Phillips, “Castro Accuses Catholic Clergy:
Says Priests Work Against Regime,” The New York Times, Nov. 28, 1960, 1; Daniel Braddock
to Secretary of State, November 28, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 1608. 737.00/11-2860; E.A.
Gilmore to Secretary of State, December 23, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/12-2360.
36. William G. Bowdler to the Department of State. August 11, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/8-1160; Harvey Wellman to the Department of State, November 17, 1960.
NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal
File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/11-1760; “La Respuesta del Pueblo, Castigado Ejemplar,” Hoy,
Mar. 2, 1961, 3.
37. E. A. Gilmore to the Department of State, September 8, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
2452. 837.412/9-860.

DANIEL THOMPSON

463

very real force which has, at least for the moment, strengthened the
Church’s hand considerably.”38 After the media launched a series of ad
hominem attacks on Bishop Boza Masvidal, several lay organizations
responded by warning government leaders that slandering Boza Masvidal
constituted an attack on the entire Catholic community.39
The clergy’s association with counterrevolutionaries, especially the
United States, also played a significant role in the bifurcation of Catholic
political opinion. Senior members of the Catholic hierarchy were in contact with U.S. government officials. In addition, militant Catholic opposition groups, such as Moviemento de la Recuperación Revolucionaria (MMR),
received U.S. support. Although these militant opposition groups were not
associated officially with the clergy, their identification as Catholics and
their association with some of the clergy made it easier to associate militants and clergy under the same counterrevolutionary banner.40 Indeed,
some clergymen probably were militants.
The movement of more Cubans to Mass and other Catholic gatherings should not imply a seamless relationship between the clergy and laity’s
political stances, despite the insistence of some Catholic lay organizations
to align themselves with opposition clerics unequivocally.41 Catholic dissenters were not a monolith.42 Instead, several factors heightened laypeople’s interest in the clergy’s messages in addition to the substance of their
messages. Contributing factors included the closure of other public opposition voices and the public treatment of the opposition clergy as illegiti38. Ibid.
39. Daniel Braddock to Secretary of State, November 26, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/11-2660.
40. Although Ignacio Uría notes that Perez’s relationship with MRR leader, Manuel
Artime, frayed as Artime resorted to violence, the association is important. Ignacio Uría
Rodríguez, Iglesia y revolución en Cuba: Enrique Pérez Serantes (1883–1968), el obispo que salvó
a Fidel Castro (Madrid, 2012), 463.
41. William Bowdler to the Department of State, August 18, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/8-1860.
42. Tomas Quigley argues that the clergy should not be understood as a monolith.
Although this claim has support, it ignores that the clerics, especially the apex of Catholic
leadership desired to present themselves as publicly united. Quigley, “The Catholic Church,”
especially 300–05. For examples of public unity, see: Archbishop Pérez’s publication “For the
Unity of Cuba,” which stressed that only the Church hierarchy possessed the authority to
govern the Cuban Church. La voz de la Iglesia en Cuba, 124–25. See also Uría, Iglesia y revolución en Cuba, 296.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

mate dissenters.43 It seems that the exact substance of clerics’ opposition
was secondary as long as it was proximate enough to laypeople’s stances.
Violence at Mass
As more Cubans began to attend church services, pro-government
agents coordinated nonviolent grassroots campaigns to dissuade Cubans
from attending Mass, but these strategies mostly failed. Public workers
erected signs and billboards proclaiming that true Christian piety lay in
community service, not in attending Mass.44 Following the wave of pastoral letter readings in early August 1960, several government-affiliated
groups handed out fliers outside all Catholic churches in Havana, which
declared that true Christians did not use Mass to plot against the Revolutionary government.45 Pro-government youth groups occasionally disrupted Mass by entering churches and protesting non-violently. When
clerics read Archbishop Pérez’s highly critical article titled “Rome or
Moscow” in Santiago de Cuba’s main cathedral, youth groups marched
into the cathedral and shouted pro-Fidel and pro-Revolutionary slogans.46
Like the media’s support for splinter Catholic movements, these strategies
failed to turn attendees away from the Church, since most Cubans who
attended Mass to hear pastoral letters already harbored suspicions about
communism and totalitarianism in the government.
Faced with rising church attendance and increasingly virulent clerical
dissent, pro-government elements resorted to force to sabotage Mass.
Although the earliest documented reports of violence in and around
Catholic churches occurred in June of 1960, the first reported outbreak of
violence across Cuba occurred in August.47 Most anti-Catholic combatants

43. Associated Press, “Castro assails Cardinal Arteaga, Calls Arteaga Judas,” The New
York Times, Dec. 17, 1960, 6; “Conjunta Declaración,” Información.
44. Juan M. Clark, Religious Repression in Cuba, (Miami FL, 1986), 9.
45. “Fidelistas preach Hands Off,” The Miami News, Aug. 15, 1960, A-4.
46. Ruby Phillips, “Cuban Cathedral Invaded by Mobs,” The New York Times, Nov. 14,
1960, 1; UPI “Disturbios en Santiago de Cuba para Leerse por Segunda Vez la Pastoral
“Roma o Moscú,” Diario Las Américas, Nov. 16, 1960.
47. Daniel Braddock to the Department of State, July 21, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2453.
837.413/7-2160; Wayne S. Smith to the Department of State, August 18, 1960. NARA, RG
59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/8-1860. By August 1960, these clashes drew the Vatican’s direct attention,
as it requested the Papal Nuncio in Cuba for a more formal report. Philip Bonsal to Secretary
of State, August 18, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State,
1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/8-1860.

DANIEL THOMPSON

465

who participated in the early attacks were not government militia or police,
but pro-government, communist youth. While it is unclear what role government leaders played in coordinating these groups, they never condemned attacks on churches during this period.48 Instead, the governmentcontrolled media cast anti-Catholic groups who attacked Catholics during
Mass as victims, ignored reporting instances of violence in churches, or
cast dissident Catholic priests as the instigators of violence. For their part,
some Catholic clergymen probably played an indirect role in violence
against anti-Catholic forces because they oversaw Catholic youth organizations, which were becoming more violent during this period.49 When
Monsingor Ricardo Elayo read an article condemning the actions of the
Revolutionary government and offered a prayer for several “counterrevolutionaries,” Revolución claimed that Elayo’s prayer disrupted order and instigated a fight between counterrevolutionary Catholics and pro-government
(good) Catholics.50
The police often responded exceptionally slowly to reported instances of
violence around Catholic buildings. After arriving on-scene, they arrested
Catholics, not pro-government forces. On August 14, 1960, a group of progovernment youth in Sagua la Grande stood outside a Mass and hurled
insults and threats at the church’s parishioners. Six members of the Catholic
Youth Workers present at the Mass eventually exited the church to fight the
anti-Catholic youth. According to William Bowdler, the local police stationed nearby intervened after the major fighting ceased. The police also
arrested the Catholic youth leaders, not the pro-government youth.51 A
series of violent clashes erupted between Catholic and pro-government
48. Most officials working in the U.S. State Department believed that the government
had organized these attacks on churches. E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, August
22, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central
Decimal File, Box No. 1605. 737.00/8-2260; Joseph J. Montillor to the Department of State,
August 17, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963,
Central Decimal File, Box No. 1605. 737.00/8-1760.
49. From 1960 to 1961, Catholic youth engaged in violence more frequently than any
other Catholic demographic. It seems that some clerics recommended that their youth use
violence to counteract anti-Catholic forces. In: E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State,
August 1, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963,
Central Decimal File, Box No. 2453. 837.413/8-160. For the role of Catholic Youth and
their relationship to priests, see: Teresa Fernández Soneira, Con la Estrella y la Cruz: historia
de las Juventudes de Acción Católica Cubana, vol. 1 (Miami, 2002), especially 423–28.
50. “Provocación Contrarrevolucionaria,” Revolución.
51. William Bowdler and W.S. Smith to the Department of State, August 26, 1960.
NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal
File, Box No. 1627. 737.00(W)/8-2660.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

youth in the courtyard of Santiago’s Cathedral after clerics read one of Archbishop Peréz’s pastoral letters. Responding to the scene, the police arrested
five Catholics but none of the pro-government youth.52 According to these
reports, the police also detained clerics under false allegations.53
U.S. observers believed that anti-Catholic forces specifically targeted
churches when rumors surfaced that the priests planned to read or had read
a Catholic commentary condemning the government. After clerics read the
bishops’ “Letter to the Cuban people,” Ambassador Philip Bonsal reported
that fighting broke out in at least one church in Havana.54 While the same
letter did not reach Santiago in time for simultaneous distribution, Godfrey H. Summ, working at the U.S. consulate, noted that “communist and
revolutionary elements may try [to] create incidents [in] some local
churches.”55 Reporting on a series of concurrent clashes in Camagüey,
William Bowdler and Wayne Smith of the State Department observed
that “In some cases communist rowdies came right into the Churches in an
effort to provoke the Catholics into precipitate action.”56 The second reading of Archbishop Perez’s article “Rome or Moscow” several months later
incited a small scuffle between government and Catholic supporters outside a Catholic church in Havana.57 In December 1960, uniformed militia
entered a church in Havana to prevent clerics from distributing the bishops’ open letter to Fidel Castro.58
The Catholic clergy also believed that government forces coordinated
attacks on churches during Mass to prevent or disrupt the reading of pas52. William Bowdler to the Department of State, November 17, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/11-1760. For another example, see: “Milicianos Rodean Templo de Cuba
Donde se Hallaban 3 Obispos y Centenares de Fieles,” Diario Las Américas, Feb. 15, 1961, 1.
53. International Council of Jurists Geneva, Report: Cuba and the Rule of Law (Geneva,
1962), 229.
54. Philip Bonsal to Secretary of State. August 8, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General
Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/8-860.
55. G.H. Summ to Secretary of State, August 16, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General
Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/8-1260.
56. William Bowdler and W.S. Smith to the Department of State, August 26, 1960.
NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal
File, Box No. 1627. 737.00(W)/8-2660.
57. UPI, “Disturbios en Santiago de Cuba” Diario Las Américas.
58. William Bowdler to Department of State, December 15, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
1627. 737.00(W)/12-1560.

DANIEL THOMPSON

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toral letters. In August 1960, Archbishop Díaz claimed that the government and civil forces had not adequately protected Catholics during the
wave of violence in Catholic churches following readings of the bishops’ circular letter.59 An unnamed Cuban priest who testified to the 1962 International Council of Jurists in Geneva made his argument even more explicit:
The fact is that [church] services could not be held because whenever the
authorities believed that a pastoral letter was going to be read out they
used to send parties of militiamen and other people armed with sticks
and cudgels to the church. [. . .] Sometimes the priests or the faithful
would be taken away.60

A Cuban monk presented a similar argument, claiming that “when the
authorities thought that a pastoral letter was going to be read out during
Mass protesting against the lack of freedom in Cuba, some groups of
people entered the church while others stayed outside in the street and provoked the congregation attending Mass with the result that there was a
fight between the militiamen and the Catholics.”61
“Good Catholics,” Political Mobilization, and Violence at
Catholic Gatherings
While Mass served as the most common Catholic space for dissent,
since it was celebrated frequently, other Catholic events—congresses, festivals, and other celebrations—also attracted dissenters and, by extension,
violence. Like Revolutionary leaders, the Cuban clergy relied on large
gatherings to construct and spread their political ethic. Initially, clerics
hosting these events limited their criticism to communist ideologies and to
foreign communist regimes. As government officials moved to control all
sectors of Cuban society, however, clerics turned to criticize the Cuban
government, which transformed these gatherings into the largest spaces of
open violence between Catholics and pro-government forces. Examining
religious language used at these gatherings reveals a difference between
these events and political dissent during Mass. Unlike church buildings,
which previously existed as Catholic spaces and became spaces of political
dissent, these Catholic gatherings converted public spaces into spaces of
dissent and Catholic spaces simultaneously.

59. “Cuban Archbishop Threatens to End Church Services,” The New York Times, Aug.
10, 1960, 1.
60. Jurists Geneva, Report: Cuba and the Rule of Law, 229.
61. Ibid, 228.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

Government leaders depended on large rallies to construct political
legitimacy and establish a direct link to Cuba’s citizenry. Lillian Guerra
asserts that the government’s rallies served as a cornerstone of its Revolutionary agenda. In her words, “Answering the call to the plaza became critical not
to a revolutionary identity but also truly a Cuban identity.”62 Government
leaders mobilized all sectors of Cuban society to participate in their demonstrations. They achieved notable success with this campaign, as millions of
Cubans attended these rallies. According to Guerra, government leaders
used these rallies to reconstruct Cuban identity by outlining what she terms
a “good Cuban.” For leaders like Fidel Castro, a “good Cuban” remained
staunchly loyal to the government and its version of the Revolution.63
The clergy created and promoted new Catholic events that encouraged
Catholics to engage in political discourse. These national Catholic gatherings were especially popular, sometimes drawing hundreds of thousands of
participants. Catholic bishops established the first National Catholic Congress in 1959 and the first National Youth Conference the following year.
While Catholic clerics presented these events as strictly religious in nature,
their messages nearly always criticized communism and, beginning in
1960, the legitimacy of the Revolutionary government.64 Clerics used these
gatherings to outline what can be called a “good Catholic.” As tensions
escalated between dissenting priests and government officials, the clergy’s
categorization of a “good Catholic” increasingly diverged from the government’s ideal of a “good Cuban.”65 By the spring of 1961, Catholic holidays,
such as Good Friday and the celebration of Our Lady of Charity, Cuba’s
62. Guerra, Visions of Power in Cuba, 75–76.
63. These definitions summarize the analysis of “good Cuban” and “bad Cuban” that
Guerra proposes. For a more detailed analysis see: Ibid, 75–106.
64. In February 1959, lay Catholics founded the Christian Democratic Movement
(CDM), a political party designed to run in opposition to the Movemiento 26 de Julio in the
upcoming elections that Moviemento had promised the Cuban people. While the CDM never
clearly defined its goals or political stance, it certainly stood against communism broadly
defined. Several clerics voiced their support for the movement, but it is difficult to discern the
clergy’s direct involvement in the organization. As government leaders adopted more totalitarian
tactics in 1960, more militant Christian movements arose to counter the government. Daniel
Braddock to the Department of State, February 27, 1959. NARA, RG 59, General Records of
the Department of State, 1955–1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3081. 737.00/2-2759;
Park Wollam to the Department of State, March 14, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records
of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 1600. 737.00/3-1460;
Park Wollam to the Department of State. April 1959. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the
Department of State, 1955–1959, Central Decimal File, Box No. 3081. 737.00/4-159.
65. See Fidel Castro’s speeches during December 1960 and January 1961 for some
examples, which are accessible on the online archive discursos y intervenciones.

DANIEL THOMPSON

469

patron saint, had also become sites for large-scale anti-government
protests. Examining Catholic gatherings from 1959 to 1961 highlights an
increase of outright anti-government sentiment from cleric and lay
Catholic participants, an escalation of violence at these events, and the rise
of Catholic political space in the public sphere.
In November 1959, the clergy opened the first Catholic National
Congress, marking the first major national Catholic convention since the
Revolutionary government took power. The Congress, held in Havana, was
well attended and allegedly drew over half a million participants.66 During
his speech at the Catholic Congress, Bishop of Matanzas, Alberto Martín
y Villaverde, outlined his vision of a “good Catholic.” According to Martín,
a “good Catholic’s” social principles rested on the autonomy of Catholic
doctrine, the existence of Catholic institutions and lay organizations, and
the sacred right of the Church to provide education.67 Despite Martín’s
defense of Catholic institutional autonomy, no Catholic leader speaking at
the Congress explicitly condemned the government.
The 1959 Congress also characterized a “good Catholic” as decidedly
anti-communist. Ambassador Bonsal noted: “The great Catholic concentration at the end of November, although it was sincerely non-political in
character, was a striking illustration of the repudiation by the Cuban
people of Communism.”68 International newspapers like The Miami
Herald, echoed Bonsal’s analysis, arguing that the Congress demonstrated
Catholic displeasure over the rising communist influence in the government.69 Some government leaders indicated their dislike for the Congress’s
strong political undertones. Speaking to the press, Fidel Castro expressed
his disapproval of the Congress in guarded language, arguing that the
event was an attempt to turn Catholics against him.70 However, the Congress did not result in any major violence, as Church leaders focused their
criticism on communism as an ideology.
66. “Catholics Mass for Cuba Rally,” The Miami Herald, Nov. 29, 1959, 1.
67. La voz de la Iglesia en Cuba, 91–97.
68. Philip Bonsal, “Notes on Cuba,” December 1959, 34. Library of Congress, The
Philip Bonsal Papers, Box No. 1, Folder 8; Joseph Holbrook, “Catholic Student Movements in
Latin America: Cuba and Brazil, 1920s to 1960s” (PhD diss.: Florida International University,
2013), 148. The student revolutionary directory called the Catholic National Congress, “A formidable plebiscite against communism,” see: La Persecución de la Iglesia Católica en Cuba
(Quito, Ecuador, 1963), 6; González, “Historia e historiografía de la Iglesia en Cuba,” 272.
69. “Catholics Mass,” Herald.
70. Prime Minister Fidel Castro and President Oswaldo Dórticos displayed their
ostensible solidarity by attending the Congress. Ibid.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

The clergy used the First Catholic Youth Congress in August 1960 to
solidify Catholic political identity as a foil to their perception of communism and atheism among government officials. Bishop Martín reasserted
that a “good Catholic” upheld the legitimacy of private property, protected
religious worship, and strove to better the condition of the poor. According
to Martín, a “good Catholic” also acknowledged the right of Catholic clergymen to criticize government leaders. Unlike speakers during the 1959
Catholic Congress, leaders and members of the Youth Congress also questioned the legitimacy of the Revolutionary government, condemning the
status of the Church in Cuba under the current regime. The Congress’ delegates also reaffirmed the Church’s anti-communist, anti-atheist stance.
Following Bishop Martín’s keynote speech, several Catholic youths apparently cried, “Down with the communist atheists!”71
Given the increasing violence around Havana’s churches in August
1960, Catholic clergymen and members of the State Department felt that
the Catholic Youth Congress might turn violent. Before the conference
opened, the Catholic hierarchy expressed concern that anti-Catholic
squads would target Catholics. State Department official Daniel Braddock
noted, “Given the mounting opposition to the Castro regime, particularly
in Catholic circles, this rally bears watching. It may be the occasion for
another clash between Catholics and communist goon squads.”72 Eugene
A. Gilmore reported that no major violence occurred during the Youth
Congress. He posited that the government restrained anti-Catholic forces
from instigating a fight to avoid international media attention.73 In all likelihood, the Conference produced some minor clashes, but not the full-scale
attacks that Church and State Department officials predicted.
By the spring of 1961, Catholics began to use religious holidays to
protest the government’s legitimacy, which elicited violent responses from
government forces. The Good Friday celebrations provoked a wave of violence across Cuba. In Havana, the celebration’s religious theme quickly

71. E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, September 1, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
2453. 837.413/9-160. See also Petra Kuivala’s dissertation for a more detailed account of
Catholic gatherings during this period. Kuivala, “Never a Church of Silence,” 73–125.
72. Daniel Braddock to the Department of State, July 21, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2453.
837.413/7-2160.
73. E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, September 1, 1960. NARA, RG 59,
General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No.
2453. 837.413/9-160.

DANIEL THOMPSON

471

turned political, as many of the 50,000 in attendance marched down the
streets chanting “God, save your people!”74 They also cried “Cuba yes,
Russia no!” and “Long live Christ the King!” The protest quickly broke out
in violence between Catholics and militia forces. By the end of the day,
police had arrested fifty Catholic protestors.75 An unnamed priest recalled
another violent confrontation with the militia during the Holy Week celebrations in his town of Guines:
Everything began in an orderly way. But soon a noise started coming
from behind the place where the performance was being held, I went
along to see what was happening and found that the shouting was
coming from a group of people in the police headquarters nearby. They
had been assembled there to prevent the performance. Soon, militiamen
started coming out of the barracks and sitting on the railings. They began
to make offensive comments and to let off bursts of machine gun fire into
the air. This broke up the performance and everybody tried to take cover.
The audience scattered, some shouting ‘Cuba, Yes; Russia, No. . . . Long
Live Christ the King.’ . . . The militiamen then ran out into the middle
of the car park and continued firing shots to scatter the crowd. Sometimes they fired at body-height as can be seen from the bullet marks in
the adjoining buildings.76

The violence during Guines’s Holy Week indicates the widespread extent
of violence between Catholics and government militia, which erupted in
rural areas as well as urban centers.
The emergence of religious language at these gatherings demonstrates
the solidification and unification of Catholic protest as a distinctly Catholic
challenge to the Revolutionary government. Like the protests in Havana,
Catholics during the Holy Week celebrations in Guines shouted the
phrase, “long live Christ the King,” to express their strong dissatisfaction
with the current regime.77 The widespread use of these chants reveals the
evolving political divergence of “good Cuban” and a “good Catholic.” For
many of these protesters, Catholicism had not failed the revolution, the
government’s vision of the revolution had failed the Catholic social principles that opposition clerics had articulated for months.78 By the spring of
1961, the appropriate political metric for a “good Cuban” remained adherence to government itself, being inherently tied to the revolution, while the
74. Havana AP, “Cubans Cry, God Save Us,” The Miami News, Apr. 1, 1961, A-3.
75. Dom Bonafede, “Paraders arrested in Cuba,” The Miami Herald, Apr. 2, 1961, 27.
76. Jurists Geneva, Report: Cuba and the Rule of Law, 229.
77. Ibid.
78. La voz de la Iglesia en Cuba, 131–34.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

appropriate metric for a “good Catholic” had become a series of Catholic
social precepts authorized by the Cuban bishops. In addition, the act of
chanting “long live Christ the King,” marked the emergence of religious
language as integral to constructions of Catholic political dissent in the
public sphere. Religious language transformed these public gatherings into
political spaces that were uniquely Catholic. This transformation differed
from the rise of political protest in church buildings, which previously
existed as Catholic spaces and then became spaces of dissent. Chanting
similar religious phrases seemed to unite Catholic protestors across Cuba
and distinguished them from other political dissenters, which also fortified
the unity of their public movement as a Catholic struggle.79
Expulsion of Clergymen and the End of Public Violence
Cuba’s leadership used the national emergency created by the Bay of
Pigs invasion to seize Catholic buildings and remove the opposition clergy
from Cuba’s political sphere, a tactic that often involved expelling those
clergy from Cuba. On April 15, 1961, before Cuban exiles launched a land
invasion aided by the U.S. government, Cuban government forces preemptively arrested half a million people, constituting the largest mass roundup
in Cuban history.80 Following the Bay of Pigs invasion, Fidel Castro
addressed an enormous crowd at the Revolutionary Plaza in Havana on
March 1. His speech, which was also broadcast across the country, targeted
enemies of the Revolution, including the Catholic clergy. In addition to
taking over all Catholic schools, the government also seized several
churches and other Catholic properties.81 Most damaging to the clergy’s
ability to organize political resistance was the widespread expulsion and
imprisonment of thousands of priests, monks, and nuns over the next several months.
On September 11, 1961, many Catholics gathered to celebrate Cuba’s
patron saint, Our Lady of Charity, which also marked one of the last inci79. E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, January 2, 1961. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452.
837.413/1-261.
80. Alejandro de Quesada, The Bay of Pigs: Cuba 1961 (Oxford, 2009), 23. At least two
Catholic priests took part in the Bay of Pigs invasion.
81. While the government groups forcibly invaded some church buildings, others
closed simply because all their occupants fled or were forced out of Cuba. Dr. Ismael Testé,
Historia Eclesiástica de Cuba: Historia de Todas y Cada una de las Parroquias, 3 vols. (Burgos,
Spain, 1968–70), III, 115–17; “Obispos y 116 Sacerdotes Estuvieron Presos una Semana en
una Iglesia en Camagüey,” Diario Las Américas, Jul. 15, 1961, 1, 11.

DANIEL THOMPSON

473

FIGURE 1. Catholic Clergy Awaiting Expulsion from Cuba, Unspecified Location.
Courtesy of the Cuban Heritage Collection, University of Miami Libraries, Coral
Gables, Florida.

dents of major violence between Catholic protestors and the Revolutionary
government forces during this period. By September, the government had
established a strict timetable for religious functions. Originally, government officials sanctioned the holiday to begin in the afternoon. Less than
a day before the celebrations were set to begin in Havana, government officials changed the start time from the afternoon to 7:00 in the morning.82
The time change did not stop more than 3,000 Catholics from assembling
in the afternoon. Like the Holy Week celebrations, this religious festival
quickly turned political, as the marchers began to shout anti-communist
and anti-government slogans. As the demonstrators moved toward the
Palace of the Revolution, the police opened fire on the protestors, killing
at least one demonstrator and injuring dozens more. Only 300 Catholics
reached the Palace.83
The expulsion of priests and the repression of Catholic protestors in
late September 1961 sounded the death knell for large politicized Catholic
gatherings. Pointing to the massive demonstration during the Our Lady of
Charity celebrations, Fidel Castro denounced the Catholic clergy as a
counterrevolutionary organization that conspired with the U.S. govern82. Clark, Religious Repression in Cuba, 10–11.
83. “Religious Parade Erupts Into Havana Fracas,” The Christian Science Monitor Sept.
11, 1961, 14. “Castro Accuses Priests,” New York Times, Sept. 21, 1961, 2. Havana Radio
admitted that a Catholic youth had been killed during a demonstration outside La Iglesia de
Nuestra Señora de Caridad. Hal Hendrix, “Youth Slain in Riots, Fidel Radio Admits,” The
Miami News, Sep. 11, 1961, A-5.

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SPACES OF DISSENT

ment to overthrow his regime.84 Havana officials blamed the demonstrations on the festival’s chief coordinator, Bishop Boza Masvidal, and
arrested him along with several other ranking priests. On September 18,
Castro forcibly exiled Boza Masvidal and 135 other priests. Following a
second major expulsion of Catholic clerics in September 1961, Fidel
Castro banned all religious events.85 A few hours after the second deportation, Catholics in Havana staged one final large demonstration against the
government. This time, government militia, disguised in civilian clothing,
infiltrated the crowd and began to club the protestors. In the end, eighteen
people were reportedly injured and nearly two hundred were arrested.86
Catholics continued to oppose the Revolutionary government after September 1961, but the clergy’s large-scale public resistance movement officially ended. Based on several estimates, approximately 200 active clergymen, or less than one third of the clergy, remained in Cuba after
September 1961.87 Catholic clerics stopped publishing official opposition
pieces and discontinued major public demonstrations.
As members of a transnational Catholic community, the Cuban
clergy understood that other communist governments had executed dissident Catholic clerics. Indeed, several prominent Church leaders explicitly referenced communist regimes that had executed Catholic priests in
their writings, pointing to the suffering of Catholics under the Hungarian government as their archetypal example.88 Despite increasing
instances of violence between government and Catholic forces, however,
the upper echelons of the Catholic hierarchy were left unharmed. The
government forcibly exiled just one of Cuba’s eight bishops, Eduardo
Boza Masvidal. According to State Department and Cuban exile sources,
pro-government militias executed laypeople, especially youth, and

84. Tony Solar, “Desmiente Castro lo de la Patria Potestad,” The Miami News, Sep. 20,
1961, A-2. During the roundup of Cuban priests for the exile on the boat Covadogna, Reverend
Antonio Altamira, a former teacher at Bélen, refused to let the police take him, arguing that
Cuba was his home. He resisted and was shot by the police, only to be taken to a hospital where
he survived. Jay Mallin, “Jesuit Priest Shot in Cuba,” The Miami News, Sep. 26, 1961, A-6.
85. Mallin, “Jesuit Priest Shot,” Miami News.
86. “Militia seizes 176 in Cuban Outbreak,” The New York Times, Sep. 19, 1961, 1.
87. Esteve, “La Iglesia en Cuba;” Bastarache, “El Regimen Socialista (1960–1992).”
88. La voz de la Iglesia en Cuba, 73, 127; G.H. Summ to the Department of State,
November 25, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, 19601963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/11-2560; Father Pedro Meurice Estiu
cited in G.H. Summ to the Department of State, July 29, 1960. NARA, RG 59, General
Records of the Department of State, 1960–1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 1605.
737.00/7-2960.

DANIEL THOMPSON

475

arrested clerics who led Catholic youth organizations, such the Catholic
Youth Workers, the Young Catholic Students, and the Young Catholic
University Students.89
Conclusion
The government’s aggressive policies, which the clergy perceived as
anti-Catholic, along with media censorship, increasingly led Catholic leaders to politicize Catholic celebrations. While the government still held the
approval of an overwhelming majority of Cuba’s population, the dissident
clergy’s political influence grew during this period, as its political message
attracted dissenters. Recognizing that Catholic gatherings served as the
clergy’s main platforms to spread dissent, pro-government authorities targeted Catholics in churches and in other spaces. Nonetheless, most government leaders probably did not intend to eliminate Catholicism entirely,
as evidenced in their support for splinter Catholic movements like Con la
Cruz and in their decision not to execute clerics.
Instead, the government exiled many dissident clerics, most of them
to Spain and the United States. These clerics formed exile communities
with other Cuban émigres who had voluntary and forcibly left Cuba during
this period. The forced and unforced migration of the clergy weakened the
Catholic Church’s ability to oppose the revolutionary government in Cuba,
but strengthened the political dissident character of Cuban Catholic communities in exile, especially in Miami. For these communities, Catholic
identity became linked to identities of political exile. In many of their eyes,
the Cuban Church described in this article lives on in exile.90
This article hopefully adds to discussions on the relationship between
technology and political power. Commentators have shown how some
political charismatics harnessed the most advanced media of their day to
89. Holbrook “Catholic Student Movements in Latin America,” 145–61.
E.A. Gilmore to the Department of State, January 2, 1961. NARA, RG 59, General Records
of the Department of State, 1960-1963, Central Decimal File, Box No. 2452. 837.413/1261. For many Cuban Catholics, these executions immortalized their final stand against the
Revolutionary government and continue to live on in Catholic memory, especially in Cuban
exile communities. See La Persecución, 31.
90. Miguel De la Torre, La Lucha for Cuba: Religion and Politics on the Streets of Miami
(Berkley, 2003), especially 26–51; Thomas Tweed, Our Lady of the Exile: Diasporic Religion at
a Cuban Catholic Shrine in Miami (New York, 1997), 83–115. See also diasporic presses like
Ediciones Universal and Catholic thinkers like Dagoberto Valdés Hernández and Teresa Fernández Soneira.

476

SPACES OF DISSENT

sway political opinion.91 Leaders like the Castros and Guevara benefitted
from their ability to use centralized broadcasting systems like the television.92 Nonetheless, it seems that the success of the clergy’s public opposition movement was due in part to their use of traditional networks of
people-to-people communication, which was more resilient than other
forms of government opposition because it was more dispersed.

91. Paul Achter, “TV, technology, and McCarthyism: Crafting the democratic renaissance in an age of fear,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 90.3 (2004), 307–26, here 307–08 and
312–15; Julianne Stewart, Gianpietro Mazzoleni, and Bruce Horsfield, “Conclusion: Power
to the media managers,” in The media and neo-populism: A contemporary comparative analysis,
eds. Julianne Stewart, Gianpietro Mazzoleni, and Bruce Horsfield (Westport CT, 2003),
217–37, especially 214.
92. Guerra, Visions of Power in Cuba, 44–50.

Miscellany
Catholics in the Soviet Union:
New Research and New Sources
on Everyday Religious Life (1917–1958)
GREGORY FREEZE, ALEXEY BEGLOV,
NADEZHDA BELIAKOVA, AND EVGENIA TOKAREVA*
Until now research on religious in Soviet Russia has relied chiefly on
documents generated by state, party, and police organs. As instruments
of the regime’s antireligious campaigns, these documents reflect official
policy and reveal little about the everyday life of believers. To fill this
gap in the documentation and historiography, the Russian Science
Foundation has funded a three-year project to identify and publish documents from below—by tapping into those documents transmitted to
the West and located in various institutional and private archives. In
April 2020 the project organized a conference to discuss the initial
results of this new undertaking.
Keywords: Catholicism, everyday religious life, sources, Soviet
Union, repression

T

he Institute of World History at the Russian Academy of Science
(Moscow), through its Center for the Study of Religion and the Church,
organized a two-day conference (7–8 April 2020), “Catholics in the Soviet
Union: The Testimony of Ordinary People about the Radical Transformations of the 1920s–1950s.” The organizers proposed that the conference make
a critical assessment of the sources currently available and that it explore the
possibilities for acquiring new sources and reinterpreting old ones.
The conference was part of a broader, three-year research project,
“Entangled Histories: Russia and the Holy See, 1917–1958,” which is
based at the Institute of World History and directed by Professor Gregory
*Dr.Freeze is a professor of History at Brandeis University; Drs. Freeze, Beglov, Beliakova, and Tokareva are research fellows at the Institute of World History.

477

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CATHOLICS IN THE SOVIET UNION

Freeze (Brandeis University).1 The project seeks to map out the various
lines of interaction between the Soviet Union and the Catholic Church
during the critical decades from the October Revolution in 1917 to the to
the end of the pontificate of Pius XII and the onset of the Nikita S.
Khrushshev’s antireligious campaign in 1958. Its primary objective is to
collect and make available a complex of new sources: letters and memoirs
of Catholic priests and laity in Soviet Russia that, for the most part, are
preserved in foreign archives. Complementary to that are materials from
oral history and ethnographic research. The conceptual originality of the
project lies in the use of a new mass of documents that can change our perspective on the historical processes unfolding in Russia in the first four
decades of Soviet rule. Specifically, the goal is to offer a new picture of religious life during this period, one that is not derived from state, party, or
police organs, but rather one that reflects the experience and aspirations of
ordinary believers. Catholic priests, as the head of the parish, actively used
information of their parishioners, and they also had contact with other religious communities (especially the Orthodox). As a result, their correspondence and memoirs are unique and until now neglected as a source for religious life in early Soviet history. This approach corresponds to current
research in Western scholarship—in social history, historical anthropology, and sociology of religion with the post-secularization paradigm that
foregrounds the privatization of belief and de-institutionalization of religion (“believing without belonging,” in Grace Davie’s famous formulation).2 All this places a premium on the study of the internal world of
believers rather than on the activities of religious organizations.
Earlier, the study of relations between Russia and the Vatican drew
mainly on documents that had been generated by their own diplomats and
their contacts in various countries (especially Poland, Germany, France,
Italy, and Austria). This research also drew on the documents of party
organs (including the Comintern3) as well as the police apparatus (ChekaOGPU-NKVD).4 Together, this complex of documents allows one to see
1. This article is part of a project supported by the Russian Science Foundation (No.
19-18-00482 “Entangled Histories: Russia and the Holy See, 1917–1958”).
2. Grace Davie, Religion in Britain since 1945: Believing without Belonging (Oxford,
2008).
3. Evgenia Tokareva, “Komintern i Internatsional proletarskikh svobodomysliashchikh
v bor’be protiv religii i Vatikana,” Elektronnyi nauchno-obrazovatel’nyi zhurnal “Istoriia,” 9:1
(2018). DOI: 10.18254/S0002215-5-1. Available to registered users at URL: http://history.
jes.su/s207987840002215-5-1 (accessed 29.06.2020).
4. Roman Dzwonkowski, Losy duchowieństwa katolickiego w ZSSR 1917–1939: Martyrologium (Lublin, 1998); Bronislav Chaplitskii, Irina Osipova, and Geraldine Kelley, Book of

G REGORY FREEZE ET AL.

479

the complex layers of interrelations between the center of the Catholic and
communist worlds—the ideological and diplomatic links, but also the
secret activities of Soviet police organs. Russian and foreign scholars have
explored, to some degree, the history of Soviet and Vatican relations, especially in the 1920s; their research has explored, for example, the Vatican’s
attempts to save the Romanov family after the revolution, to intervene on
behalf of the clergy in all confessions, to aid the starving in the Papal Mission of 1922–24, and to establish diplomatic relations up to the late 1920s.5
This recent scholarship, by tapping into new documents, is providing a new
vista on the vicissitudes in “high politics,” international relations, ideological discourse, and the activities of the Soviet police apparatus.
But how are we to reconstruct the quotidian of simple Catholic believers? What documents are we to use for this difficult task? Most of the documents currently available emanate from the party, state, and police, which
were passionately committed to pursuing an antireligious policy and had a
strong bias in how they portrayed the religious life of believers.
Some scholars believed that one could obtain a reliable perspective
from the investigatory files of the political police, that such documents
Remembrance: Biographies of Catholic Clergy and Laity Repressed in the Soviet Union (USSR)
from 1918–1953 (Notre Dame, Indiana, 2014).
5. Evgenia Tokareva and Aleksei Iudin, eds., Rossiia i Vatikan. Vyp. 1: V kontse XIX–
nachale XX veka (Moscow, 2002); Evgenia Tokareva and Alseksei Iudin, eds., Rossiia i
Vatikan, vyp. 2 (Moscow, 2007); Evgenia Tokareva and Aleksei Iudin, eds., Rossiia i Vatikan,
vyp. 3: Russkaia emigratsiia v Evrope i Katolicheskaia tserkov’ v mezhvoennyi period
(Moscow, 2014); Evgenia Tokareva, “Otnosheniia SSSR i Vatikana: ot peregovorov k
razryvu. 1922–1929 (kratkii obzor po materialam sovetskikh arkhivov),” in: Rossiia i Vatikan,
eds. Evgenia Tokareva and Aleksei Iudin (Moscow, 2002), 260–320; Evgenia Tokareva,
“Problemy statusa katolicheskoi ierarkhii v peregovorakh SSSR i Sviatogo Prestola v 1920–e
gg. (na osnove novykh arkhivnykh dokumentov),” in: Rossiia i Vatikan, eds. Evgenia Tokareva
and Aleksei Iudin (Moscow, 2007), 147–80; Evgenia Tokareva, “Antireligioznaia kampaniia,
osobenno v shkolakh, prinimaet prosto plachevnye masshtaby. Ital’ianskie diplomaty i
Katolicheskaia tserkov’ v SSSR. Dokumenty Tainogo arkhiva Vatikana, 1929–1935 gg.,”
Istoricheskii arkhiv 2011, no. 6: 84–93 and 2012, no. 1:80–92; Alexey Beglov and Evgenia
Tokareva, “Novye dokumenty i issledovaniia ob otnosheniiakh Rossii i Vatikana nakanune
Vtoroi mirovoi voiny,” Rossiiskaia istoriia, 2015, no. 4: 223–26; Evgenia Tokareva, “Vatican
and Catholics in Russia in 1920–1930: Communication Problems,” Procedia. Social and
Behavioral Sciences, 236 (2016), 379–84; Alexey Beglov, Gregori Friz [Gregory Freeze], and
Evgenia Tokareva, “SSSR, rossiiskie katoliki i Vatikan v preddverii Vtoroi mirovoi voiny:
osnovnye sobytiia i napravleniia issledovanii,” Elektronnyi nauchno-obrazovatel’nyi zhurnal
“Istoriia,” 9 (2018), vyp. 4 (68). DOI: 10.18254/S0002214-4-1; available to registered users
at URL: http://history.jes.su/s207987840002214-4-1 (accessed 29.06.2020); Evgenia
Tokareva, “Vatikan v fokuse sovetskoi politiki (1938–1988),” Rossiia v mire: obrazy i grani
vzaimodeistviia, ed. Aleksandr Chubar’ian et al. (Moscow, 2019), 405–37.

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could bring us closer to real people—whether it be a priest or ordinary
believer. The independent Memorial Society provides access to some of the
police files6 and has facilitated specialized research on the repression of
Catholic clergy and laity.7 These materials have indeed become the principal source for confessional scholarship; in the post-Soviet era Catholics
have been able to assemble relevant materials for martyrology and canonizations.8 However, a closer study of this extremely specialized type of
source has raised critical questions about the kind and veracity of information found in the police files and whether they really record the experiences
and attitudes of clergy and believers. The Orthodox community has actively
discussed this question as it prepared materials for the canonization of new
martyrs and confessors, and used the investigatory police files as the basis
for its judgments. This provoked criticism from some in academia and the
Church. Some researchers (e.g., Lidiia Golovkova9) argued that such files
from the period of the Great Terror (1937–38) provide only evidence that
a given individual was shot, and that all the other information (including
the texts signed by those under interrogation) is simply unreliable—as
extracted under torture if not fabricated outright. Other researchers do not
go quite so far, but are skeptical about the reliability of the police files as a
historical source.10 The fears of critics proved justified: in 2016 the names
of some martyrs (previously proclaimed as such by the Orthodox Church)
disappeared from the church calendar after information, gleaned from
newly discovered police files, proved contrary to earlier findings. The same
question can also be applied to the police files on Catholics.
Hence the object of the April 2020 conference was to examine Russian
religious history not from the perspective of party, state, and police records,
but “from below”—from the perspective of ordinary believers. That may be
“old hat” in Western scholarship, but it is a difficult new undertaking in
6. For the main collections of data and files see: https://www.memo.ru/ru-ru/collections/ (accessed 29.06.2020)
7. Chaplitskii et al., Book of Remembrance; Irina Osipova, “V iazvakh svoikh sokroi
menia...” Goneniia na katolicheskuiu tserkov’ v SSSR. Po materialam sledstvennykh i lagernykh del
(Moscow, 1996).
8. A number of documents, including letters, are available at two online sites: http://
cathol.memo.ru/http://рускатолик.рф/repressirovannie-katoliki/ (accessed 29.06.2020) and
https://sakharov.center/asfcd/pam/?t=pam&id=1493 (accessed 29.06.2020).
9. Lidiia Golovkova, “Osobennosti prochteniia sledstvennykh del v svete kanonizatsii
Novomuchenikov i Ispovednikov Rossiiskikh,” Al’fa i Omega, 2000, no. 4: 206–15.
10. Alexey Beglov, «Prozelitizm sredi mertvykh: Katolicheskaia propaganda zapisyvaet
v riady priverzhentsev Rimskogo prestola rasstreliannykh pravoslavnykh episkopov,” NGReligii, 11.08.1999, no. 15 (38): 6; Pavel Protsenko, “Mif ob Istinnoi Tserkvi,” Vestnik
russkogo khristianskogo dvizheniia, 1998, no. 179: 137–50.

G REGORY FREEZE ET AL.

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scholarship on Russian religious history. The primary task was to identify
and evaluate new historical sources that can provide a fresh perspective on
everyday religious life in the Soviet period. The organizers sought to enlist
the participation of specialists who have actively engaged this category of
sources and to conduct a discussion on their use and interpretation. The
conference—the first of its type—was highly productive and generated
many new insights.
The conference included eighteen researchers from six countries:
Belarus, Kazakhstan, Lithuania, Poland, Russia, and the United States.
The Russian participants indeed came from diverse parts of the country:
from Pskov and St. Petersburg in the northwest to Rostov-on-the-Don in
the South to Sakhalin in the Far East. The conference consisted of four
thematic panels: one on memoirs, a second on epistolary, a third on oral
history and ethnographic collections, and a fourth on a regional diversity
of everyday Catholic life in Soviet Russia. Outside the formal panel structure the conference also heard papers by Gregory Freeze (Brandeis University, Waltham USA) and by Waldemar Rezmer (Nicolaus Copernicus
University, Toruń Poland). Rezmer provided an overview of the variety of
archival materials, all relevant to the study of Catholics in Soviet Russia,
that are to be found in the Central Military Archive in Warsaw.11 Freeze
presented a paper about the conceptual foundation of the whole project—
namely, the notion of “entangled history,” which emphasizes the impact of
globalization (making the traditional “national historical narrative” obsolete) and, in the case of religious studies, suggests the value of “deconfessionalization” in favor of an inter-confessional approach. Freeze also presented a brief survey of yet another, under-utilized source: the Catholic
press, specifically the American Catholic Press Agency, which gave the
diocesan press a global perspective by disseminating reports and raw material from around the world, including the Soviet Union.12
The chronological focus here—1917–58—reflects the events that profoundly changed the position of Russia and the Vatican in world affairs.
The starting point’s focus was on the period of revolution and civil war,
which reconfigured not only geopolitical realities but also the status of the
Catholic Church in Russia. The endpoint of 1958, at the other end,
reflected the substantial changes in Soviet society after the Twentieth Party
11. Waldemar Rezmer, “Katolicheskaia tserkov’ v Sovetskoi Rossii (SSSR) v materialakh, khraniashchikhsia v Tsentral’nom Voennom Arkhive v Varshave.”
12. Gigori Friz [Gregory Freeze], “Kontseptsiia ‘Entangled History’ pri izuchenii
istorii povsednevnosti katolikov Sovetskogo Soiuza.”

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CATHOLICS IN THE SOVIET UNION

Congress (1956) and the end of the pontificate of Pius XII (1958), who
had adhered to an uncompromising anti-communist policy.
What was unique about the position of Catholics in the USSR was the
fact that they had far more incentives and possibilities to sustain ties abroad
and to transmit information about the life of believers in Soviet Russia and,
in the case of those who emigrated or visited, to talk about their experiences under communist rule. These correspondents included such people as
Edmund A. Walsh (1885–1956; head of the Papal Mission to assist
famine victims) and the Lithuanian priests Juozapas Vilkas, Tomas
Pashkevichius, and Juozapas Senvaitis. Walter Ciszek (1904–84), an
American Jesuit, left memoirs about his time in the USSR until he was
exchanged for a Soviet spy in 1963.13 In short, researchers can find letters,
reports, and memoirs of Catholic priests and believers in archival repositories in the most far-flung corners of the globe: Poland, Lithuania, the Vatican, and the United States.
It is important to point out that the conference participants, from the
very outset, engaged questions about the methodology needed to analyze
the various types of sources.
Thus the paper by Fr. Stefan Lipke SJ (St. Thomas Institute, Moscow)
examines the evolution of the memoirs by the Jesuit Walter Ciszek, which
were published as two volumes in the United States after his return to the
United States in 1963.14 The paper demonstrates that the first version of
the memoirs describes Fr. Ciszek’s trials and tribulations in Russia, including his incarceration and the interrogations at the infamous Lubianka
prison, as an “adventure” and created a heroic narrative of his resistance to
a godless regime. In the second version, however, he describes the same
events as a spiritual battle and concedes “defeat,” but a defeat that inspired
him to place his life entirely in God’s hands. He thus changed not only the
narrative (from “heroic” to “penitential”) but also the choice of facts.
Whereas the first variant explains that he finally signed the transcript of the
interrogation as due to the application of some drug (thrust on him by the
investigator), the second version omits that exculpatory detail altogether.
So we are left to wonder whether a drug was used or not.

13. Walter Ciszek (with Daniel L. Flaherty), With God in Russia (New York, 1964);
Walter Ciszek (with Daniel L. Flaherty), He leadeth me (London, 1973).
14. Shtefan Lipke [Stefan Lipke], “Vospominaniia Val’tera Chisheka SJ o zakliuchenii
v Lubianke kak primer narrativnogo osmysleniia tiuremnykh perezhivanii.”

GREGORY FREEZE ET AL.

483

In the case of Fr. Ciszek’s memoirs we have a unique situation, where
the memoirist corrects himself and produces two different narratives, with
a “gap” between the two. This probably reflects a general tendency in memoirs as a historical source. Each memoirist probably has several alternative
interpretations of the very same episode in his or her life.
More often, however, we encounter the situation where the correction
comes not from the memoirist, but from other documents. Such is the case
in the autobiographical novel, Descent into Darkness,15 by Oleg Volkov
(1900–96),16 which is analyzed in the paper by Liudmila Alieva and Artem
Verle (Pskov State University, Pskov Russia).17 Volkov, who was incarcerated for a total of twenty-seven years, describes his encounters with Catholic
priests in prisons and labor camps. In this case there is a clear gap between
his account and historical reality: Volkov’s portrayal of Catholic priests deviates from their real biographies, which are known to us from other documents. But it is entirely possible that Volkov would have rewritten his
account, had he done a second version, as was with the case of Fr. Ciszek.
This raises a serious question for researchers: which interpretation
better reflects the actual events in the biography of the memoirist? And to
what degree can one draw upon memoirs for concrete facts?
In the case of epistolary sources, which were examined in a separate
panel, one can draw the general conclusion that this type of document is
also quite subjective, but may well contain more reliable information than
do memoirs. After all, the facts presented here are not distorted by the
caprice of memory or by a later reassessment of events and their perception
(as was shown in the paper by Stefan Lipke).
The epistolary genre represents an enormous mass of documents,
which are preserved not only in state and institutional repositories, but also
in private archives. That of course makes it more difficult to identify and
gain access to them. Nevertheless, on the basis of those collected and presented in the reports by the panelists, one can create a preliminary classification of these sources.
15. Oleg Volkov, Pogruzhenie vo t’mu: iz perezhitogo (Paris, 1987; Moscow, 1989 and
many later reprints).
16. For a record based on the police file, see the entry in “Bessmertnyi barak”:
https://bessmertnybarak.ru/volkov_oleg_vasilevich/ (accessed 29.6.2020).
17. Liudmila Alieva and Artem Verle, “‘Upovat’ im ne na kogo’: katoliki glazami sovetskogo politzakliuchennogo (vokrug avtobiograficheskogo romana Olega Volkova, Pogruzhenie vo t’mu).”

484

CATHOLICS IN THE SOVIET UNION

Thus the paper by Viktoras Bilotas and Kęstutis Žemaitis (Vytautas
Magnus University, Kaunas Lithuania) examines the appeals from Catholic
priests, deported to eastern Russia, to their superiors (and also former superiors relocated outside Soviet Russia).18 The appeals contain complaints
about the clergy’s onerous conditions in this region in the early 1930s, along
with requests that they be transferred to positions outside Russia. The very
tone of the letters makes it clear that these people are physically broken and
that they deem further work in this country as meaningless.
The paper by Dmitriy Panto (Museum of the Second World War,
Gdańsk Poland) also addressed the problem of the harsh conditions in
Siberia, the shortage of priests for this enormous territory, the long trips to
remote areas, and the persecution by local authorities. The paper also provides a full overview of the relevant sources, which include letters, memoirs, diaries, and autobiographies (preserved in Polish archives and available for research on the internal life of Catholic parishes in Siberia). Panto
traces the history of the administrative division of Catholic dioceses in
Siberia during the period of Soviet rule.
A quite different category of letters is the focus of a paper by Evgenia
Tokareva and Ivan Fadeev (Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow). They
examine the official and semi-official correspondence of Edmund A.
Walsh, who was stationed in Russia in 1922–23 as the general director of
the Papal Mission for Aid to Russia. Walsh did not experience those difficulties that were encountered by parish priests, for he enjoyed diplomatic
immunity as the Vatican’s official representative in Russia. He traveled
around to the sites of the Mission’s assistance (Moscow, Rostov-on-Don,
Krasnodar [formerly Ekaterinodar], Crimea, and Orenburg), but also visited such cities as Petrograd and Novorossiisk (which handled the delivery
of food and clothing). These trips enabled Walsh to observe conditions in
Russia, and he also obtained information about the life of Catholic
parishes from conversations with priests and from their letters. Walsh
served as the eyes and ears of the Vatican, had the sober view of an outside
observer, and—thanks to his direct ties to the Holy See—could provide the
Vatican with a realistic picture of what was happening.
The paper by Anna Vishivaniuk (Russian Academy of Sciences,
Moscow) examines a different category of letters: the correspondence of
18. Viktoras Bilotas and Kęstutis Žemaitis, “Peremeny v zhizni katolikov aziatskoi
chasti SSSR 1920-kh godov glazami ikh pastyrei: korrespondentsiia sviashchennikov I.
Vilkasa, F. Pashkevicha, I. Senvaitisa.”

G REGORY FREEZE ET AL.

485

the head of the Greek Catholic (Uniate) Church, Metropolitan Andrei
Sheptitskii (1865–1944) with subordinate bishops and priests, as well as a
number of Vatican prelates.19 The paper focuses on one segment of this
correspondence: the union of the Catholic and Orthodox Churches.
Because Metropolitan Sheptitskii was outside the Soviet Union for much
of this period (except for a short period in 1939–41), his correspondence
was subject neither to censorship nor to interdiction, and hence he could
freely express his ideas and thoughts. However, one can raise questions
about how well he was informed about the real condition of GreekCatholic parishes located within the territory of the Soviet Union.
Edmund Iarmusik (Yanka Kupala Grodno State University, Grodno
Belarus) provides an analysis of another type of letter: appeals and complaints by believers who filed protests to central authorities (with rare
exceptions) about the closing of their church. Such protests represent a significant phenomenon after the conclusion of World War II. Indeed, such
letters took on a mass character not only in Belarus, but in other parts of
the Soviet Union, and constitute whole volumes in the archives. These letters provide information not only about the condition of the church building and number of parishioners, but also about the level of activity of laity
in this or that region, about the shortage of priests, about the latter’s role
in the protest movement, and much else. Historians have previously discussed this category of source, but much research remains be done.20
Panelists on a third panel examined the research conducted to collect
oral history and the materials of ethnographic expeditions. All the papers
examined materials from Polish Catholics in Ukraine (Dmitrii Naumov of
Belarus State Economic University and Konstantin Savitskii of National
Research University “Higher School of Economics,” Moscow),21 Belarus
19. Anna Vishivaniuk, “Otnosheniia glavy Ukrainskoi Greko-Katolicheskoi Tserkvi
mitropolita Andreia Sheptitskogo s pravoslavnymi v 1920–1940 gg. (iz korrespondentsii mitr.
A. Sheptitskogo).”
20. Andrei Savin, “Pis’ma vo vlast’ kak spetsificheskaia forma politicheskoi adaptatsii
sovetskikh grazhdan v 1930-e gody,” Vestnik Novosibirskogo gosudarstennogo universiteta,
seriia: istoriia i filologiia, 15 (2016), no. 8: 133–45; Andrei Savin and Viktor Denninghaus,
“Pis’ma vo vlast’ kak modus religioznogo dissidentstva v brezhnevskuiu epokhu,” Rossiia, 21
(2017), no. 16: 118–41; Nadezhda Beliakova, “‘Soobshchaem o prestuplenii protiv pravosudiia...’: obrashcheniia i zhaloby veruiushchikh v brezhnevskom SSSR,” Noveishaia istoriia
Rossii, 8 (2018), no. 3: 640–58: Nadezhda Beliakova, “Sovetskie po stiliu, religioznye po
soderzhaniiu. Pis’ma veruiushchikh vo vlast’ v period pozdnego sotsializma,” Rossiiskaia
istoriia, 2019, no. 1: 207–14.
21. Dmitrii Naumov and Konstantin Savitskii, “Viktimizatsiia poliakov-katolikov na
Zapadnoi Ukraine: faktory, formy i posledstviia (1939-konets 1950-kh gg.”

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CATHOLICS IN THE SOVIET UNION

(Stanislav Cherepko, Francysk Skaryna Gomel State University, Gomel
Poland),22 and Kazakhstan (Sergei Kostomarov, LTD Arkheologicheskaia
ekspertiza, Almaty Kazakhstan).23 All the papers reproduce the narrative of
respondents about the victimhood of their group and their suffering in
Soviet times; they also demonstrate that oral history and the prospects for
their use have only begun to attract the attention of historians of religion.
A fourth panel considered the regional patterns in the everyday religious life of Catholics in the USSR. The paper by Dmitriy Panto, cited
above, examined tendencies in the development of religious life among the
Catholics in Siberia, who had been exiled and deported to this vast territory and found themselves outside the pale of legality. The apostolic vicarate of Siberia was the largest administrative unit in Soviet Russia; created
by Pope Benedict XV on 1 December 1921, it was directly subordinate to
the Vatican Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith.
The paper by Professor Nataliia Potapova (Sakhalin State University,
Iuzhno-Sakhalinsk Russia) examines the Catholic Church on Sakhalin in
the 1920s–40s, which found itself in the zone of political interests of Soviet
Russia and Japan.24 The paper uses the memoirs of three priests (Agnelius
Kovarzh, Gustav Stysiak, and Chikokhid Nagasaki) to reconstruct the internal life of the Catholic community here. The paper pays close attention to
the missionary discourse about the religious life of the indigenous peoples,
the uniqueness of the locale, and diversity in the conversion of aborigines,
Japanese garrisons, and Russian settlers to Catholicism. The religious life of
the island remained under the strong influence external authorities: in the
Russian part of northern Sakhalin the organized religious life ceased in 1925
when the local administration closed the church, but in the Japanese part it
continued and even became more animated because of migration processes.
The paper by Ksenia Rodionova (Far Eastern Federal University, Vladivostok Russia) examines sources on everyday religious life in Manchuria.25 The
Catholic structure there arose in connection with the construction of the
Chinese Eastern Railway; since Polish priests prevailed during the construction here, the rich base of sources is to be found in Polish archives.
22. Stanislav Cherepko, “ ‘Chtoby my nichego ne znali...’: zhizn’ katolicheskogo naseleniia Gomel’shchiny v sovetskii period po materialam sovremennikov.”
23. Sergei Kostomarov, “Povsednevniaia zhizn’ katolikov, prozhivavshikh na territorii
Iuga i Iugo-vostochnoi chasti Kazakhstana v 1920–1950 gg.”
24. Nataliia Potapova, “Katolichestvo na Sakhaline v 1920–1940-kh godakh: mezhdu
voinoi i mirom.”
25. Ksenia Rodionova, “Russkaia katolicheskaia tserkov’ v Man’chzhur’ii: istochniki v
pol’skikh arkhivakh.”

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487

If Siberia and Sakhalin suffered from an acute shortage of priests in
the interwar period, the problem was still worse for the Catholic community in the Russian south. The paper by Alla Shadrina (Southern Scientific
Center of the Russian Academy of Sciences, Rostov-on-Don Russia)
examines the intense activity of the laity that resulted from the complete
absence of a Catholic clergy.26 The paper draws on ego-documents of lay
representatives that were compiled in a registration file from 1944–52 for
the Catholic community at the Church of the Last Supper. The key figure
was Rozaliia Ivanovna Dzeima: listed as the church elder in the documents, she had become the unofficial center of the community, the initiator of attempts to register the church, someone actively seeking to find a
priest for the community, and the author of the epistolary protest against
the decision of city authorities to close the church.
The conference papers also demonstrated that Catholic communities
in various regions had very different chronologies. Thus Dmitriy Panto
pointed out that the history of Catholics in Siberia consists of two very distinct phases: the first (1921–38), marked by the apostolic vicarate until the
devastation wrought by the Great Terror, followed by a second phase,
characterized by the deportation of Polish Catholics in several waves. By
contrast, Sergei Kostomarov’s paper demonstrates that the periodization
for Catholics deported to southern Kazakhstan only began in the late
1930s. As several papers show, the expansion in the geographical dispersion of Catholics across the territory of the USSR included Siberia, Far
East, Kazakhstan, and Tajikistan.
Microhistory, as presented in the papers by Nataliia Potapova, Alla
Shadrina, and Tat’iana Nedzeliuk (Siberian Institute of Management,
Branch of RANKhiGS),27 focuses on particular parishes and travels. This
research nonetheless reveals global tendencies in the unique patterns of
various regions, such as Eastern Urals and Western Siberia, Manchuria,
the Far East, and Rostov-on-Don province. That suggests the need to consider framing these individual case studies within the broader concept of
globalization—that is, transnational dynamics that shaped the contours of
what appears to be unique patterns.
Several papers, and the discussions as well, raised the question of a
transformation of religious practice under extreme conditions—in prisons
26. Alla Shadrina, “Katoliki g. Rostova-na-Donu v 1944–1952 gg: neravnaq bor’ba za
sushchestvovanie i ee iskhod.”
27. Tat’iana Nedzeliuk, “Trudarmiia v vospominaniiakh sibirskikh nemtsev-katolikov.”

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CATHOLICS IN THE SOVIET UNION

and labor camps, given the complete absence of the material objects
required for the sacraments. In particular, it was pointed out that performing mass in the evening was a natural adaptation of liturgical practice to the
Soviet system of “an uninterrupted work week,” which eliminated Sunday
as a day off (Waldemar Rezmer). The conference also gave due attention to
the “feminization” of religion, which had its special characteristics in the
Soviet Union as a result of the repression of confessional organizations.
Significantly, a number of historians have described the activity of
“Eucharist women,” especially in communities established under conditions of exile and penal settlements. The Eucharist women received the
hagia from priests (who indeed were few in number) and administered
communion to the laity in their isolated community. They also baptized
newborn infants, as shown in papers by Iuliia Shapoval (Lev Gumilev
Eurasian National University, Nur-Sultan Kazakhstan)28 and Tat’iana
Nedzeliuk. This practice came to be firmly rooted: arising initially in the
1930s, it persisted in the postwar period, as reports of oral history attest.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, Catholics were mainly representatives of national minorities. Whereas Professor Katrin Boeckh and
Emília Hrabovec have concentrated their research on the history of
German Catholics,29 the conference focused instead on sources about the
life of Polish, Lithuanian, and (to a lesser degree Ukrainian) Catholics.
Many papers drew on materials collected in oral history projects involving
post-Soviet space, and especially the ethnographic materials collected in
studies of minorities. The research supports the thesis that, under conditions of radical changes in everyday life, Catholicism became the core of
their identity. Iuliia Shapoval came to the conclusion that, in the narratives
of deported Poles, Catholicism emerged as an important strategy to ensure
the survival and preservation of their ethnic identity. Under conditions
prevailing in the Soviet period, when religious institutions were weakened
or altogether destroyed, religion was preserved by the family, everyday religious practice, and individual religiosity (Dmitrii Naumov, Konstantin
Savitskii, and Sergei Kostomarov). In the postwar period, however, a new
tendency emerged: the Catholic church moved beyond the boundaries of
the traditional community of national minorities. The paper by Stanislav
Cherepko, based on a study of the gradual “Belorussification” of a church
in Gomel province, cast light on this significant new development. The
28. Iuliia Shapoval, “Rol’ katolitsizma v sokhranenii etnicheskoi identichnosti deportirovannykh poliakov.”
29. See: Konfessionelle Netzwerke der Deutschen in Russland 1922–1941. QuellenDatenbank. https://konnetz.ios-regensburg.de/about.php (accessed 29.06.2020).

G REGORY FREEZE ET AL.

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process of the indigenization of the Catholic church in the new territories
is in need of further research.
Still another important question is the significance of the Eastern rite
and the “Easterners” in the history of the Catholic Church in the Soviet
Union. The paper by Anna Vishivaniuk, which examined the letters of
Metropolitan Andrei Sheptitskii, elicited much interest among participants. The discussion made clear that we now need a more detailed study
of the relations prevailing among various traditions within the Soviet
Catholic community.
The conference also raised questions about the formation of historical
memory, in particular, the experience of persecution. Tat’iana Nedzeliuk,
for example, examined the problem of the stigmatization of German
Catholics, who found themselves during World War II and in the postwar
period as “conscripts in a labor army.” Her paper draws on interviews conducted in 1993–94 and shows that preservation of the faith was one of the
strategies for individual and collective survival that was employed by the
stigmatized collective of the “labor army.” The idea of victimization also
figured in the research of Konstantin Savitskii and Dmitrii Naumov, who
explored how Polish Catholics in postwar Ukraine represented themselves
as a victimized group.
The use of personal documents makes it possible to explore the possibilities for the history of emotions, especially for a specifically closed group
like members of the Catholic clergy. In the documents newly made available to scholars one can hear the voices of horror and despair during the
civil war; one can hear too what the narratives of Catholic clergy have to
say about the Soviet bureaucracy and the religious life of the local population. All this is of great value to researchers who seek to fill so important
gap as the history of the everyday religious life of Catholic men.
The conference, together with the initial results of the project “Entangled Histories: Russia and the Holy See, 1917–1958,” show the rich
prospects of what can be gained by the search for new sources on the religious history of Soviet Russia. Without question, these new sources provide
a valuable alternative to those that emanate from the regime and that have
hitherto prevailed. Much of this documentation is held in archives outside
Russia. Research in these repositories (whether institutional or private) will
no doubt yield a wealth of communications between believers in the USSR
and religious centers (not only Catholic) located outside the country.

Book Reviews
MEDIEVAL
Clerical Households in Late Medieval Italy. By Roisin Cossar. [I Tatti Studies in Italian Renaissance History.] (Cambridge, Massachusetts, and
London, England: Harvard University Press. 2017. Pp. vi, 232.
$49.95. ISBN 978-0-674-97189-9.)
Eleventh-century church reformers such as Peter Damian strongly
condemned those members of the clergy who were living with women, and
they called upon these men to return to what they argued was the early
church tradition of strict celibacy. Reformers considered such a practice,
called concubinage or clerical marriage (nicolaitism) by some, a source of
contamination and corruption of the Church. For scholars of medieval
religion, the extent to which the average member of the clergy was actually
living up to these normative prescriptions is a fascinating but vexed historical problem. Nothing less than meticulous research in state and ecclesiastical archives can reveal the actual “lived experience” of the clergy. This is
precisely what Roisin Cossar has done in her skillfully crafted, exhaustively
researched, and lucidly written book on clerical households. Her findings
are many. In this regional case study focused on northern Italy, she demonstrates persuasively that it was common for many clerics in the late fourteenth-century Veneto (including Venice) and Lombardy to live in households with female companions and their children. They did so in a variety
of household structures that were shaped pragmatically by the specific
needs of those living in them. Assuming a “hybrid status” (p. 3) between
lay and ecclesiastical spheres, clerics established households that resembled
those of their lay counterparts. However, there were some differences between them in terms of “their composition and their material culture” (p.
3). In addition, the author reports, the nature and structure of Venetian
clerical households did not differ significantly from those on the mainland.
In the Veneto and Lombardy alike notaries and their clerical clients often
intentionally hid or veiled the true identities of their female companions to
avoid sanctions from ecclesiastical superiors and to protect the honor of
these women from taint and embarrassment.
The author follows a very clear and well organized structure. The book
consists of two parts, framed by an introduction and a conclusion. The first
490

BOOK REVIEWS

491

part focuses on the sources; the second on the clerical familia. In all, there
are five chapters. In the introduction, we learn that a primary aim of the
study is “to compare and contrast the ecclesiastical ideals about clerics’
domestic arrangements with the lived experience of clerical household and
family life” (pp. 2–3). Chapters 1 and 2 (Part I) explore the available primary sources (testaments, inventories, and episcopal visitation records) and
discuss how to interpret them. Historians should not see the archival
record as a “transparent window” (p. 7), argues the author, as the sources
did not represent literal representations of clerical households. Rather,
Cossar proposes, they constituted the products of conversations and negotiations between clerics and notaries “that shaped how information about
those clients appears in the archive” (p. 21). Chapter 2 stands alone as an
excellent and critical introduction to the testament as a historical source.
Chapter 3, which begins Part 2, describes the heterogeneous and patriarchal nature of clerical households. It examines how portrayals of clerical
households in the sources did not often reflect actual lived experience. For
example, we often encounter “naming constructs” (p. 70), euphemisms or
code words, to describe female companions and offspring.
Chapter 4 focuses attention on female companions and the variety of
different names used to describe them. Notaries and their clients manipulated language to hide reality, protect household members from the
scrutiny of ecclesiastical superiors, and pass on property to heirs. Material
culture is the focus on Chapter 5. Although there were many striking similarities between “clerical and lay living arrangements” (p. 136), there were
also noteworthy differences. Whereas lay and clerical households shared
many possessions in common (beds, kitchen utensils, clothing), there were
also apparent differences. For example, it was far less likely to find written
texts and vestments in a lay household and even less likely to find weapons
among the clergy. Indeed, as restated in the conclusion, the clergy in this
part of Italy assumed a “special hybrid status between ecclesiastical and lay
culture” (p. 160). Perhaps partly for this reason, as noted suggestively in the
introduction, clerical households were “not the cause of difficulties for the
late medieval church but rather its salvation” (p. 6).
Saint Michael’s College (Vermont)

GEORGE DAMERON

492

BOOK REVIEWS

SIXTEENTH CENTURY
The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1545–
1700) [Refo500 Academic Studies, 35.1–3]. Edited by Wim François
and Violet Soen. 3 vols. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage, 2018. Pp. 423, 412, and 315. Each volume €79.99; all three
€250.00. Open electronic access. ISBN 978-3-525-55245-2.)
To commemorate the closing of the Council of Trent, the Catholic
University of Leuven, in collaboration with the Europäische Melanchthon
Akademie in Bretten and the Fondazione per le Scienze Religiose in
Bologna, sponsored an international conference entitled “The Council of
Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1545–1700).” It
was held in Leuven precisely on the 450th anniversary of the council’s final,
two-day session, on December 4–6, 1563, and was organized by Wim
François of the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies and by Violet
Soen of the Faculty of Arts. The contributions from that conference published in its proceedings number forty-four. They are distributed among
three volumes: Volume I: Between Trent, Rome, and Wittenberg contains sixteen papers; Volume II: Between Bishops and Princes also has sixteen; and
Volume III: Between Artists and Adventurers has twelve. Most of the papers
are in English, but several are in French and German. Their authors come
from Australia, Austria, Belgium, the Czech Republic, Croatia, France,
Germany, Great Britain, Israel, Italy, South Africa, Spain, Switzerland, the
Ukraine, and the United States of America. They are serious works of scholarship that provide new understandings, questioning and modifying old
orthodoxies. The emphasis of these studies is not on what happened at the
council, but on its aftermath: how its conciliar decrees were interpreted and
implemented, the tensions between efforts to centralize and provide uniformity throughout the Catholic world and counter movements to adapt to
local conditions. What roles the Congregation of the Council, local bishops, and civil rulers played in the implementation of the decrees is explored.
The council’s influence on artistic representations of religious subjects and
sacred music are investigated through an examination of treatises and individual works of art and music. True to its title, these topics are treated not
only in a European context, but also in the Spanish and Portuguese missionary lands, ranging from Peru to Ethiopia and Japan.
The first volume is introduced by the editors, who survey the themes of
the forty-four papers published in the collection. A magisterial overview of
the historical context in which the council met is provided by the late
Robert Bireley, who shows how the Catholic Church tried to adapt to the

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demands of urban laity for a deeper spirituality, to the individualism of the
Renaissance, to the growing power of centralizing states, to the European
expansion with its missionary activity, and to the calls for institutional and
doctrinal reforms. His fellow Jesuit and pre-eminent conciliar historian
John W. O’Malley produced two essays for this volume. The first distinguished what the council actually did from what it did not do. Far from providing a comprehensive program of reform, the council concentrated on the
office of bishop, requiring him to reside in his diocese, preach, and provide
pastoral care by visitations, synods, and the proper training of his clergy.
Not treated by the council were such topics as the missions, inquisition,
schools, a reform of the Roman Curia, and the role of the papacy. Among
the myths he debunks are the council’s imposition of monochromatic
reforms, its program of disciplining the laity, and its restraining artistic
expression. While not intending to increase the power of the papacy, it
nonetheless did so by allowing the pope to become the sole interpreter of its
decrees. O’Malley’s second essay compares the membership, organization,
functioning, and goals of the Council of Trent to that of Vatican Council
II. The essay by Günther Wassilowky deals also with the issue of the false
images of Trent, the openness of Trent, and the more rigid later phenomena of Tridentinism, Baroque Catholicism, and Catholic confessional culture that nonetheless expressed itself in various ways. Two contributions
treat Trent’s influence on the Vulgate (Jan Driedo’s defense of the Vulgate
and Louvain theologians’ efforts to correct it: Wim François and Antonio
Gerace) and vernacular Bible reading (the background to and the prescription of Trent leaving it to local authorities to decide: Els Agten and Wim
François). The liturgical books produced after Trent reflecting Roman
rather than Tridentine sacramental teachings (Joris Geldhof), the theology
behind the Roman ritual’s prescriptions for the sacrament of Penance (Vasyl
Popelyastyy), and the papal recognition of the cult of the national saints in
Iberia (Antoine Mazurek) are here explored. Three studies survey the attitudes of leading Protestants toward Trent: Emidio Campi on the magisterial reformers (Martin Luther, Martin Chemnitz, Ulrich Zwingli, Heinrich
Bullinger, and John Calvin), Günter Frank on Philipp Melanchthon, and
Gerald MacDonald on Chemnitz. Girolamo Seripando’s relationship with
the Italian Spirituali is explored by Camilla Russell. How the papacy sought
to control the legacy of Trent by its censorship of printed books (Paolo
Sachet) and its assigning to the Sacred Congregation of the Council the role
of the sole interpreter of Trent’s decrees (Federica Meloni) bring volume
one to a close, except for O’Malley’s Epilogue.
Volume II concentrates on Trent’s influence on bishops and princes.
Nicole Lemaitre surveys how earlier reformers and Trent envisioned the

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ideal pastoral activity of bishops. How particular bishops carried out their
tasks is studied by José J. García Hourcade for Cartagena in Spain, Morgane Belin for Namur, Tanja Trška for Ragusa, and Tomáš Parma for
Moravia. Christian Wiesner shows how the Sacred Congregation of the
Council enforced episcopal residency, while Heinz Finger traces how bishops implemented the training of secular clergy in seminaries. The impact
of Trent on women’s congregations engaged in active ministry in Italy is
treated by Quericolo Mazzonis who examines the efforts of bishops to
encourage and control them. How bishops chosen from the ranks of the
Theatine Order fared between Giampietro Carafa’s inquisition and Carlo
Borromeo’s diocesan reforms is studied by Andrea Vanni. How civil rulers
dealt with the reforms of Trent is treated in a series of articles. Ignasi Fernández Terricabras shows how absolute monarchs were reluctant to yield
their authority over the Church, resulting in much juridical contention and
local adaptations of Tridentine decrees. Resistance to the prescriptions of
Trent helped to fuel the beginnings of the Dutch Revolt, as traced by
Violet Soen. The efforts by the Duke of Alba in 1567 to 1573 to suppress
heretical books and install Tridentine bishops in the Low Countries were
motivated, according to Gustaaf Janssens, by reasons of state and personal
religious devotion. The political appointment of the nobleman Giannettino
Doria as archbishop (1608-42) produced nonetheless a serious reform in
the diocese of Palermo. In France, as studied by Irène Plasman-Lebrune,
the kings resisted the appointment of foreigners to church office for fear
they would be absent prelates who neglected their duty to provide pastoral
care. According to Philippe Denis, Edmond Richer avoided questioning
the decrees of Trent in his efforts to reaffirm a conciliarist ecclesiology.
Tom Hamilton shows how the Gallicanist Jacques Gillot used the correspondence between the French monarchy and its ambassadors at Trent to
demonstrate how the council failed to reform the Church, while the implementation of Trent’s decrees in France would damage the liberties of the
French Church.
Volume III is devoted to artistic expression and global Catholicism.
The question of sacred images is the subject of five articles. Pierre-Antoine
Fabre traces the evolution of Diego Laínez’s theories on sacred images
from the debates with Theodore Beza at the conference of Saint-Germainen-Laye (1561–62) to the formulation of the conciliar decree on images at
Trent (1563). Walter S. Melion shows Jesuit concern to have images accurately reflect biblical descriptions in the illustrations for Jerónimo Nadal’s
Annoationes et meditationes in Evangelia (1595). As a result of Trent,
according to the study of Soetkin Vanhauwaert, bishops in the Low Countries seem to have required the insertion of a relic of Saint John the Baptist

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into a sculptured representation of his decapitated head in order to make it
a proper object for veneration. Ellénita de Mol studies three different
Flemish post-Tridentine representations of Mary to show how a traditional depiction of her could continue while other images concentrated on
her relationship to Christ’s redemptive work. Sanja Cvetnic shows how
throughout the region of Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia following the
Council of Trent sacred images had a sensuous quality. The influence of
Trent on sacred music was minimal, according to Xavier Bisaro, because it
prohibited only impure or lascivious music and repeated the decree of the
Council of Basel on the proper singing of the psalms. Trent said nothing
about polyphony. Marianne C. E. Gillion’s study of Italian books of chant
published after Trent indicates that the newly composed graduals were distinguished by their brevity and comprehensibility. The section of global
Catholicism is introduced with an essay by Simon Ditchfield, who argues
that Trent influenced not only European Catholicism, but also the mission
territories of the Portugal and Spain, becoming a global religion that
adapted to local cultures in its practice of the sacraments of Baptism,
Penance, the Eucharist, and marriage. Hélène Vu Thanh studies the pastoral strategies of the first and last early modern Jesuit bishop in Japan,
Luís Cerqueira who applied the decrees of Trent by emphasizing the sacraments of Penance and the Eucharist, yet adapting the rituals surrounding
marriage to fit into local Buddhist traditions. Haruko Nawata Ward studies how the Jesuits translated the lives and martyrdoms of Catholic saints
into Japanese, building on their tradition of honoring holy persons, while
avoiding any practice of idolatry. The account of Saint Catherine of
Alexandria depicts her opposing the evil emperor (Toyotomi Hideyoshi
implied) and being appointed by Christ to be a spiritual teacher (woman
catechists) to overturn paganism (state Buddhism)—Catherine becoming
the model of the Japanese women catechist who helped convert and prepared people for Baptism, enduring torture, exile, and martyrdom for their
labors. These catechists were unlike the nuns ordered cloistered by Trent
or women confined to subservient domestic roles by Confucian society, but
were egalitarian women active in the ministry. Leonard Cohen’s essay on
the failure of the Jesuit mission to Ethiopia points to Patriarch Alfonso
Mendes’s efforts to enforce Trent’s prohibitions on fornication, clandestine
marriage, divorce, and polygamy as stirring much opposition to Roman
Catholicism. His prohibitions on other traditional religious practices, not
in harmony with those in Europe, also caused problems. S. Elizabeth
Penry studies how the decrees of Trent entered into arguments between
clergy and natives in the Viceroyalty of Peru regarding images, chapels, and
confraternities. While the brothers Pedro and Diego Chiri in around 1616
followed all the prescriptions of the Church in setting up their confrater-

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BOOK REVIEWS

nity with its chapel and statue of Santa Barbara, the local priest refused to
offer services there, claiming that the statue of Santa Barbara was a subterfuge for an Andean ancient goddess and confiscating the liturgical vestments and vessels. The case went to the tribunal of the Archbishop of La
Plata, which sided with the brothers. Eventually the chapel was raised to
the status of a parish and given its own pastor who provided the sacraments
to the local inhabitants.
The great historian of the Council of Trent, Hubert Jedin (1900–78),
planned to complete his monumental study by writing a fifth volume on
the implementation of the council. Death overtook the project and as this
collection of over forty studies suggests it would have taken at least another
lifetime to complete it. Indeed, many more studies need to be done along
the lines of those here reviewed in order to get a proper picture of how the
decrees of Trent were interpreted and implemented on the local level
around the world over the centuries. In many ways the task has just begun,
and this collection provides an excellent model as to how it should be carried out.
The Catholic University of America

NELSON H. MINNICH

MODERN EUROPEAN
Decoding the Stars: A Biography of Angelo Secchi, Jesuit and Scientist. By
Ileana Chinnici. (Leiden: Brill. 2019. Pp. xix, 367. €140.00 / USD
$169.00. ISBN 978-90-04-38729-4.)
Ileana Chinnici’s biography of Father Angelo Secchi, S.J. (1818–78),
introduces English-language readers to the life and work of this pioneering
astrophysicist. The book has flaws, notably its high cost and abundant
typographical and editing errors. Despite these, it is an interesting and
valuable work.
Such a costly book should show evidence of more attention from its
publisher. A heading atop the cover reads, “Jesuit Studies—Modernity
through the Prism of Jesuit History.” An editor and an editorial board are
listed inside, under the heading “Volume 16,” but there is no series editor’s
foreword, and no listing of the other titles in the series. The reader is
directed to Brill’s Web site for more information. The forewords are by scientists: Brother Guy Consolmagno, S.J., Director of the Vatican Observatory (VO); and Nichi D’Amico, President of Italy’s National Institute for
Astrophysics (INAF). Chinnici is an astronomer and historian at the

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INAF-Palermo Astronomical Observatory and a VO Adjunct Scholar; the
VO and INAF share close connections with Secchi’s work. This seems to
be a book produced by astronomers, with limited support from Brill. The
typographical and editing errors that result are usually mere annoyances,
but some do obscure information: e.g., Chinnici seems to relay, without
commentary, that Secchi’s father died in 1839, and his mother remarried
the previous year (p. 14).
The reader who looks beyond these problems will be treated to a fascinating story. Father Secchi was among the first to study celestial objects
using the combination of a telescope to collect and focus light, and a prism
to disperse that light into a rainbow “spectrum” of component colors.
Through this “spectroscopy” Secchi and others began to determine, for
example, the composition of stars. Secchi discovered in the spectra of stars
and the sun the color signature of Hydrogen. Today astronomers understand that all stars are composed primarily of this simple element; its overwhelming abundance in the universe is considered strong support for the
“Big Bang” theory of the origin of the universe. Chinnici shows how
Secchi also contributed to studies of weather and oceans, and worked to
improve the lighthouse system and map-making of the Papal States.
The Papal States themselves were one of several substantial obstacles
that hindered Secchi’s work, according to Chinnici’s portrayal. Secchi
wanted to help modernize the Papal States but was confronted with ineptitude, limited resources, and political chaos. Still, he accomplished much
with little. Visiting the Paris Observatory, he imagined what his observatory
at the Collegio Romano, built atop Rome’s church of St. Ignatius, could do
with “a thousandth” of their resources (p. 114). One of his meteorological
instruments won the “Grand Prix” at the 1867 Paris Exposition. That
reflected well on the Papal States, but he found that the other materials they
provided to the exposition were embarrassingly poor. After Rome was taken
by the Kingdom of Italy in 1870, Secchi struggled to keep his observatory
running. The Italian government could not manage the observatories it had.
Italy’s leading astronomer being an obedient Jesuit, who pledged no support
to the government, was politically inconvenient for it and for some in the
scientific community. But Secchi being determined to remain part of that
community made him distasteful to some in Italian Catholic circles: a petition was made to the First Vatican Council that his observatory with its
“evil machines” be exorcised to purge it of any “Satanic influence” (p. 265).
But, as Chinnici shows, Secchi’s second substantial obstacle was
Angelo Secchi. He got into quarrels. He sulked. He rejected a colleague’s

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apology, telling him he was like Pontius Pilate (p. 157). And, for a man
with a vow of poverty, he was very possessive of his observatory (p. 253).
He was not an unsympathetic character; he endured much. But he could
have endured less.
Secchi’s last substantial obstacle was European astronomy, which was
not oriented toward the astrophysics that he pursued. Chinnici’s concluding chapter is melancholy—a discussion of how, after Secchi’s death,
European astronomers did not follow the path he blazed, but refocused on
traditional astronomy, pursuing a vast international photographic skymapping project. Astronomers in the United States pursued astrophysics,
becoming leaders in the field, while Italian astrophysics stagnated, and
Secchi was forgotten. Chinnici closes with a sorrowful poem by Arseny
Tarkovsky about Secchi parting in death from his dear observatory, going
“down the decrepit steps to nothingness, to dust, to the last judgement,”
while birds take over his telescope.
It is a satisfying ending, but a misleading one. Decoding the Stars illustrates what Secchi accomplished despite the many challenges he faced. He
served his pope and his church well. A decade after Secchi’s death Pope
Leo XIII would establish the Vatican Observatory, with the intent of continuing to illustrate that which Angelo Secchi always illustrated: the
Church’s support for science. Secchi built the foundations of the science of
astrophysics, which would be the future of astronomy. He also produced
much work to educate the layperson about science. Despite his tendency
toward quarrels, he maintained relationships, notably with his family and
the astronomer Pietro Tacchini. Tacchini was no like-minded friend; he
was an anticlerical playboy, as Chinnici tells it (p. 228). Her portrayal of
these two scientists working well together regardless of their many differences is one of the highlights of the book.
Other highlights include Chinnici’s extensive use of Secchi’s own
words (translated, but with the Italian always provided in footnotes), abundant illustrations (although some need further enhancement or editing),
and a good index (needed for keeping track of the many characters who
come and go). The material in Decoding the Stars always seems relevant—
the reader never wonders why this or that was included. The hardbound
book seems well constructed. Ileana Chinnici has produced an interesting
and valuable re-introduction of an important figure in the histories of both
science and the Church.
Vatican Observatory

CHRISTOPHER M. GRANEY

Notes and Comments
ASSOCIATION NEWS
The American Catholic Historical Association has issued a Statement
on Racism and Complicity, condemning racism and supporting non-violent protest in the face of the brutal killings of George Floyd, Breonna
Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and too many other African Americans. As a
scholarly association, it calls on its members to provide the resources that
we need to learn, educate, and reflect on historic Catholic complicity in
service of the present and the future. Please look to the ACHA website
(achahistory.org) and social media (@achahistory) for more information.

ACHA STATEMENT ON RACISM AND COMPLICITY
As a scholarly association dedicated to promoting a deep and widespread knowledge of the history of the Catholic Church broadly considered, the American Catholic Historical Association reaffirms our condemnation of racism, and acknowledges the Catholic Church’s troubled history
of complicity in white supremacy as a participant in imperial projects in the
Americas, and the United States specifically. We recognize Catholic pasts
of slave holding, segregation, and policing, among other parts of this history. The ACHA further recognizes the importance of non-violent protest
to a democratic society and the long history of Catholic participation in it,
and celebrates the centrality of witness to the Catholic tradition. While
each of these has been the subject of crucial study by scholars of Catholicism, we recognize that the work of history is ongoing, and calls us to
reflect, to engage in work of companionship, solidarity, and discernment,
and to seek wisdom in how to talk with one another about difficult issues
tearing at our nation. We honor knowledge produced within the Black
community and other marginalized communities, and seek to center it
across this work.
Our corollary mission is the advancement of historical scholarship
through the support of our diverse membership. This means providing the
resources that we need to learn, educate, and reflect on the past in service
of the present and the future. To that end, we invite all ACHA members
who are able and interested to share resources that illuminate racial vio499

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lence and expropriation from the perspective of Catholic history, along
with the voices and experiences of Black Catholics that have often been
omitted from narratives of the Catholic past.
The Executive Committee therefore solicits the membership to think
about recommended books or articles, primary source documents or texts
from your research, or links to a recorded talk or oral history. Please share
those resources and your reflections on them with us via social media with
the hashtag #achahistory and tag @achahistory. We will repost them for
the education and edification of our membership through ACHA accounts
as well as gathering this material on a newly created section of the website.
The ACHA signs onto AHA message on racism and police brutality: The
Executive Committee voted unanimously to sign the American Historical
Association’s June 4 statement “urging a reckoning with the United States’
deplorable record of violence against African Americans.”
The AHA statement opens:
Everything has a history, including our nation’s deplorable record of violence against African Americans, committed either outside the law or in
the name of law enforcement itself. George Floyd’s death at the hands of
Minneapolis police officers cannot be understood in isolation, as a tragic
moment detached from a familiar narrative of “who we as Americans
really are.” What happened to George Floyd stands well within our
national tradition.

Fifty-seven other scholarly societies to date have co-signed the statement.

FROM THE EDITOR
Due to a lack of staffing, the journal is once again unable to provide
the usual section on Periodical Literature and has a drastically reduced
number of Book Reviews.
The Winter issue of the Catholic Historical Review experienced in three
places the deletion of material due to a last-minute technical “quark”
caused by transposing double hyphens into dashes. These deletions of text
were not detected in the blue-line phase of production, for which the
editor is sorry. The three missing texts are:
On page 26: [also to the] Catholic-ness of the Osage and other tribes
living in relation to the United States—and amid the world-shaking problems
created by that relationship—moves us beyond a U.S. framework for assessing
Catholicism as a religion that matters in, and in relation to, communities.

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501

On page 76, footnote 80 [it impossible to] create female cardinals is
discussed by Wolf, Krypta, 57–59.
On page 135 a separate error occurred: the institutional affiliation of
Robert Curley should be Universidad de Guadalajara, not Arizona State
University (Emerita).
On page 155 [readers and admirers.]
Arizona State University (Emerita)

ASUNCIÓN LAVRIN

CAUSES OF THE SAINTS
On May 27, 2020 Pope Francis authorized the publication of a decree
recognizing the miracles and/or martyrdom of twelve candidates for canonization. An additional miracle paving the way to sainthood was recognized for three blesseds: César de Bus (1544–1607), the founder of the
Secular Priests of Christian Doctrine and of the Daughters of Christian
Doctrine, both groups dedicated to preaching Christan Doctrine; Charles
Eugéne de Foucauld (1858–1916), the former officer in the French army
who briefly became a Trappist (1890–97), was ordained in 1901, then left
to work among the Berbers of Algeria when he was assassinated in his hermitage in 1916, and whose ideas led to the founding of the Little Brothers
of Jesus; and Maria Domenica Mantovina (1862–1934), the co-founder
with Father. Giuseppe Nascimbeni of the Little Sisters of the Holy Family
dedicated to teaching youth and assisting the sick and elderly.
The approval of a miracle has led two candidates to move from venerable to blessed. The 2015 miraculous healing of a life-threatening
condition of an infant in utero has advanced the cause of Father Michael
McGivney (1852–90). Born of Irish immigrant parents in Waterford,
Connecticut, he was ordained a priest in Baltimore in 1877, and ministered to an immigrant community in New Haven. Together with a
group of laymen, he founded the Knights of Columbus (currently with
two million members) to provide spiritual support to Catholic men and
financial support to their families should they die. While helping
parishioners during a pandemic, he contracted pneumonia and died two
days after his thirty-eighth birthday. His beatification ceremony will be
celebrated in Connecticut. The other candidate for blessed is PaulineMarie Jaricot (1799-1862), who was born into a wealthy Lyonaisse
family of silk manufacturers, took a vow of chastity in 1816, founded in
1822 the Society for the Propagation of the Faith to provide spiritual
and financial support to missionaries (her brother was a missionary), and
died destitute due to investing her wealth into a blast furnace comnpany

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that was based on Christian social principles but whose managers were
dishonest.
The pope also acknowledged that the following servants of God had
died as martyrs and hence will be beatified: Cosma Spessotto Zumuner
(1923–80), born Sante near Treviso in Italy, entered the Franciscan novitiate in 1939, professed in 1944, ordained in 1948, and sent to El Salvador
in 1950 where he worked among the peasants and denounced the abuses
of the Junta, for which he was shot to death while preparing for Mass in
1980; and six Cistercian monks from the monastery of Casamari in Lazio,
Italy, who where shot or stabbed with sabres in 1799 by soldiers of
Napoleon’s army for trying to safeguard the Eucharist: one Italian Zosimo
Maria Brambat from Milan; one Bohemian Domenik-Maria Zavřel, the
novice master from Prague; and four Frenchmen: Albertin-Marie Maisonade from Bordeaux, Modeste-Marie Burgen from Bourgone, MathurinMarie Pitri from Fontainebleau, and Siméon Cardon from Cambrai, the
prior of the monastery who had fled in 1795 to the monastery from Meaux
during the French Revolution.
On June 7, 2020 Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski (1901–81) will be beatified in a ceremony in Warsaw, Poland. Born into a noble family of Masovia, he was ordained in 1924, received a doctorate in canon law from the
Catholic University of Lublin, and became a seminary teacher in
Włoclawek. During World War II he served as a chaplain to the resistance
forces in Łaski and hid Jews. He was an opponent of both Nazism and
Communism, made bishop of Lublin 1946–48 and then archbishop of
Warsaw/Gniezno 1948–81 and hence primate of Poland and head of the
Polish Bishops Conference. He negotiated a compromise with the Communist government in 1950 to preserve some pastoral freedom, but was
imprisoned by it in 1953–56, made cardinal in 1953, and became an opponent of the Vatican’s Ostpolitik because of the Communists’ breaking of
agreements. He kept the Church united during difficult times and presided
in 1966 over the Millenium of Christianity in Poland celebration.

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503

OBITUARY

Father John Jay Hughes
(1928–2020)
The Reverend John Jay Hughes, a priest of the Archdiocese of Saint
Louis and a scholar noted especially for his writings on Anglicanism, died
on June 3, 2020 at the age of 92.
Hughes was born in New York City in 1928, the son and grandson of
clergy of the Episcopal Church, and a descendant of the first Chief Justice
of the Supreme Court of the United States and Founding Father, John Jay,
after whom he was named. His mother died when he was just six years old.
As a boy, Hughes was a chorister of the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine,
New York City. He graduated from Harvard University in 1948, and was
subsequently ordained a priest of the Episcopal Church in 1954, after reading for holy orders at General Theological Seminary in New York.
After traveling to Europe, Hughes read for a doctorate in Theology at
the University of Münster, where he was to study under Joseph Ratzinger.
During this time he was received into the full communion of the Catholic
Church, and in 1968 he was ordained to the sacred priesthood sub conditione by Bishop Joseph Hoeffner of Münster. His reception into the
Catholic Church and subsequent “reordination” (as it was seen by his
Anglican friends) caused an irreconcilable difference with his father, whom

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he never saw again. In 1969 he successfully defended his doctoral dissertation, “Stewards of the Lord: A Reappraisal of Anglican Orders.” The work
was published in 1970 by Sheed and Ward.
Father Hughes’s discussion of the validity of Anglican orders was to
be a theme throughout his life, as was his appreciation for his Anglican
upbringing. He argued that certain elements of Pope Leo XIII declaration
in Apostolicae curae, issued in 1896, were shown to be flawed at least to the
extent of suggesting a reexamination of the question in light of the
responses of Anglicans to the bull. At the time of his ordination, Hughes
even stated that the declaration of Apostolicae curae was “difficult to reconcile with modern Catholic scholarship.” Yet his former teacher, now Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, went on to do precisely that as Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith in 1998.
Hughes returned to the United States upon the completion of his doctoral work in Germany. He taught at Saint Louis University, and served in
a number of parishes of the Archdiocese of Saint Louis, eventually being
incardinated into its presbyterate. He served in various diocesan roles,
including as a theological consultant and Vice-Chancellor, as well as
Pastor of Immaculate Conception, Arnold, and Saint Alban Roe, Glencoe.
Although a scholar, Hughes was known also for his profound love of the
priesthood, which shaped his life and provided a context for his theological
work. He wrote about this in his 2008 autobiography, published just before
his retirement from active ministry, No Ordinary Fool: A Testimony to Grace
(Mustang, OK: Tate Publishing and Enterprises).
In 2013 Hughes began publishing his homilies online. At the time of
writing—a month or so after his death—his carefully prepared sermons are
still appearing day after day, written and scheduled to continue on. The
sermon posted the day before his death reads, “The God whom Jesus
reveals is our loving heavenly Father, who enters into a personal relationship with us—a relationship of love. This love relationship cannot be terminated by death, any more than God’s relationship of love with his Son
was ended by Jesus’ death.”
The Catholic University of America

JAMES BRADLEY