Lamy of Santa Fe. Paul Horgan

was a challenge. “However,” he said, “I did not get scared; and as I had before prepared mon petit mot, I did my best to deliver it.” At about the same time, he could report, “Great many in Danville have joined the temperance Society, and some in Newark”—a national movement whose earnest power had reached the forest frontier.

      In 1842 he had “yet another thing” to ask the bishop. What was to be done if a Catholic girl would insist on marrying a man who was not baptized? In the small community of Danville such a case of relentless love, before which man or woman was often helpless, was now Lamy’s concern. He told the girl she ought not to think of marrying her lover, and seemed at first able to turn her mind in the righteous direction. But he was “afraid that she will have the man,” who, he declared, had “lost his moral character.” But “suppose the marriage must take place?”—in other words, what if she should be with child? What then should he do? Would it be better to let them go to the Squire—the Justice of the Peace—or to marry them himself after all? The matter might, for reasons hinted at, be urgent. “Answer as soon as possible, what I can do …” So an ancient blind power spoke through his own concern, in the little grassy town with its new spire and its cemetery hill. It was not always simple to be the mediator between what these monuments represented.

      In 1844 Newark, his second mission, demanded increasingly of Lamy more than he reasonably could give to it from Danville. The town was growing faster than Danville, yet the church at Newark had not even yet been plastered. Had he been overambitious in building? “Perhaps I ought to be blamed to do so much in these hard times, in this case I beg your pardon but I do hope good intention will be some excuse”—for he had gone ahead too with a modest rectory and by summer the first payment on it would be due—a hundred dollars. Perhaps he should move to Newark from Danville, though he still had “great many places to attend,” and was almost “constantly on horse-back.” He was not complaining of the labor and the fatigue, for he was “as hearty and strong as ever.”

      * Votre grandeur—the English usage is “Your Excellency.”

      Action was urged upon him from many directions—the newest one was the “already contracted” plan to build a railroad from Mansfield, Ohio, to Lake Erie. Mansfield would grow much faster than either Danville or Newark, and yet—he thought it important—”there is no regular clergyman who attends Mansfield regularly.” He had been there four times, it was only twenty-nine miles from Danville, yet he had hardly any time to go there. The matter was urgent—”Many protestants, I have no doubt would help to put up a church for this very circumstance of the railroad coming there.”

      If he was “very thankful for … the particular kindness you have showed to me,” the bishop, in his turn, must have been grateful to have a man in the field so alert to all the implications of a fast-growing society. Lamy was not only a good priest, he was also a reliable manager and observer of the hard facts all about. It was a quality to be kept in mind by Cincinnati for what the future might bring.

      It was satisfying to report in the midsummer of 1845 that the burned-out church at Mt Vernon was under roof again. To rebuild it, everyone had “struggled very hard, but especially our warm friend little Mr Brophy. his zeal which he proves ‘by the act’ cannot be praised enough.” But the problems at Newark were still nagging, and a priest with whom he alternated one Sunday a month proved to be disinterested in “the temporal concerns of the church,” such as building, care for the property, the finances. Possibly the Dominicans, who had many priests, might take over the place, if he might make a suggestion? After all, they had once controlled Newark, and would probably be glad to assume even Louisville. But of course, “Bishop, you know yourself what is best to be done.” He still blamed himself for perhaps assuming more at Newark than could be redeemed, and he felt so unhappy about it, and so responsible, that he would gladly pledge a substantial portion of his inheritance in France, whenever it should come to him, to help with the problem. It was a comfort, however, to be able to be frank with Purcell. “It is to you, Revd Bishop that I must open my heart. You have always been a father to me, and I bless the divine providence that I am in this diocese” and “I have the honour to be your devoted child, J. Lamy.”

      But the materials of his work were first of all the men, women, children who looked to him through the years for what they could not achieve by themselves. In his four principal stations, he had three hundred families for which he was directly responsible, and there were many more in the missions to which he rode, often swimming his horse across unbridged or swollen rivers. Once crossing in an inadequate boat, he almost drowned with fourteen other persons. People knew the bothers he undertook for their sake; and when they came together with him on some great day, such as Christmas in Danville, all sighed with satisfaction. He wrote the bishop the day after Epiphany 1844 that though their hard times were not so great compared to those in “some other country, I have great deal of consolation for a missionary, our little church of Danville was ornamented at Christmas with garlands of evergreen all around with a kind of lustre où [sic] bien chandelier fixed also with evergreen hanging from the ceiling with the lights on it. we had a great illumination for Christmas, quoique ce ne fut pas merveille our good catholics in their simplicity thought there could be nothing better, nor more handsome. I have heard some say that at the first mass which was at 5 o’clock, they were almost transported to heaven. These three holy-days and these three Sundays our church has been very much crowded,” For graces in the wilderness, all gave thanks, including the pastor, who could measure their simple ardors against splendors he had seen long ago, far away, in the same purpose.

      vii.

       Private Concerns

      FROM THE FIRST it was comforting to Lamy to receive much help in the building of his churches and the making of his communities from numbers of non-Catholic settlers. Yet there were always others who glowered hot-eyed from the periphery, hissing of “priest-craft,” and rejoicing in the national “Know-Nothing” movement which sought to discredit Catholicism in the growing society. Convents were burned in various sections of the country, and lurid books, such as that by “Maria Monk” which professed to describe horrors of every sort in the conventual life, were popular among those who feared “popery.” Lamy and his colleagues were aware from the first of such a hostile climate in certain quarters, and had to meet it face to face now and then. The only answer was to go on modestly and calmly in the work of the Church, without mounting counter-attacks of any sort. In the end, such a posture won tolerance, which was all the Catholics asked, sure as they were of what they preached and sought to live by.

      Lamy, receiving converts, reported that “the Methodists were furious about here”—Danville—and went on to say, “they are holding quantity of meetings to stop as they call it the progress of popery.” Machebeuf, in upper Ohio, in his early days there, said Mass in Toledo in a private house, and declared that at the same time and in the same house, the Methodists held their services, and “following their honorable custom, the minister made such a din and such howlings that we were singularly inconvenienced.” The Catholics were upstairs, the Methodists on the first floor. Machebeuf disliked knowing what thoughts were going on under his feet, he said. But at Lower San-dusky, where every Sunday he could hear the singing of nearby Presbyterians in their services, it often happened that many of them would attend also the Catholic Mass, and some even vouched for Catholic credit at the banks, and he saw with gratification that as prejudices lessened, priests were no longer regarded as “monsters,” and Catholics as “ignorant and superstitious idolaters.” He had an ingenious theory why Catholicism became gradually acceptable—it was that the great number of conversions effected in England at the time of the Oxford Movement gave Americans reason to examine a religion which hitherto they had known only through “the most atrocious calumnies.”

      But as always, while public matters went along, private concerns bore heavily at times; and when in October 1843 Machebeuf received word that his father was critically ill at home in Riom, he resolved to go to France to see him before the end. He would need Bishop Purcell’s permission, but since the bishop was himself abroad at the time, the vicar general of the diocese must act for him. Machebeuf submitted his request. It was denied—justly enough, as Machebeuf had to admit, for at the moment there was no replacement