Lamy of Santa Fe (42 page)

iv
.

Machebeuf and Company Returning

W
ITH A PARTY OF THIRTEEN IN ALL
, Machebeuf had sailed from Le Havre in the
Alma
, Captain Bocandy, in early August, bringing from Mont-Ferrand the seminarians J. M. Coudert, Gabriel Ussel, Fialon,
Fayet, Rallière, and Truchard. The crossing was marked at first by the seasickness of the young men, but soon over that, they were all able to join in a jubilee on 15 August, when, before an improvised altar arranged at the bridge deck by Captain Bocandy, and made festive by the flying of the flags of five different nations, Machebeuf was ready to celebrate the Mass of the Feast of the Assumption, but sudden violent storm sent them all below to celebrate Mass in the main saloon. It was also the national holiday of the Emperor Napoleon I, and the Frenchmen lent their gaiety to it. In the evening, Truchard, who had a great bass voice, intoned the
Ave Maris Stella
, uniting for all the mysteries of ocean and heaven. “A splendid dinner” was given by the captain, marked by “the explosions of champagne corks and many hilarious toasts.”

In New York, Machebeuf wrote to Lamy giving his schedule of travel, and arranging for the date of arrival at Kansas City, where the bishop would have waggons waiting for them all. During a delay at the customs house, the seminarians, unable to be of help to Machebeuf because they knew no English, toured New York by horse car. When it was time to start West, Machebeuf must visit his old town of Sandusky, and on the way, show Niagara Falls to his young charges.

They found the falls “really overpowering,” even grander than what they knew from Chateaubriand, whose descriptions they had read in the seminary: how from the distance he heard the frightful thunder of the falls, and saw clouds of mist rising as from a great fire, shot through with every color of the rainbow; how the pines on the banks rose like phantoms in the mist, while eagles soared high and low on the violent air currents, and how Chateaubriand gazed in mixed terror and pleasure at the spectacle with its gulf in awesome shadow four hundred feet below. He rode close to the edge for a better view, and at the very brink, his horse, suddenly terrified by a rattlesnake in a bush nearby, reared, and was saved at the last second from plunging into the current only by his rider's desperate pull on the bridle, until both were safe again on land. An adventurous youth, Chateaubriand must have a closer look at the falls; saw vines growing along sloping rocks beside the cataract, and began to climb down, when suddenly the rocks cut straight below and the vines went no further. He was left holding to the last of them, unable either to climb up or down, feeling his fingers losing their grip and the weight of his body growing heavier, while he saw death awaiting him. There were few men, he later reflected, who in all their lives knew two such minutes as he had known, suspended above the gorge of Niagara. Finally his hands opened and he fell—but by preposterous luck, he found himself alive on a rocky ledge, “half an inch from the abyss,” with an
pain in his left shoulder. How fortunate: his guide, above, saw his signal, went for help, and with immense difficulty he was rescued by Indians of the neighborhood. In the end, all he suffered was a simple fracture of the arm, which was set right with two splints, a bandage, and a sling. Along with other travellers on the rocky edge in frock coats and top hats, or bonnets, shawls, and parasols, the young Frenchmen of 1856, like Chateaubriand in 1791, staring at the unimaginably swift and deep glassy emerald brink in its eternal pour, must have felt the dangerous spell of its hypnotic pull.

If Sandusky, next, was less exciting, it provided them with a glimpse of how beloved Machebeuf was in his former parish, for his welcome there gave them, said one, “a higher idea of our good Father, and a greater love for him.” In St Louis, they met De Smet, watched Machebeuf lay the cornerstone of a new church in the woods, nearly capsized in their waggon on the way to the ceremony, and recovered at a dinner later in a nearby farmhouse. Machebeuf was waiting to hear final plans from Lamy for the plains crossing, and when after some delay these arrived, he took his people (including a new recruit, Thomas Hayes, in minor orders) by river steamboat to Kansas City.

There the waggons sent by the bishop were waiting. Late in the day on 4 October the party set out for the plains, and had their first night of sleeping on the ground, hearing the doleful ruffles of the roving coyotes all night long. In the morning they grumbled to their leader about the animal chorus. Machebeuf replied, “You dread the monotony of the plains; these are a few of their many distractions. You ought to be glad to have a free band to serenade you. If you do not like the music, Mr Truchard with his magnificent voice can intone the
Ave Maris Stella
, as he used to do for us in the ship.” Truchard obliged; they all joined with him; and the song became “their regular hymn during the trip,” except when they feared to attract Indians. Still, whenever they relapsed into moody silence, Machebeuf would say to them,

“Well, young men, what is the matter? Have you lost your voices? You do not seem to be enjoying your breakfast; perhaps the coffee does not agree with you? Well, let me work a miracle.”

So, reported Gabriel Ussel, Machebeuf went to his waggon for “some good wine, and it brought our spirits back like a charm.”

On 6 October—the second day out on the plains—Machebeuf said to his young men, each of whom, along with the Mexican carters, had an assigned task in the order of the camp,

“Why don't you speak Spanish with our men?”

They said they did not know how.

“Oh, yes, you do!” replied Machebeuf, “and I shall prove it to you.
Now, here are the conversation books; I shall read the
Credo
very slowly while you follow me in Latin.” He then recited some “very simple rules for the formation of words,” the strangers mastered the system in five minutes, and thereafter “had no great difficulty in conversing” with their Mexicans.

Travelling about twenty miles a day, they met only the peaceful conventions of the prairie experience—herds of bison, visits from Indians whose chief interest seemed to be greedy curiosity, nocturnal forays by wolves in packs, parties of United States cavalry on reconnaissance. On 3 November, twelve miles from the first habitations of New Mexico, Machebeuf took a moment late at night, by a good fire, in the midst of woods and surrounded by snow, while all his companions were sound asleep, to write a word to his brother which he could post next day at Fort Union.

“I have only a moment to write that we are all in good health, we have not had the slightest accident, we have twice been visited by Indians but they did not seem hostile and were satisfied with a little sugar, wheat, and some biscuits. We hope to reach Santa Fe before Sunday….”

It was 10 November when they came to the city, to receive the traditional welcome out on the road, and to attend the bishop's Te Deum in the cathedral. The six young seminarians were highly important reinforcements for Lamy's company of priests and teachers; and a month after their arrival they were all ordained in final orders by the bishop in the humble chapel of the Loretto convent, and assigned their posts in the field. Young Father Gabriel Ussel was assigned to Arroyo Hondo, replacing Lucero.

Machebeuf brought, too, items of good news from Rome. Barnabo had sympathetically heard his defense of Lamy against all the charges made against him. He had brought also written permission to sell the
Castrense
for the benefit of diocesan finances. Barnabo had been elevated to the cardinalate and promoted from secretary to prefect of the Sacred Congregation of the Propaganda Fide. Lamy wrote to congratulate him on these honors, and to thank him for his confidence and favor; and at the same time, though without offering further defense of his own case since this had been well managed already by Machebeuf, he forwarded to the cardinal marked copies of the election contest speeches in Congress by Gallegos and Otéro—exhibits which spoke for themselves well enough. He thought it well to add, since the matter had come up in the civil context of the voting process, “I hope also that the disputed area between Durango and Santa Fe will soon be decided.…”

v
.

The Excommunications

A
ND NOW
M
ACHEBEUF
heard of the collapse of relations between Martínez and Lamy. Letters had again begun to pour forth to Lamy from the pastor of Taos. Always observing the complimentary conventions of salutation and conclusion, Martínez, in between, went far beyond the honest indignation of a man who felt put upon. Making charges suspiciously like those already lodged at Rome, he declined on 12 November 1856 to retract the rebellious arguments he had published in the
Gaceta de Santa Fe;
accused Lamy of attempting to impose censorship; undertook to instruct Lamy on the Canon Law requiring three formal warnings before imposing penalty upon a subordinate; cited civil as well as theological rights; edified the bishop with references to scriptural sources; reminded him of the rights of a citizen of the Republic free to express his opinions; attacked him again about his tithing policy and other provisions of the pastoral letters; advised him to imitate his predecessor, Zubiría, in administering the office of bishop; and ended with the most preposterous statement of all, which was that if Lamy would change his policies, lift the “censorship,” and abandon the existing system of financial support for the Church, he, Martínez, “would agree” to make public apology for the transgressions he had committed in his open letters—quite as if these were the only matters at fault, when the schismatic chapel continued to flourish at Taos.

Since there was nothing to say in reply to any of this, Lamy made none, and Martínez wrote again five days later, admitting that in his manner of expression in his public letters he had gone “over the limits of moderation” and exercised “bad behavior in his precipitous writings”—but changed none of his views, leaving support for their lightness to public opinion. If there was an attempt at a mollifying tone in this letter, it was supported further by a postscript stating that he and Taladrid had “repaired” their arguments and had “mutually forgiven” injuries.

But Martínez was unable to leave matters at that, and ten days later, he was again at his desk, laboring through his repetitious and convoluted
style to probe old injuries anew. With an air of riding his chair in outrage, he now raked up the manner of his replacement at Taos. He had not, he stated, actually resigned in his first letter of the year, or in his second—he had merely
proposed
that he would resign, but only after the successor
he
had named (Medina) had been properly proved at his task. Then, and then only, would he feel he could vacate his office. Further—by implication—he felt that he had been tricked by the bishop, in sending a “foreign” priest instead of a “native” one: this had been the cause of all the trouble. Moreover, he cited Thomas Aquinas—out of his famous vellum copy of that doctor's works—to indicate that even in suspension, he still had the right to perform such priestly functions as absolution and burial, and he let it be clear that he intended to continue doing so. It now appeared that Taladrid was still “defaming” him, and Martínez said he suspected that this was with Lamy's knowledge and approval. He charged, too, that Taladrid had formed a party of defenders of himself and Lamy made up of the survivors of the Taos Massacre of 1847 in which Martínez had played a role. Martínez saw in this a cabal against himself. He also informed the bishop that church vessels of silver had been spirited away from Taladrid's church and replaced with others made of tin, to the scandal of all. Then, there was the matter of the Penitentes—the Fraternity of Penitent Brothers. Reminding Lamy that Pius IX expected him to “quench” the Penitentes—for Lamy had once told Martínez in Santa Fe that he had discussed this with the Pope in Rome in 1854—and alluding to the mood among the native people who were making trouble over the suspension of their chaplain in the Brotherhood, Martínez warned the bishop to take care, be impartial, and correct the wrongs which would attend his announced course. (In the event, folkways persisted, and the Penitente cult survived.)

Impassive silence at Santa Fe. But Lamy poured out his troubles to Purcell, writing him in March 1857 to report that “the opposition we met at our first coming here, and which manifested itself on several occasions, is far from being crushed down. Their number, we hope, are diminishing, but unfortunately, the less they seem to be, the more head strong they are getting, the few native clergy that are out of their office keep up a bad spirit against us,” and he named Gallegos, Ortiz, and Martínez—all three suspended, Martínez since the preceding October. They were working to embarrass Lamy “in every way,” but chiefly by unceasing efforts to incite the people to refuse to support the Church through tithings. Lamy had to admit they were succeeding all too well. They had nothing to lose—removed from their benefices, they each had “already got a handsome fortune from the church,” and they knew that if Lamy were deprived of the only local temporal means
support, he could not expect to succeed in his work for very long. But “the large majority is on the side of order,” he wrote, there were now good priests leading several congregations, and through the children, the future might be secure. Further, there was not much to “fear” as yet from the Protestants who were opening schools and missions in the wake of the eastern American colonization. To the Society in Paris, the bishop said more forcefully, that the suspended clergy were “making war to the death against us, but nevertheless, Mexicans are for the good order.”

Certainly Machebeuf found them so on this return to his “dear Albuquerque” to resume his pastorate. Sixty horsemen and the county prefect received him three miles from town, and escorted him to a great party enlivened by many bottles of “good Mexican wine.” His assistant was the young Father Coudert, who had just come with him from France, and between them, they had to visit on a weekly basis a line of missions consisting of twelve churches, chapels, or oratories, some of which were sixty miles apart. “Imagine,” he exclaimed, “the need for railroads there! But we have no other steam but the sweat of our
little
Mexican horses pricked by the
big
spurs of this land …”