Lamy of Santa Fe (38 page)

By four in the afternoon, half of the Indians were gone, but the remainder “hung around” the camp until an hour later. At last free to move, the caravan went on to find an encampment for the night. When they pulled up, the nuns were freed from their day-long imprisonment, and found that for some time they could not stand, after being so cramped in their breathless and prayerful confinement. Machebeuf had ways of restoring their spirits and showing them regard. Often he would send a small detachment ahead of the main body when trees were sighted so that they could take up and plant farther ahead a few trees where the party would make camp. There he would himself be found waiting to welcome the nuns in their “little garden or grove.” He liked to find wildflowers to bring them, and little collections of shells which linked the dry prairies to their ancient sea beds. High water at the ford of Las Vegas briefly endangered them, but they arrived safely at Santa Fe on 24 July 1855.

During Machebeuf s absence, Lamy had been canonically installed as bishop of the new diocese of Santa Fe. For those who understood it in general, this signified a rise in dignity for their old city and kingdom. For those with a special relation to their hierarchy—the native clergy specifically—it seemed to make less difference than Lamy had hoped.

For “the old ex-vicario Ortiz has returned from Durango, and we receive new vexations from him every day,” wrote Lamy to Purcell. Ortiz had spent two years in Zubiría's diocese, but finally must return to Santa Fe. He had a hard journey—fever and dysentery troubled
him all the way to New Mexico. As he came up the Rio Grande he heard that Lamy was making pastoral visits as far south as Tomé for confirmations. When the bishop returned to Santa Fe, Ortiz paid him an official call. But already there was a complication to be dealt with. His cousin, Father José Ortiz, called away by affairs, had asked him to officiate in his place on the important feast day of St John's eve in June, when the acequias—irrigation ditches—were blessed for the coming growing season, processions held, vigils observed. After singing the vespers on the saint's day, Ortiz received a brief suspension from the bishop for having assumed faculties not properly granted him.

The dean wrote to Lamy in self-justification. One of Lamy's measures in dealing with those whom he had disciplined was silence thereafter. He sent no immediate answer to the letter from Ortiz. But a fortnight later Lamy sent word to him that it distressed him to deny the old dean his priestly functions, and invited him to call for the purpose of reaching a reconciliation.

“I went, and he received me kindly,” said Ortiz, who then brought up the reason for his return to Santa Fe: he asked Lamy for his old Santa Fe parish.

To this Lamy replied that he would “speak in all frankness.” To prove that he would “forget the past,” Lamy offered Ortiz, for his parish, instead of Santa Fe, the rich river lands reaching from Peña Blanca to Algodones, which contained haciendas and villages as well as Indian pueblos.

To this, Ortiz said he, too, would speak “in all frankness,” declared that he would accept no charge which was not in Santa Fe, and took his leave.

Lamy's answer once again was complete silence. They were still in conflict, and Ortiz, once more acting out of the same spite he had shown in leaving Santa Fe before, now seized “several holy vessels and some church ornaments which belonged to the parish,” and again left Santa Fe. He took also “a bell which is not his property,” reported Lamy to the Vatican “(for we have the testimony of the person who gave this bell to the church).” But Ortiz had a brother-in-law, the municipal prefect of Santa Fe, who promptly gave him a writ of possession of the bell, and “the bell was taken down by violence.” Lamy felt powerless, “as the authorities are on his side, and I must say are rather scandalous Catholics, we have to suffer these abuses. I am telling you these facts so that if you receive in Rome some documents on the subject, you will have already been informed …”

For his part, Ortiz wrote copiously to Zubiría, making a furious case.

Ortiz declared that he would “almost certainly” leave New Mexico again. If Zubiría would once again receive him in his diocese, please
let him be assigned to El Carrisal. Beyond such personal affairs, let him report that he had rescued from the Santa Fe cathedral those properties which—as he saw it—belonged to him in a sense, since they had been given to the church in the first place by his relatives. He had done this because many fine objects which he had known well for years were now missing from the church, chalices (one of which he said he himself had given), a censer, a pyx, and some of these things, he had heard, vanished with a silver box and were taken to Europe. Why, he did not say. Furthermore—the list of outrages continued—many of the cathedral vestments had been burned, along with forty different costumes once used to dress the statue of Our Lady of the Rosary. But more—the cruel old matter of the division of the Santa Fe parish was now seen to be a fraud, since the
Castrense
church which was supposed to be the seat of a new parish was now empty, its bells silent, the place in disuse. The bishop was now using the original church of St Francis as his cathedral, after all, and it remained the chief parish church. Ortiz was sorry to send Zubiría such an “annoying and tiresome” report, but he thought it might be useful to him, and besides, he added to “his” bishop, “you sent word for me to write to you.”

By his behavior in Santa Fe, Ortiz was evidently giving new energy to those local priests who opposed Lamy, and Lamy resolved that he would be obliged to withdraw the license he had given Ortiz to say Mass. As he wrote to Purcell, “Some of our Mexican
padres
are more troublesome to us than the ‘know-nothings' with you”—for Purcell was having his own difficulties with organized anti-Catholic sentiment in the East. But, added Lamy, “we have not all roses in New Mexico …”

Still, he went steadily ahead with his measures of rectitude. Late in the year he issued a new pastoral circular touching on several matters. The first of these was to order that the Feast of the Immaculate Conception be observed in December with the greatest solemnity, for the entire Catholic world had received with “unanimity and thanksgiving the Dogma of the Immaculate Conception” which Pius IX had declared in the previous year. All, therefore, should prepare to receive the sacraments in honor of Our Lady, “thus truly trying hard to imitate the purity of Mary.” But he sternly took this occasion to remind everyone of the discipline he had announced several times before—“any family which does not fulfill the fifth precept of the Church”—to support the Church materially—”will not have the right to receive the Holy Sacraments. Let us again inform you that we consider those as not belonging to the Church who do not observe this precept; and we likewise would take away all faculties to say Mass and administer the sacraments from all Pastors who failed to sustain and provide for
the maintenance of religion and its ministers, in proportion to the goods which God has given them.” He was obliged to note further that such support was now “such a small part” that it seemed “more an insult than the fulfillment of an obligation.”

It was still another direct challenge to the native clergy, and by its forthrightness, it indicated that harsh measures were still needed to produce the support without which the diocese could not function. Curiously enough, the circular brought a gratifying response from the pastor of Taos—Father Antonio José Martínez—who had earlier joined with Ortiz, Chavez, and Gallegos in opposition to Lamy. Martínez read the circular to his two churches in Taos immediately, the people received with much joy the “plausible news” of the newly defined dogma of Mary, and they also gave vigilant notice to the demand for tithings, and would “literally” observe it. Martínez could report that he had already given the collector, Don Antonio José Valdes, “twenty-two dry measures” in grains of corn, and also four pigs, and four more measures of corn, together with payments totalling twelve pesos. He signed himself saying, “May the life of Your Excellency be in the hands of God for many years, Your servant and Obedient follower who loves you and kisses your hands.” Was Taos—was Father Martínez—now in filial obedience and peace? What hope.

But four pigs? Twelve pesos? Twenty-two dry measures [about forty-one bushels] of corn? To redistribute to the institutions of the diocese and support a share of the growing measures of learning and charity? Paris sent what money it could, Rome provided procedural and doctrinal guidance; the rest was Lamy's to provide. Somehow he must sustain the primary school for young boys; the pre-seminary school for twelve older boys destined for the priesthood, where already a handful of students were ready to begin their Latin studies; the convent of Our Lady of Light of the Lorettines, which was now augmented with both teachers and students so that Lamy moved out of his own
Casa Americana
, which Machebeuf had bought for him during his absence. The bishop now gave it to the sisters for their living quarters, classrooms, student dormitories, and chapel. With it went extensive grounds on all sides of the cathedral, except the front, which faced San Francisco street.

These were measures undertaken in only a single town—the largest, to be sure. But in addition, there were the now annual journeys over the plains for supplies and recruitment, each of which cost in the thousands. The long-neglected outlying churches and chapels needed renewal—needed everything. The immense lands to the west and north which were also his responsibility remained
terra incognita;
when time—and peace at home—would allow, he must go to see them, learn
their wants, and provide for them. For help, he clung to that older and more experienced friend who never failed him—Purcell, under whom he had learned his way. “Your charity and your great kindness to me of which I have had so many proofs will excuse me [i.e., rescue him] on account of my embarrassed condition being under very heavy expenses, and with everything to establish.…”

In the same letter, he told Purcell, “Most likely Rev. Mr Machebeuf is to go to Europe next spring.” In search of new clergy and seminarians, yes—but more: to present, in Rome, Lamy's replies to charges and intrigues against him on the part of his antagonists at home. For Santa Fe was home, now, and forever, with all which that could mean.

VI

SCANDAL AT TAOS

1852–1861

i
.

Martínez Rampant

I
F THERE WAS EVERY REASON FOR
L
AMY TO BELIEVE
that his enemies were intensifying their representations against him at Rome, he had more comforting reason, in January 1856, to hope that peace might at last settle upon his relations with one who was potentially his most formidable, because most intelligent and even least corrupt, adversary. This was the pastor of Ranchos de Taos, Father Antonio José Martínez. Father Martínez had worked for a quarter of a century for his people in Taos—Indians of the pueblo as well as the Mexican families of the
ranchos
and the central village. He had tried, long before Lamy, to find native youths who could be trained for the priesthood, and had found some—the notorious Gallegos of Albuquerque had been one of them. Martínez, too, had had his fling in local politics, and, remote in his high mountain village on Taos Plain, he had kept up a lively life of the mind, with strong opinions dating from his years as a seminarian at Durango. Now, after his skirmishes with Lamy, over the issue of the division of the Santa Fe parish, and with Machebeuf, over the accusations of betrayals of the confessional oath, he seemed to have subsided, despite his deeply entrenched local patriotism and pride of race. Further, he was beginning to feel the infirmities of age coming upon him, and he fell to considering proper arrangements for a diminishing future. He wrote to Lamy about all this in a temperate spirit.

Sending his letter by way of his cousin Joaquín Sandoval, who brought with it for the bishop a chalice of silver “worth thirty pesos,” he went on to say that he was troubled with rheumatism which, especially when riding, gave him great suffering in his legs. He had to keep himself warmly dressed even in the house. More—his nights were greatly distressed by urinary difficulties—”I am unable to void all that I need to,” and falling asleep became impossible. Lying in bed until
three in the morning was all he could do. He was troubling Lamy with these disagreeable personal matters because “if such ills continue,” he must sooner or later vacate his benefice—when, who could say? But it might be in the near future, though until such time he would of course give due attention to his duties. In short, “I might find myself obliged to resign because of poor health,” and he remained at His Excellency's disposal, and was his most true subject and faithful servant.

To this recital which seemed to cry out for sympathy there was no reply from Santa Fe. Lamy was alert to other concerns, and he wrote of these to Barnabo at Rome; for he had evidence that the legislators of New Mexico, and other laymen, under the sponsorship of Gallegos and J. F. Ortiz, were readying a huge bill of complaints against him to be addressed to Pio Nono. In the light of recent history, he may still have had doubts about Martínez. In any case, instead of answering Martínez, he wrote to Barnabo, “Perhaps the legislators of New Mexico who, though Catholics in name, are far from honoring religion by their moral conduct, will send you a representation against me and some of the rules which I established. I think it my duty to warn you of this, for all this opposition is plotted slyly by two or three Mexican priests”—could Martínez be one?—”who do not easily pardon me for the fault of having come to trouble them.…”

In a month or so Machebeuf was to leave for Rome. He and Lamy were taken up with the preparation of documents which would present the bishop's case at the Holy See. Father Martínez, with his tall, oval face, framed in black receding hair, his black eyes with the lids drawn down at the outer corners, his lean dour mouth, his jutting cheek bones, the uncertain look oddly lodged in his strong features, above his black neck cloth and his velvet-faced black cloak, was not the foremost of the concerns which now held Lamy's attention. Once again preparing to manage without the presence of his vicar general, Lamy, as he had written to the Society at Paris, would have to do everything himself—
“Je suis alors curé, vicaire, secrétaire et enfin factotum, mats grâce à Dieu j'ai une santé robuste
… ”