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The frontispiece, entitled “An Innocent Victim,†that adorns this volume is taken from a famous painting executed by S. Seymour Thomas, an artist who is rapidly rising to fame. Mr. Thomas was born in San Augustine, Tex., studied in New York at the Art Students’ League, and from there went to Paris, where he is recognized as an artist of great power. This picture was exhibited at the World’s Columbian Exposition, in Chicago, where it attracted great attention.
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The official gazette of the French Government recently published an order of the Minister of War granting medals to certain Catholic Sisters. A gold medal has been awarded to Sister Clare, of the Order of Sisters of St. Charles, for twenty-seven years’ service in the wards of the military hospital at Toul, and for previous service at Nancy, during the whole of which time she had given constant evidence of her devotion to duty. Silver medals have been given to Sister Gabrielle for thirty-six years’ work, during twenty-threeof which she has been Superior; to Sister Adrienne for thirty-eight years’ service, and to Sister Charlotte for eleven years’ service. These last three religious have been attached to the mixed hospital of Verdun, and, according to the official notice, have been remarkable for their zeal and their devoted care of the sick soldiers.
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The Queen of England only a few months ago showed her appreciation of the work of the Sisters in time of war by bestowing the Royal Red Cross upon the venerable Mother Aloysius Doyle, of the Convent of Mercy, Gort, Ireland. The following correspondence deserves to be preserved:
Pall Mall, London, S. W.,February 15, 1897.Madam:—The Queen having been pleased to bestow upon you the decoration of the Royal Red Cross, I have to inform you that in the case of such honors as this it is the custom of Her Majesty to personally bestow the decoration upon the recipient when such a course is convenient to all concerned, and I have, therefore, to request that you will be so good as to inform me whether it would be convenient to you to attend at Windsor some time within the next few weeks. Should any circumstances prevent your receiving the Royal Red Cross from the hands of Her Majesty it could be transmitted by post to your present address. I am, madam, your obedient servant,GEORGE M. FARQUHARSON.SISTER MARY ALOYSIUS.
Pall Mall, London, S. W.,February 15, 1897.
Madam:—The Queen having been pleased to bestow upon you the decoration of the Royal Red Cross, I have to inform you that in the case of such honors as this it is the custom of Her Majesty to personally bestow the decoration upon the recipient when such a course is convenient to all concerned, and I have, therefore, to request that you will be so good as to inform me whether it would be convenient to you to attend at Windsor some time within the next few weeks. Should any circumstances prevent your receiving the Royal Red Cross from the hands of Her Majesty it could be transmitted by post to your present address. I am, madam, your obedient servant,
GEORGE M. FARQUHARSON.
SISTER MARY ALOYSIUS.
St. Patrick’s, Gort, County Galway.Sir:—I received your letter of the 15th, intimating to me that Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen is pleased to bestow on me the Order of the Royal Cross in recognition of the services of my Sisters in religion and my own in caring for the wounded soldiers at the Crimea during the war. My words cannot express my gratitude for the great honor which Her Majesty is pleased to confer on me. The favor is, if possible, enhanced by the permission to receive this public mark of favor at Her Majesty’s own hands. The weight of seventy-six years and the infirmities of age will, I trust, dispense me from the journey to the palace. I will, therefore, with sentiments of deepest gratitude ask to be permitted to receive this mark of my Sovereign’s favor in the less public and formal manner you have kindly indicated. I am, sir, faithfully yours in Jesus Christ,SISTER M. ALOYSIUS.February 17, 1897.
St. Patrick’s, Gort, County Galway.
Sir:—I received your letter of the 15th, intimating to me that Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen is pleased to bestow on me the Order of the Royal Cross in recognition of the services of my Sisters in religion and my own in caring for the wounded soldiers at the Crimea during the war. My words cannot express my gratitude for the great honor which Her Majesty is pleased to confer on me. The favor is, if possible, enhanced by the permission to receive this public mark of favor at Her Majesty’s own hands. The weight of seventy-six years and the infirmities of age will, I trust, dispense me from the journey to the palace. I will, therefore, with sentiments of deepest gratitude ask to be permitted to receive this mark of my Sovereign’s favor in the less public and formal manner you have kindly indicated. I am, sir, faithfully yours in Jesus Christ,
SISTER M. ALOYSIUS.
February 17, 1897.
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In August, 1897, at the close of the ceremonies incident to the celebration of her Diamond Jubilee, the Queen of Great Britain conferred the decoration of the Royal Red Cross upon Army Nursing Sisters Mary Helen Ellis, Mary Stanilaus Jones, Mary Anastasia Kelly and Mary de Chantal Huddon, in recognition of their services in tending the sick and wounded at the seat of war during the Crimean campaign of 1854-56. Their services were very much appreciated by Miss Nightingale, who, indeed, has ever since shown her interest in them in many ways.
The three Sisters first mentioned, together with another who has died since, were on their return from the East, asked to undertake the nursing at a hospital, just then being established in Great Ormond street, for incurable and dying female patients, and to this hospital they have been attached to the present time.
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Professor Edward Roth, the well-known Philadelphia educator, is authority for this episode of the Franco-German war. He quotes General Ambert, who fought as a private in the war, as follows:
“Oh, yes; one of them I shall never forget. Poor Sister St. Claire! I see her this moment, her big black veil trimmed with blue, as she makes her way through the blood-smeared straw of our crowded barn. The roaring of the cannon was awful, but she did not seem to mind it; she did not seem to mind even the terrible fire that was now raging through the last houses of the village, the flames near enough to cast an unearthly glimmer on the suffering faces of the wounded men. But, oh! how her sharp ear caught the slightest complaint! How she flew towards the faintest whisper!
“Everywhere at once—with each one of us at the same time! What iron strength God must have put into that little body! Your eye had hardly caught glimpse of it when you felt already at your lips the cool refreshing drink that you had not the courage to ask for. You had hardlyopened your dimmed eyes, heavy with pain and fever, when you were aware of a face bending over you, keen, indeed, and bright, though slightly poxmarked; but so resolute, calm, smiling and kindly that you instantly forgot your sufferings, forgot the Prussians with their bombs bursting around you, forgot even the conflagration that was drawing nearer and nearer and threatened soon to swallow up the barn in which our ambulances had taken shelter. Good Sister St. Claire, you are now with your God, the voluntary victim of your heart and your faith, but I have often wished since that you were once more among us, listening to the thanks and prayers of such of us as are still alive and never to forget you. But you did not hear even the tenth part of the blessings of those that died with your name on their lips as they sank to their eternal sleep tranquilly, resignedly, hopefully, thanks to your holy ministrations!
“It was the evening of August 16, 1870, the day of our bloodiest battle—Gravelotte. For hours and hours the wounded had been carried persistently and in great numbers to the rear. In a large barn near Rezonville those of us had been laid whose intense sufferings would not permit them to be removed further. Thrown hurriedly down wherever room could be found, the first arms you saw extending towards you, were those of that little dark-faced woman, her lips smiling, but her eyes glistening with tears. A few yards only from the field of battle, from the very thick of the fight; a few yards only from the muddy, blood-slipping ground where you had just sunk, fully expecting to be soon trampled to death like so many others, what heavenly comfort it was to meet such burning charity! How it at once relieved your physical sufferings, soothedoff your mortification and drove away your deadening despair!
“Poor Sister St. Claire! All that evening and all that long night to get water for the fifty agonized voices calling for it every moment you had to cross a yard hissing with bullets, but every five minutes out you went with your two buckets and back you soon came as serene and undisturbed as if God Himself had made you invulnerable. And so the long night wore away.
“But next morning our army, after a fifteen hours’ valiant struggle and after resting all night on the battlefield, had to fall back towards Metz, and the barn had to be immediately vacated. There was no time for using the regular ambulances, for the Prussians, though they could not take any of our positions the previous evening, being heavily reinforced were now steadily advancing. The wounded, picked up hastily and carried out without ceremony, were piled on trucks, tumbrils and every available vehicle.
“Oh, the cries! the pains! the sufferings! Still, dear Sister St. Claire, though for forty-eight hours you hadn’t had a second for your own rest, you contrived to pass continually from one end of that wretched column to the other, with a little water for this one, a good word for that, a smile or friendly nod for a third, your little arms lifting out of danger a head that leaned over too far, or shifting into a more comfortable position the poor fellow whose leg had been cut off during the night and who would probably be dead in an hour or two. Then you found a seat for yourself on the last wagon.
“Alas! you were not there half an hour when the bullet struck you—struck you as you were striving to keep apoor, wounded, helpless man from rolling out. A squadron of Uhlans suddenly cut us off from the army and made us all prisoners.
“Poor Sister! It was by the hands of our enemies that the grave was dug where you are now lying in the midst of those on whom you expended the treasures of your saintly soul. Of us that survive you there is probably not one in a thousand that will ever know the name of that little Sister of the Trinity—in religion Sister St. Claire—that bright vision of charity flashing continually before us during the long ride of agony in the barn near Rezonville.
“Your holy limbs are now resting in an unknown corner of Lorraine—no longer your dear France—but your blessed memory will live forever in the grateful hearts of those you have died for!â€
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Lord Napier, who held a diplomatic position under Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, in Constantinople, during the Crimean War, gives the following testimony to the worth of the Sisters of Mercy:
“During the distress of the Crimean war the Ambassador called me in one morning and said: ‘Go down to the port; you will find a ship there loaded with Jewish exiles, Russian subjects from the Crimea. It is your duty to disembark them. The Turks will give you a house in which they may be placed. I turn them over entirely to you.’ I went down to the shore and received about 200 persons, the most miserable objects that could be witnessed,most of them old men, women and children, sunk in the lowest depths of indigence and despair. I placed them in the cold, ruinous lodging allocated to them by the Ottoman authorities. I went back to the Ambassador and said: ‘Your Excellency, those people are cold and I have no fuel or blankets; they are hungry, and I have no food; they are very dirty, and I have no soap; their hair is in an undesirable condition and I have no combs. What am I to do with these people?’ ‘Do?’ said the Ambassador; ‘get a couple of Sisters of Mercy; they will put all to rights in a moment.’ I went, saw the Mother Superior and explained the case. I asked for two Sisters. They were at once sent. They were ladies of refinement and intellect. I was a stranger and a Protestant, and I invoked their assistance for the benefit of Jews. Yet these two women made up their bundles and followed me through the rain without a look, a whisper or a sign of hesitation. From that moment my fugitives were saved. No one saw the labors of those Sisters for months but myself, and they never endeavored to make a single convert.â€
CONFEDERATE LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.BRAGGSMITHPEMBERTONHAMPTONEARLYFITZ-HUGH LEEPICKETT“JOE†JOHNSTONA. S. JOHNSTONLONGSTREETSTUARTGORDON
CONFEDERATE LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BRAGGSMITHPEMBERTONHAMPTONEARLYFITZ-HUGH LEEPICKETT“JOE†JOHNSTONA. S. JOHNSTONLONGSTREETSTUARTGORDON
In his speeches in after times Lord Napier repeatedly referred to the singular zeal and devotedness constantly shown by the Sisters to the sick of every denomination. On one occasion, in Edinburgh, he remarked that the Sisters faithfully kept their promise not to interfere with the religion of non-Catholics, but, continued his Lordship, “they made at least one convert; they converted me, if not to believe in the Catholic faith, at least to believe in the Sisters of Mercy.â€
The few months spent at Balaklava by the devoted Sisters witnessed a repetition of the deeds of heroism which had achieved such happy results at Scutari andKoulali. The cholera and a malignant type of fever had broken out in those days in the camp. By night as well as by day the Sisters were called to help the patients, yet their strength seemed never to fail in their work of charity. Besides the soldiers, there were sick civilians, Maltese, Germans, Greeks, Italians, Americans and even negroes, and to all they endeavored to give some attention.
The medical orders reveal the constant nature of the nursing required at their hands. At one time the doctor “requests that a Sister would sit up with his Dutch patient in No. 9 ward to-night.†Again, “Sisters to sit up with the Maltese and the Arab.†“Kind attendance on Jones every night would be necessary until a notification to the contrary be given.†“Keep the stump moist; a little champagne and water to be given during the night.†“Elliot is to be watched all night; powder every half hour; wine in small dose if necessary.†The very confidence placed by the physicians in their careful treatment added to their toil. As the deputy purveyor-in-chief reported to the Government in December, 1855: “The medical officer can safely consign his most critical case to their hands; stimulants or opiates ordered every five minutes will be faithfully administered, though the five minutes’ labor were repeated uninterruptedly for a week.â€
The heroism of the nuns, however, was now well known in camp, and never did workers find more sympathetic subordinates than the Sisters had in their orderlies. The fact that they would never lodge complaints or have the orderlies punished only made the men more zealous in their service. One of the Sisters found it necessary to correct her orderly. “Perhaps, James,†she said, “you do not wish me to speak to you a little severely.†He at once interruptedher: “Troth, Sister, I glory in your speaking to me. Sure, the day I came to Balaklava I cried with joy when I saw your face.†One who had taken a glass too much was so mortified at being seen by the Rev. Mother—whom the soldiers call their commander-in-chief—that he sobbed like a child. Another in the same predicament hid himself that he might not be seen by the Sister. He had never hidden from the enemy; a medal with three clasps bore eloquent testimony to his bravery. “I don’t like to say anything harsh,†said the Sister. “Speak, ma’am,†interrupted the delinquent; “the words out of your blessed mouth are like jewels falling over me.â€
One of the Sisters writes: “We have not a cross here with anyone. The medical officers all work beautifully with us. They quite rely on our obedience. Sir John Hall, the head medical officer of the army, is quite loud in his promise of the nuns. The hospital and its hunts are scattered over a hill. The respect of all for the Sisters is daily increasing. Don’t be shocked to hear that I am so accustomed to the soldiers now and so sure of their respect and affection that I don’t mind them more than the school children.†The soldiers in the camp envied the good fortune of stratagem to have a few words with the nuns. “Please, sir,†they would say to the chaplain, “do send a couple of us on an errand to the hospital to get a sight of the nuns.â€
As the time for the nuns’ departure approached the cordial manifestations of respect and kindly feeling were only the more multiplied. “The grateful affection of the soldiers (a Sister writes) is most touching, often ludicrous. They swarm around us like flocks of chickens. A black-veiled nun, in the midst of red coats all eyes and ears for whatever she says to them, is an ordinary sight at Balaklava.Our doors were besieged by them to get some little keepsake; a book in which we write ‘Given by a Sister of Mercy’ is so valuable an article that a Protestant declared he would rather have such a gift than the Victoria Cross or Crimean medal.â€
The Sunday after the nuns’ departure the men who went to the chapel sobbed and cried as though their hearts would break. When the priest turned to speak to them and asked their prayers for the safe passage of the nuns they could not control their emotion. “I was obliged to cut short my discourse,†wrote the chaplain, “else I should have cried and sobbed with my poor men.†This sympathy was shown by Protestants and Catholics alike, and from the commander-in-chief to the private soldier, from the first medical officers to the simple presser in the surgery, all was a chorus in praise of the “untiring, judicious and gentle nursing of the Sisters of Mercy.â€
Two Sisters of Mercy were summoned to their crowns from the hospitals of the East. One was English, a lay Sister from the convent at Liverpool. She fell a victim to the cholera which raged at Balaklava. The other was a choir Sister from Ireland, Sister M. Elizabeth Butler. Already rumors of peace had brought joy to the camp, when toward the close of February 7, 1855, she caught typhus attending the sick and in a few days joyfully bade farewell to the world. One of the surviving Sisters describes her funeral. The Eighty-ninth Regiment obtained the honor and privilege of bearing the coffin to the grave. One officer earnestly desired to be among the chosen, but thought he was not worthy, as he had not been at Holy Communion on that morning. The whole medical staff attended. The Sisters of Charity at the Sardinian camp sent five of theirnumber to express sympathy and condolence. Eight chaplains attended to perform the last rites for the heroine of charity.
The place of interment was beside the departed lay Sister, on a rocky hill rising over the waters of the Black Sea. The funeral was a most impressive sight. The soldiers in double file, the multitudes of various nations, ranks and employments, the silence unbroken, save by the voice of tears, the groups, still as statuary that crowded the rocks above the grave, the moaning of the sullen waves beneath, all combined in a weird pageant never to be forgotten by the thousands that took part in it. The graves of these cherished Sisters were tended with loving attention. Marked by crosses and enclosed by a high iron railing set in cut stone, they are still quite visible from the Black Sea beneath. Many a pilgrim went thither to strew the graves with flowers; and to the present day many a vessel entering the Black Sea lowers its flag in memory of those heroines, who in the true spirit of charity devoted their lives to alleviate the suffering of their countrymen.
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The Very Rev. James Francis Burlando, of the Congregation of the Mission, who is mentioned several times in the text of this volume, was born on May 6, 1814, in the city of Genoa, Italy. Very early in life he became impressed with the desire of adopting the priesthood as his vocation, and on the 16th of February, 1837, his Archbishop,Cardinal Tadini, conferred on him the holy orders of sub-deacon and deacon.
Soon after this he sailed for the United States and enlisted for the American missions under Rev. John Odin, C. M., late Archbishop of New Orleans, who at that time was seeking recruits for the infant seminary at the Barrens, Missouri. Before Father Burlando could come here he was obliged to meet and overcome a very strong opposition on the part of his good father, who, although a fervent Christian, could not bear the idea of being separated from his first-born son.
The very day that Father Burlando was to be admitted to the novitiate he perceived his father at the Archepiscopal Hall, waiting for an audience with Cardinal Tadini. Guessing at once the motive of such an interview, namely, that he might exercise his authority and command the young deacon, in virtue of holy obedience, to remain with his father and family, which would prevent him from carrying out his holy desire, the young man sought to baffle the intention of his father by seeing the Archbishop first and securing his permission and blessing.
Accordingly he had recourse to the following stratagem: He borrowed from his friends the various articles of a clerical suit; from one a hat, from another a cassock differing from his own, from a third a cloak, and, to render the disguise more complete, he put on a pair of spectacles and wig. Thus equipped, he entered the house of the Cardinal, had a conversation with him, in which he received his approbation and blessing, and passed out again without being recognized by his father, who he left standing at the door watching closely every young seminarian who entered. Fearing he might be discovered, the youngman quickened his pace, and repaired immediately to the venerable R. Bartholomew Gazzano, then Superior of the Lazarists, who received him.
In the following June he left Genoa and repaired to Turin, where he was ordained priest on the 9th of July by the Most Rev. Aloysius Fransoni, Archbishop of that See. To mitigate in some measure the pain which his good father experienced on account of this separation, Father Burlando wrote him a pressing invitation to honor and gratify him by being present at his first Mass, on the 10th of July. Touched by his son’s filial respect and affection, he at last relented and assisted with tearful devotion at the impressive ceremony.
A few weeks after Father Burlando went to the Mother House, in Paris, whence he set out for New Orleans. Having landed safely on the American shore, he proceeded by steamboat to Missouri, and reached the Seminary of the Barrens towards the close of the same year. He filled many positions of trust and honor. The last and most important field of his apostolic labors was the Community of the Daughters of Charity, at the Central House of St. Joseph’s, near Emmittsburg, Md., whither he repaired in the spring of 1853, and where he remained for the space of twenty-three years.
“During all that time,†says Father Gandolfo, his assistant, “I had more occasion than anyone else of observing his noble qualities of mind and heart. As a Superior he was always kind, discreet, obliging, generous, amiable and edifying in all that regarded the observance even of the least rule, beginning from rising at 4 o’clock in the morning at the first sound of the Benedicamus Domino. He was exceedingly charitable and ever ready to assist meat the first request in the performance of my duties, and this notwithstanding his frequent attacks of neuralgia and weakness of the digestive organs. I never saw him misspend a minute of his time. If he was not occupied in answering his numerous correspondents he was drawing plans of hospitals and other buildings, or attending to similar important affairs of the Community. He never retired to rest without having first read the many letters he daily received from every quarter of the United States. Although he frequently retired very late and slept but a few hours during the night, he was always ready for the hard labor of the next day.â€
It was largely due to the wise administration of this worthy director that the Community owed, and owes, its singular prosperity and development. It suffices to state that when he assumed the duties of his position there were only three hundred members distributed among thirty-six houses, and he lived to see the white Cornette on the brow of one thousand and forty-five Daughters of St. Vincent, having under their control ninety-seven establishments for the service of the poor, affording relief for almost every species of misfortune. Owing to his superior knowledge of architecture, he not only planned but personally supervised the erection of the greater number of these charitable institutions.
It would be impossible to enumerate the long and painful journeys he took, the multiplied dangers to which he exposed himself, and the many privations he endured for the particular welfare of the different establishments of the Sisters. How many sleepless nights he passed during our late civil war! There were Sisters in the North and Sisters in the South, but, by his constant vigilance,his consummate prudence, his repeated fatherly admonitions, and especially by his continual and fervent prayers, he had the consolation of seeing the entire Community free from all reproach and danger.
He has left many valuable volumes which prove his ability as a writer as well as a thinker. One of these is the “Ceremonial,†which was entrusted to him by the Most Rev. Archbishop Kenrick, approved by the Provincial Council, and which is now largely used throughout the United States. In this valuable work all the details relative to the Mass and offices of the Church, the sacred vessels and other articles used are minutely described, so that solemnity, beauty and becoming uniformity may be maintained. He also compiled the life of Father De Andreis, the pioneer of the Lazerists in this country. To him we are also indebted for the publication of the beautiful life of “Sister Eugenie, Daughter of Charity.â€
A person remarked that he must be well and extensively known throughout the United States, as he was always traveling and had to register his name in the hotels. “Oh, no,†he replied, “I give my name in as many different languages as I can. In this way I pass unnoticed, and get a little recreation at the expense of the poor recorder, who is often at a loss to spell the foreign name. He looks bewildered, repeats it several times, and casts an inquiring glance at me; meantime I pretend stupidity and leave him write whatever he likes. Then, you see, Francis Burlando is not known.â€
This devoted priest breathed his last on Sunday, February 16, 1873, at the close of a day well spent in the exercise of his sacred functions. The funeral service took place in the Central House of the Sisters of Charity, St.Joseph’s, Emmittsburg, February 19, and the remains were interred in the little cemetery of the Sisters of Charity, besides the mortuary chapel, wherein repose the venerated remains of Saintly Mother Seton, foundress of the Sisters of Charity in the United States.
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Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton, the founder and first Superior of the Sisters of Charity in the United States, was one of the most remarkable women in the history of the Catholic Church in America. She was reared in the doctrines of the Protestant Episcopal Church and did not embrace the Catholic faith until after the death of her husband.
This distinguished woman, who was born in the city of New York on the 28th of August, 1774, was a younger daughter of Dr. Richard Bayley, an eminent physician of the metropolis. Her mother died when she was but three years of age, but her father watched over her with all the loving care of a good parent. As Miss Bayley advanced in years, nature and education combined in developing those admirable traits of character that were to make her so lovable and merciful in later life. All of her friends and relatives were members of the Protestant Episcopal Church, but the physician’s daughter was more fervent in her religious duties than any of those with whom she was associated. From her earliest years she wore a small crucifix on her person, and was frequently heard to expressregret and astonishment that the custom was not more general among the members of her church.
At the age of twenty Miss Bayley was married to William Seton, a prosperous and most estimable merchant, of New York city. It was a happy marriage, and husband and wife lived in mutual love and esteem. In 1800 Mr. Seton became embarrassed through a reaction in business, caused mainly by the consequences of the Revolutionary war. In this crisis Mrs. Seton was a help-mate in every sense of the word. She not only cheered her husband by her encouraging counsel, but rendered him practical aid in arranging his business affairs.
In the course of her married life Mrs. Seton became the mother of five children, Anna Maria, William, Richard, Catherine Josephine and Rebecca. She was a model mother, restraining, guiding and educating her offspring with a mingling of tact, tenderness and edifying example. She did not confine her goodness to her children, but was ever ready to assist the poor and suffering. One of her biographers says she was so zealous in this respect “that she and a relative who accompanied her were commonly called Protestant Sisters of Charity.â€
The death of Mrs. Seton’s father in 1801 was a source of great sorrow to this devoted woman. Years had only served to cement the affectionate relations between father and daughter. During the last three or four years of his life Dr. Bayley was Health Officer at the Port of New York. He was naturally of a philanthropic disposition, and his official duties called him to a field that presented an unbounded field for Christian charity. It was while in the discharge of his duty among the immigrants that Dr.Bayley contracted the illness which carried him to his grave within a week’s time.
Mrs. Seton had scarcely recovered from the shock of her father’s death when her husband’s health, which had never been robust, began to decline rapidly. A sea voyage and a sojourn in Italy were recommended. Mrs. Seton could not permit her husband to travel alone in his weak and exhausted state, and she accompanied him, along with her oldest child, a girl of eight. The other children were committed to the care of relatives in New York city. The child caught the whooping cough on the way over, and the anxious mother was constantly occupied in nursing the husband and daughter. Before landing the unfortunate trio were detained for many days at the lazaretto station in the harbor of Leghorn. After they landed the good wife was untiring in her attentions to her husband, but, in spite of her love and solicitude, he died on the 27th of December “among strangers and in a foreign land.â€
On the following 8th of April, with her tears still fresh upon the grave of her devoted husband, Mrs. Seton sailed for home. Prior to this voyage and during the fifty-six days that it occupied, Mrs. Seton began to take a deep interest in the doctrines and practices of the Catholic Church. She eagerly devoured all of the literature upon the subject that opportunity offered, and also learned much by frequent conversations with friends. Deep meditation finally strengthened her in the desire to become a Catholic. Her only fear was that a change in her religious faith might bring about a coldness and a severance of the friendship that existed between herself and her friends and relatives—particularly her pastor—Rev. J. H. Hobart, a man of singular talent and goodness, who afterwardsbecame the Protestant Episcopal Bishop of New York.
Writing of the possibility of such an estrangement in her diary at this time, Mrs. Seton says with evident feeling: “If your dear friendship and esteem must be the price of my fidelity to what I believe to be the truth, I cannot doubt the mercy of God, who, by depriving me of one of my remaining dearest ties on earth, will certainly draw me nearer to Him.†She was not mistaken. When she returned home the coldness of many of her Protestant friends was a great trial to her warm and still bleeding heart. The storm of opposition added to her grief.
The fact that Mrs. Seton was in doubt upon the question of religion made her a subject of attack for the friends of all denominations. Writing of this, she says: “I had a most affectionate note from Mr. Hobart to-day, asking me how I could ever think of leaving the Church in which I was baptized. But, though whatever he says has the weight of my partiality for him, as well as the respect it seems to me I could scarcely have for anyone else, yet that question made me smile; for it is like saying that wherever a child is born and wherever its parents place it, there it will find the truth; and he does not hear the droll invitations made me every day since I am in my little new home and old friends come to see me.
“It has already happened that one of the most excellent women I ever knew, who is of the Church of Scotland, finding me unsettled about the great object of a true faith, said to me: ‘Oh, do, dear soul, come and hear our J. Mason and I am sure you will join us.’
“A little after came one whom I loved, for the purest and most innocent of manners, of the Society of Quakers(to which I have always been attached), she coaxed me, too, with artless persuasion: ‘Betsey, I tell thee, thee had better come with us.’ And my faithful old friend of the Anabaptist meeting, Mrs. T——, says, with tears in her eyes: ‘Oh! could you be regenerated; could you know our experiences and enjoy with us our heavenly banquet.’ And my good old Mary, the Methodist, groans and contemplates, as she calls it, over my soul, so misled because I have got no convictions. But, oh, my Father and My God! all that will not do for me. Your word is truth, and without contradiction, whatever it is. One faith, one hope, one baptism, I look for, whatever it is, and I often think my sins, my miseries, hide the light. Yet I will cling and hold to my God to the last gasp, begging for that light, and never change until I find it.â€
Mrs. Seton’s doubts were finally set at rest, and on Ash Wednesday, 1805, she was received into Catholicism in old St. Peter’s Church, New York city. The embarrassed state of her husband’s finances at the time of his death had involved her, and she opened a boarding house for some of the boys who attended a neighboring school. Some months later Miss Cecilia Seton, the youngest sister-in-law of Mrs. Seton, followed her into the Catholic Church. The one thought of Mrs. Seton was now to devote her life to the poor and to the Church. The opportunity came sooner than she anticipated. The co-operation of the Church authorities, and financial resources being forthcoming, a little Community was formed in St. Joseph’s Valley, Emmittsburg. Vows were taken in accordance with the rules of the institute of the Sisters of Charity, of France, and in a few months ten Sisters were employed with the instruction ofyouth and the care of the sick. They were poor but happy. The first Christmas day, for instance, “they rejoiced to have some smoked herring for dinner.†Rigid regulations were adopted for the government of the new order, and its growth was remarkable. Mother Seton had the satisfaction of receiving her eldest daughter into the Sisterhood.
Mrs. Seton’s youngest daughter lived into the nineties and died recently in the Mercy Convent, New York, where she had lived as a Sister of Mercy for over forty years. The sons of Mrs. Seton were prosperously launched in business enterprises.
Mother Seton died on the 4th of January, 1821, in the forty-seventh year of her age. Her bedside was surrounded by the dark-robed Sisters of Charity and her only surviving daughter, Josephine. Her end was happy and tranquil. Her career was one of great piety and usefulness. She has gone but her memory will live forever through the perpetration of the great order that she planted in the United States, and which has already grown to proportions far beyond the most sanguine expectation of its tender and affectionate founder.
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This beautiful poem, descriptive of a Sister of Charity, written by Gerald Griffin, has taken its place among those precious bits of literature that never die. The author was born in Limerick, Ireland, in 1803, and began his literary career as a reporter for a London daily. He wrote many novels, a tragedy and various poems. He died in Cork, in 1840.
A correspondent whose opinion is valued very highly writes to remind the author of the “Angels of the Battlefield†that a society of Sisters of Charity was first established in Dublin by Mary Mother Aikenhead early in this century. It was these ladies, particularly a sister and a cousin of the poet who joined Mother Aikenhead, that inspired Gerald Griffin’s beautiful lines. The Irish Sisters of Charity make perpetual vows, wear veils and dress somewhat similar to the Sisters of Mercy. They are not connected with any other congregation. The “Sister of Charity†is as follows:
She was once a lady of honor and wealth,Bright glowed on her features the roses of health,Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold,And her motion shook perfume from every fold;Joy reveled around her—love shone at her side,And gay was her smile as the glance of a bride;And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hallWhen she heard of the daughters of Vincent De Paul.She felt in her spirit the summons of grace,That called her to live for the suffering race;And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home,Rose quickly like Mary and answered, “I come.â€She put from her person the trappings of pride,And passed from her home with the joy of a bride;Nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved,For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved.Lost ever to fashion—to vanity lost,That beauty that once was the song and the toast.No more in the ball room that figure we meet,But gliding at dusk to the wretch’s retreat.Forgot in the hall is that high-sounding name,For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame;Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth,For she barters for heaven the glory of earth.Those feet that to music could gracefully moveNow hear her alone on the mission of love;Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gemAre tending the helpless or lifted for them;That voice that once echoed the song of the vainNow whispers relief to the bosom of pain;And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearlIs wet with the tears of a penitent girl.Her down-bed a pallet—her trinkets a bead,Her lustre—one taper that serves her to read;Her sculpture—the crucifix nailed by her bed;Her paintings one print of the crown-thorned head;Her cushion—the pavement that wearies her knees;Her music—the Psalm or the sigh of disease;The delicate body lives mortified there,And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer.Yet not to the service of heart and mind,Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined.Like Him whom she loves, to the mansions of griefShe hastes with the tidings of joy and relief.She strengthens the weary—she comforts the weak,And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick;Where want and affliction on mortals attendThe Sister of Charity there is a friend.Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath,Like an angel she moves mid the vapor of death,Where rings the loud musket and flashes the swordUnfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord.How sweetly she bends o’er each plague-tainted faceWith looks that are lighted with holiest grace;How kindly she dresses each suffering limb,For she sees in the wounded the image of Him.Behold her, ye worldly! Behold her, ye vain!Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain;Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days,Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise;Yet lazy philosophers—self-seeking men—Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen,How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed,With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid?
She was once a lady of honor and wealth,Bright glowed on her features the roses of health,Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold,And her motion shook perfume from every fold;Joy reveled around her—love shone at her side,And gay was her smile as the glance of a bride;And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hallWhen she heard of the daughters of Vincent De Paul.
She felt in her spirit the summons of grace,That called her to live for the suffering race;And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home,Rose quickly like Mary and answered, “I come.â€She put from her person the trappings of pride,And passed from her home with the joy of a bride;Nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved,For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved.
Lost ever to fashion—to vanity lost,That beauty that once was the song and the toast.No more in the ball room that figure we meet,But gliding at dusk to the wretch’s retreat.Forgot in the hall is that high-sounding name,For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame;Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth,For she barters for heaven the glory of earth.
Those feet that to music could gracefully moveNow hear her alone on the mission of love;Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gemAre tending the helpless or lifted for them;That voice that once echoed the song of the vainNow whispers relief to the bosom of pain;And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearlIs wet with the tears of a penitent girl.
Her down-bed a pallet—her trinkets a bead,Her lustre—one taper that serves her to read;Her sculpture—the crucifix nailed by her bed;Her paintings one print of the crown-thorned head;Her cushion—the pavement that wearies her knees;Her music—the Psalm or the sigh of disease;The delicate body lives mortified there,And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer.
Yet not to the service of heart and mind,Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined.Like Him whom she loves, to the mansions of griefShe hastes with the tidings of joy and relief.She strengthens the weary—she comforts the weak,And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick;Where want and affliction on mortals attendThe Sister of Charity there is a friend.
Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath,Like an angel she moves mid the vapor of death,Where rings the loud musket and flashes the swordUnfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord.How sweetly she bends o’er each plague-tainted faceWith looks that are lighted with holiest grace;How kindly she dresses each suffering limb,For she sees in the wounded the image of Him.
Behold her, ye worldly! Behold her, ye vain!Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain;Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days,Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise;Yet lazy philosophers—self-seeking men—Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen,How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed,With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid?
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(In Mr. Southey’s “Sir Thomas More†the following account of the Beguines of Belgium and the Sisters of Charity of France is reprinted from the London Medical Gazette, Vol. I.)
A few summers ago I passed through Flanders on my way to Germany, and at the hospital at Bruges saw some of the Beguines, and heard the physician, with whom I was intimate, speak in strong terms of their services. He said: “There are no such nurses.†I saw them in the wards attending on the sick, and in the chapel of the hospital on their knees washing the floor. They were obviously a superior class of women, and the contrast was striking between these menial offices and the respectability of their dress and appearance; but the Beguinage of Ghent is one of their principal establishments, and, spending a Sunday there, I went in the evening to vespers. It was twilight when I entered the chapel. It was dimly lighted by two or three tall tapers before the altar and a few candles at the remotest end of the building, in the orchestra, but the body of the chapel was in deep gloom,filled from end to end with several hundreds of these nuns seated in rows, in their dark dresses and white cowls, silent and motionless, excepting now and then one of them started up, and, stretching out her arms in the attitude of the crucifixion, stood in that posture many minutes, then sank and disappeared among the crowd. The gloom of the chapel, the long line of these unearthly-looking figures, like so many corpses propped up in their grave clothes—the dead silence of the building, once only interrupted by a few voices in the distant orchestra chanting vespers, was one of the most striking sights I ever beheld. To some readers, the occasional attitude of the nuns may seem an absurd expression of fanaticism, but they are anything but fanatics. Whoever is accustomed to the manners of Continental nations knows that they employ a grimace in everything. I much doubt whether, apart from the internal emotion of piety, the external expression of it is graceful in anyone, save only a little child in his night-shirt, on his knees, saying his evening prayer.
The Beguinage, or residence of the Beguines at Ghent, is a little town of itself, adjoining the city, and inclosed from it. The transition from the crowded streets of Ghent to the silence and solitude of the Beguinage is very striking. The houses in which the Beguines reside are contiguous, each having its small garden, and on the door the name, not of the resident, but of the protecting saint of the house; these houses are ranged into streets. There is also the large church, which we visited, and a burial ground, in which there are no monuments. There are upwards of six hundred of these nuns in the Beguinage of Ghent, and about six thousand in Brabant and Flanders. They receive sick persons into the Beguinage, and not only nurse,but support them, until they are recovered; they also go out to nurse the sick. They are bound by no vow excepting to be chaste and obedient while they remain in the order; they have the power of quitting it and returning again into the world whenever they please, but this, it is said, they seldom or never do. They are most of them women, unmarried, or widows past the middle of life. In 1244 a synod at Fritzlau decided that no Beguine should be younger than 40 years of age. They generally dine together in the refectory; their apartments are barely yet comfortably furnished, and, like all the habitations of Flanders, remarkably clean. About their origin and name little is known by the Beguines themselves, or is to be found in books. For the following particulars I am chiefly indebted to the “Histoire des Ordres Monastiques†(tome viii):
Some attributed both their origin and name to St. Begghe, who lived in the seventh century; others to Lambert le Begue, who lived about the end of the twelfth century. This latter saint is said to have founded two Communities of them at Liege, one for women, in 1173, the other for men, in 1177. After his death they multiplied fast, and were introduced by St. Louis into Paris and other French cities. The plan flourished in France, and was adopted under other forms and names. In 1443 Nicholas Rollin, Chancellor to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, founded a hospital at Beaune and brought six Beguines from Malines to attend upon it, and the hospital became so famed for the care of its patients that the opulent people of the neighborhood, when sick, were often removed to it, preferring its attendance to what they received at home. In one part of the hospital there was a large square court, bordered with galleries leading to apartments suitableto such patients; when they quitted the hospital the donations which they left were added to its funds.
The Soeurs de la Charite, of France, are another order of religious nurses, but different from the Beguines in being bound by monastic vows. They originated in a charity sermon, perhaps the most useful and extensive in its influence that ever was preached. Vincent de Paul, a celebrated missionary, preaching at Chatillon, in 1617, recommended a poor sick family of the neighborhood to the care of his congregation. At the conclusion of the sermon a number of persons visited the sick family with bread, wine, meat and other comforts. This led to the formation of a committee of charitable women, under the direction of Vincent de Paul, who went about relieving the sick poor of the neighborhood, and met every month to give an account of their proceedings to their superior. Such was the origin of the celebrated order of the Soeurs de la Charite. Wherever this missionary went he attempted to form similar establishments. From the country they spread to cities, and first to Paris, where, in 1629, they were established in the parish of St. Savious.
And in 1625 a female devotee, named Le Gras, joined the order of the Soeurs de la Charite. She was married young to M. Le Gras, one of whose family had founded a hospital at Puy, but, becoming a widow in 1625, in the thirty-fourth year of her age, she made a vow of celibacy, and dedicated the rest of her life to the service of the poor. In her Vincent de Paul found a great accession. Under his direction she took many journeys, visiting and inspecting the establishments which he had founded. She was commonly accompanied by a few pious ladies. Many women of quality enrolled themselves in the order, but the superiors*were assisted by inferior servants. The Hotel Dieu was the first hospital in Paris where they exercised their vocation. This they visited every day, supplying the patients with comforts above what the hospital afforded, and administering, besides, religious consolation. By degrees they spread into all the provinces of France, and at length the Queen of Poland requested Mademoiselle Le Gras, for though a widow that was her title, to send her a supply of Soeurs de la Charite, who were thus established in Varsovia, in 1652. At length, after a long life spent in the service of charity and religion, Mademoiselle Le Gras died on the 15th of March, 1660, nearly seventy years of age, and for a day and a half her body lay exposed to the gaze of the pious.
A country clergyman, who spent several years in various parts of France, gives an account of the present state of the order, which, together with what I have gathered from other sources, is in substance as follows: It consists of women of all ranks, many of them of the higher orders. After a year’s novitiate in the convent, they take a vow which binds them to the order for the rest of their lives. They have two objects, to attend the sick and to educate the poor; they are spread all over France, are the superior nurses at the hospitals, and are to be found in every town, and often even in villages. Go into the Paris hospitals at almost any hour of the day, and you will see one of these respectable-looking women, in her black gown and white hood, passing slowly from bed to bed, and stopping to inquire of some poor wretch what little comfort he is fancying will alleviate his sufferings. If a parochial cure wants assistance in the care of his flock he applies to the Order of Les Soeurs de la Charite. Two of them (for theygenerally go in couples), set out on their charitable mission; wherever they travel their dress protects them. “Even more enlightened persons than the common peasantry hail it as a happy omen when on a journey with a Soeur de la Charite happens to travel with them, and even instances are recorded in which their presence has saved travelers from the attacks of robbers.†During the Revolution they were rarely molested. They were the only religious order permitted openly to wear their dress and pursue their vocation. Government gives a hundred francs a year to each Sister, besides her traveling expenses; and if the parish where they go cannot maintain them, they are supported out of the funds of the order. In old age they retire to their convents and spend the rest of their lives in educating the novitiates. Thus, like the vestal virgins of old, the first part of their life is spent learning their duties, the second in practicing them, and the last in teaching them.
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(Written by John Greenleaf Whittier with reference to the work of the Sisters of Mercy at the battle of Buena Vista, during the Mexican war.)