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Dorothy Day and the
Catholic Worker Movement
Centenary Essays
Edited by
William J. Thorn
Phillip M. Runkel
Susan Mountin
Marquette Studies in Theology
No. 32
Andrew Tallon, Series Editor
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data
Dorothy Day and the Catholic worker movement : centenary essays /

edited by William Thorn, Phillip Runkel, Susan Mountin.
p. cm. — (Marquette studies in theology ; no. 32) Includes bibliographi-
cal references and index.
ISBN 0-87462-682-X (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Day, Dorothy, 1897-1980—Congresses. 2. Catholic Worker Move-
ment—Congresses. I. Thorn, William J. II. Runkel, Phillip M. III. Mountin,
Susan, 1949- IV. Marquette studies in theology ; #32.
BX4705.D283 D67 2001
267'.182'092—dc21
2001005357
Cover Design by Andrew J. Tallon
© Marquette University Press 2001
All rights reserved.
Photo of Dorothy Day on back cover first published in the

New York World-Telegram & Sun in 1934.
Original held by the Library of Congress.
Dana Konopka
portrait from photograph
Dedicated to
Bill Miller
&
Jeremiah O’Sullivan
Acknowledgements
The editors have been sustained by the support of
their colleagues, students, families, and friends.
In particular, they wish to thank Nicholas C. Burckel,
Charles B. Elston, Lydia R. Runkel, Susan B. Stawicki-
Vrobel, and Rebecca L.Tress.
They are grateful as well to the members of the
Marquette University Religious Commitment Fund
Committee for a grant to defray the costs of publica-
tion.
Contents
Dedication .................................................................................... 5
Acknowledgements ....................................................................... 6
Preface
Phillip Runkel............................................................................. 13
Introduction
William J. Thorn ........................................................................ 14
Contemporary Students and Dorothy Day

Susan Mountin ........................................................................... 28
Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker Archives

Phillip Runkel............................................................................. 34
Poem: Angeli tui sancti habitent en ea, qui nos in pace custodiant
Jacqueline Dickey ....................................................................... 37
PART I
The Catholic Worker and History
1.The Significance of Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker in
American Catholicism
David J. O’Brien ......................................................................... 41
2. Roots of the Catholic Worker Movement: Saints and Philoso-

phers Who Influenced Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin
Mark and Louise Zwick .............................................................. 59
PART II
The Catholic Worker and the Catholic Church
3. “Blowing the Dynamite of the Church”: Catholic Radicalism
from a Catholic Radicalist Perspective
Rev. Michael J. Baxter, C.S.C ..................................................... 79
8 Dorothy Day
4. Diversity, Plurality and Ambiguity: Anarchism in the Catholic

Worker Movement
Fred Boehrer ............................................................................... 95
5. What’s Catholic about the Catholic Worker Movement? Then

and Now
Ann O’Connor and Peter King ................................................. 128
6. Dorothy Day, Rebel Catholic: Living in a State of Permanent

Dissatisfaction with the Church
Brian Terrell .............................................................................. 144
7. The Catholic Worker Movement: Toward a Theology of Libera-

tion for First World Disciples
Matthew R. Smith .................................................................... 150
Poem: Roll Away the Stone

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 166
PART III
The Nonviolence of Dorothy Day
and The Catholic Worker
8. Beyond the Ballot Box: The Catholic Worker Movement and
Nonviolent Direct Action
Patrick G. Coy .......................................................................... 169
9. American Myth and the Gospel: Manifest Destiny and Dorothy

Day’s Nonviolence
Rev. Stephen T. Krupa, S.J. ....................................................... 184
Poem: The Anti-War Politics of Christ

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 201
PART IV
Dorothy Day’s Political and Social Thought
10. Radical Orthodoxy: Dorothy Day’s Challenge to Liberal America
Geoffrey Gneuhs ....................................................................... 205
11. “The Way of Love”: Dorothy Day and the American Right
Bill Kauffman ........................................................................... 222
Table of Contents 9
12. A Cultural Context for Understanding Dorothy Day’s Social

and Political Thought
Keith Morton and John Saltmarsh ............................................ 234
Poem: Mass Production

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 254
PART V
Work and the Economy
13. Dorothy Day, the Catholic Worker, and the Labor Movement
John Cort ................................................................................. 257
14. John Cort and Catholic Social Activism since the New Deal
Paul Miller ................................................................................ 264
15. Dorothy Day and the Transformation of Work: Lessons for

Labor
David L. Gregory ...................................................................... 274
16. Peter Maurin, the Distributists and the Nature of Work

Nicholas C. Lund-Molfese ........................................................ 298
17. Into Their Labors: Work, Technology, and the Sacramentalism

of Dorothy Day
Eugene McCarraher .................................................................. 306
Poem: Wildcat Musings

Jeff Poniewaz ............................................................................ 317
PART VI
Dorothy Day’s Writings and Rhetoric
18. The Radical’s Paradox: A Reflection on Dorothy Day’s “Leg-
endary” Resistance to Canonization
Carol J. Jablonski ...................................................................... 323
19. The Last Word Is Love: Activism, Spirituality, and Writing in

the Life of Dorothy Day
Markha G. Valenta ................................................................... 336
10 Dorothy Day
Poem: Well Paid Slaves

Jeff Poniewaz ............................................................................ 347
PART VII
Dorothy Day’s Spirituality
20. Identity, Community, and Crisis: The Conversion Narratives
of Dorothy Day
Catherine Faver ........................................................................ 351
21. Dorothy Day and Thomas Merton: Overview of a Work in

Progress
Julie Leininger Pycior ............................................................... 363
22. Dorothy Day: Citizen of the Kingdom

Rev. Roger A. Statnick .............................................................. 370
Poem: Proverb after Dorothy Day

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 382
PART VIII
Peter Maurin and Catholic Worker Farms
23. Peter Maurin’s Ideal of Farming Communes
William J. Collinge ................................................................... 385
24. Why Peter Maurin Matters

Paul Magno .............................................................................. 399
25. Down on the Farm and Up to Heaven: Catholic Worker Farm

Communes and the Spiritual Virtues of Farming
Jeffrey D. Marlett ..................................................................... 406
26. Dorothy Day’s View of Peter Maurin

Francis J. Sicius ......................................................................... 418
Poem: The Hundred-Foot Fiberglass Hiawatha

Jeff Poniewaz ............................................................................ 431
Table of Contents 11
PART IX
Ammon Hennacy
27. An Anarchist Joins the Catholic Church: Why Ammon Hennacy
Became a Catholic
James Missey ............................................................................. 435
PART X
Catholic Worker Pacifism, 1933–1945
28. The Way of Love: Pacifism and the Catholic Worker Move-
ment. 1933–1939
John L. LeBrun ......................................................................... 445
29. Dorothy Day and the Mystical Body of Christ in the Second
World War
William T. Cavanaugh .............................................................. 457
30. “We Are Still Pacifists”: Dorothy Day’s Pacifism during World
War II
Sandra Yocum Mize .................................................................. 465
31. An Uneasy Community: Catholics in Civilian Public Service

during World War II
John O’Sullivan ........................................................................ 474
Poem: Cultural Exchange

Jeff Poniewaz ............................................................................ 481
PART XI
Ecumenical Perspectives
32. The Shakers and the Program and Practice of the Catholic
Worker
Walt Chura ............................................................................... 485
33. Dorothy Day, the Jews, and the Future of Ecumenical Religios-
ity
Marc H. Ellis ............................................................................ 494
34. Protestant Responses to Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker

Mel Piehl .................................................................................. 515
12 Dorothy Day
35. The Catholic Worker and Socially Engaged Buddhism: A Dia-

logue
John Sniegocki .......................................................................... 531
Poem: Where Are the Signs of Spring?

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 550
PART XII
Personal Narratives
36. Dorothy Day Stories
John Cort ................................................................................. 555
37. Threads of Life: Telling the Story

Tina Sipula ............................................................................... 559
38. A Long Loneliness: Metaphors of Conversion within the Catho-

lic Worker Movement
Rosalie Riegle ........................................................................... 562
39. Dorothy Day: Saint and Troublemaker

Jim Forest ................................................................................. 576
Poem: The Lazarus Dream Forgiven (for Todd Duncan)

M.L. Liebler ............................................................................. 588
Bibliography ............................................................................. 589
Authors ..................................................................................... 611
Essays Published Elsewhere ....................................................... 613
Index ........................................................................................ 614

Preface
In 1995 colleagues in the Marquette University Archives encouraged
me to start planning a national conference to commemorate the cen-
tenary of Dorothy Day two years hence. This seemed to be a task for
which I was suited as curator of her papers; my lack of any experi-
ence in organizing academic symposia notwithstanding. Suffice it to
say that my limitations in the latter department soon manifested them-
selves—to me, at least, and probably to the others on the Dorothy
Day Centenary Committee as well. With a lot of help from these
friends, however, and the generous support of the Raskob Founda-
tion and other donors, the conference took place as planed, on Octo-
ber 9-11, 1997 (one month before the actual 100th anniversary of
Day’s birth, to avoid a conflict with celebrations organized by Catholic
Workers in New York City and Las Vegas, Nevada). It featured work-
shops, roundtable discussions, and paper presentations by more than
60 scholars and Catholic Workers. More than 500 participants came
from 26 states, Canada, England, The Netherlands, and New Zealand.
The conference was dedicated to the memory of William D. Miller
(1916-1995), pioneer historian of the Catholic Worker movement,
biographer of Dorothy Day, and esteemed colleague, mentor, and
friend to generations of Workers, scholars, and archivists.
The essays and poems included in this volume were presented at
the Dorothy Day Centenary Conference, most for the first time. We
offer them now in the hope that they will contribute to that ongoing
“clarification of thought” so dear to Peter Maurin’s heart. Anyone
seeking additional information about Dorothy Day and the Catho-
lic Worker movement is most welcome to contact the Department of
Special Collections and University Archives, Marquette University
Libraries, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Phil Runkel
Curator, Dorothy Day-Catholic Worker Collection
Chair, Dorothy Day Centenary Committee
14 Dorothy Day
Introduction
Still Provoking Us
after All These Years:
Dorothy Day
of and outside Her Time
William J. Thorn, Ph.D.

Director, Institute for Catholic Media
Marquette University
Today, tomorrow, next year and throughout this new century Dor-
othy Day provokes us, pricks our consciences, upsets the comfort of
middle class Christianity, and challenges our assimilation in contem-
porary American life by bearing witness to the possibility of living a
life guided solely by the principles Christ proclaimed. Even though
she began her work among the poor almost 70 years ago and died 20
years ago, she remains a modern presence, a voice which rises out of
The Catholic Worker, her autobiographies, and the recollections of
those who worked with her in the Catholic Worker movement. It is
a voice which challenges us about the way we live our lives, that is to
say, the way we live out our faith.
To members of Generation X and their younger counterparts search-
ing for a meaningful faith and community, Day offers the vision of a
community of faith which actively reaches out to the poor, the hun-
gry, the alienated, as well as to those blinded to the suffering by their
own comfort. For those who had to jettison their church in order to
find God in the world, Day and the Catholic Worker movement
provide a point of connection, a way of resolving the struggle. In
this, she provokes both the young and their parents.
Still Provoking Us after All These Years 15
Founding The Catholic Worker would surely bring her to our atten-
tion as a farsighted publisher and journalist. Founding the Catholic
Worker movement would commend her work and organizational
strategies for further study. Founding and sustaining the houses of
hospitality in order to feed the hungry, clothe the nearly naked, and
provide shelter for the homeless warrants close study as the Sermon
on the Mount put into action. Standing for justice in wages and
protection of workers and against their exploitation by wealthy em-
ployers urges examination of social justice in the workplace as a Chris-
tian construct. Challenging government to give special attention to
the plight of the poor and disadvantaged generates examination of
strategies for political organization. Unwavering opposition to war
and military expenditures, including World War II and the air raid
drills of the ’50s draws students of American pacifism. Her role as a
woman draws examination in the light of the feminist movement.
Her vision, drawn from and with Peter Maurin, of a more humane
society linked with communitarian farming and suspicion of the dark
tendencies of industrialism resonates with movements of the ’70s
and even post-industrial thinking.
Day’s major activities stand out in Depression era America as a
beacon of hope for the poor and hungry and in sharp contrast to the
two dominant trends of the ethnic Catholicism in America prior to
World War II: defense against anti-Catholicism and assimilationist
patriotism. The Catholic Worker became a voice for the powerless
which challenged those who ignored or dismissed them —the wealthy,
churches, government, and employers.
In contemporary America the context is very different for Catholi-
cism, but the need for Day’s provocation remains. Although Catholi-
cism has proclaimed a “preferential option for the poor” and social
justice stands as a little disputed orientation within the church, the
church is no longer dominated by immigrants. Affluent and success-
ful, the children and grandchildren of immigrants have become in-
sulated in suburban life, removed from the plight of the poor and
dispossessed. It is precisely among middle and upper class Catholics
that Day’s ideas and the Catholic Worker movement remain pro-
vocative—when encountered. Afflicting those comfortable in their
faith and affluence remains the role of the Catholic Worker move-
ment and the enduring legacy of Dorothy Day.
Her faith journey from parental Protestantism to Communism and
to Catholicism, reported in her autobiographies and other accounts,
16 William J. Thorn
seems to draw rather less interest. But the religious philosophy which
underlies Day’s world view needs close examination within the Chris-
tian tradition and in comparison with other religious traditions. All
of these factors seem likely to produce scholarly works, even artistic
works in poetry and the plastic arts.
The Marquette University commemoration of the centennial of
Day’s birth was in turn calm and reflective, intellectually combative,
touchingly reminiscent, contentious, and poetic —that is, thoroughly
alive.
Thus the question remains: why does Dorothy Day retain the
power to provoke us after all these years? Why, after all these years,
does Dorothy Day retain the power to generate heated controversy
in a society and culture seven decades past the one in which she be-
gan the Catholic Worker and nearly a quarter century past her death?
Why are Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement cited
authoritatively in discussions of the internet, computers, low power
radio stations, and Microsoft, Inc.?
To my mind, Dorothy Day’s power continues undiminished for
the same reasons that St. Francis of Assisi retains the power to move
people 800 years after his death: a life of Christian integrity and a
moral vision shaped by her faith. Dorothy Daythoughtfully lived out
her life in accord with the most demanding proclamation of the Good
News—Christ’s Sermon on the Mount—and in accord with the doc-
trines and beliefs of the Catholic Church. In living a life of voluntary
poverty and selfless devotion to the least of her brothers and sisters,
Dorothy Day speaks to us even today as a sign of contradiction to
self centeredness and to many aspects of contemporary society and
its culture of consumption and disposability.
Moral vision allowed Dorothy Day to see things and people from a
perspective different from most of her contemporaries. In her vision,
the moral dimension was the foreground and the other aspects moved
to the background of the individuals and situations she encountered.
Where others first saw bums, alcoholism, failures, the shiftless and
the lazy, she saw the face of Christ. Where others saw patriotic self
defense, she saw the Mystical Body torn and shattered on the battle-
field. Where others saw unruly and obnoxious strikers, she saw la-
borers and their families denied a living wage and labor stripped of
its dignity. This is the moral vision of the prophets. It provokes re-
flection; it provokes conversion; it provokes puzzlement. It also pro-
vokes resentment and hostility. Part of her power comes from the
way she taught this moral vision to others. In their recollections in

this volume, those who worked with her comment on how they had
to learn to see people from Day’s perspective. John Cort recounts
how all stood equal, and Jim Forest states that Day more than any-
one taught him what it means to follow Christ.
The lives of Francis and Day provoke reflection and even heated
debate because they lived their lives in the most radical Gospel tradi-
tion, embracing Lady Poverty, serving the poorest, and gently chal-
lenging all. This is perhaps best understood in light of a quotation
from Cardinal Emmanuel Suhard of Paris that Day inscribed in her
journal: “To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda
or even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery; it means
to live in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God did
not exist.”
What makes Dorothy Day’s life cohere is her faith, her profound
understanding and dedication to Catholicism. As in other things,
Day’s perception was acute and precise. She understood clearly the
difference between Catholicism as a system of belief and the Catho-
lic Church as an institution. Moreover, she understood the intimate
relationship between Catholic faith and Catholic leaders. In chal-
lenging the wage policies of the Archdiocese of New York, she was
prepared to both pray for change and peacefully demonstrate at the
cathedral. Once Day encountered Catholicism’s radical call to serve
the poor, she studied, then embraced, and finally came to exemplify
the call of the Gospel.
The modern tendency, one all too easy to adopt so many years
after Day’s death, seems to focus on one or another aspect of Day’s
life and work—feeding the poor, providing shelter and clothing, paci-
fism, communitarianism, worker’s rights, opposition to corporate
domination, journalism in service to the movement, a woman leader,
religious ideals as motivation—and ignore or downplay faith as her
central organizing principle. While valuable in its own right, study
of individual aspects of the Catholic Worker movement always runs
the risk of diminishing our ability to see Dorothy Day whole. Her
power comes from the absolute integrity of her faith and her lifestyle.
From her days as a student at the University of Illinois, Day showed
concern for the poor. Communism became for her a solution to
society’s injustice toward the poor and the workers. But it was her
conversion to Catholicism that provided her with the complete ra-
tionale and motivation for serving the poor and developing her own
18 William J. Thorn
inner life. In examining Day apart from her Catholicism, one risks
examining the trunk and its branches but ignoring the root system.
In examining one aspect of Day’s life, for example pacifism, it is nec-
essary to include the religious belief which provided Day with the
raison d’etre. Hers was hardly a blind or passively obedient faith, for
she was prepared to confront bishops and cardinals on social justice.
Rather, it was a reasoned and deeply held faith which sustained and
directed everything she did. Day attended Mass daily, and accounts
of the depth of her faith, while less fulsome than those of other as-
pects of her life, create a paradox for American categorical thinking:
religiously orthodox and socially radical. Contrary to the categories
of contemporary political and social thought, the wellspring and
source for Day’s social radicalism is traditional Catholic doctrine.
Dorothy Day went beyond a personal commitment to a life of
service to the least of God’s children by inviting everyone else to join
her, even if only for a short time. Her invitation, like her life, touched
the idealism in many, some of whom joined her in the Catholic Worker
house in New York and some of whom started Worker houses in
other cities. I chaired several panels at this conference, including one
on radio and another on computers. The intense debate over how to
approach modern technology drew directly from the vision of Peter
Maurin and Dorothy Day, and it demonstrated that part of the power
of Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement is that they
dealt with the fundamentals of life in contemporary America: tech-
nology, capitalism, wealth, and the power of individuals over and
against the powerful. Thus integrity and the willingness to take up
the most important and profound issues of the day provide twin
sources for Day’s power to prod and challenge.
Throughout the 1930s, Day was a regular guest journalist in
Marquette’s College of Journalism, invited by the Dean, Jeremiah
O’Sullivan, a former Associated Press editor who admired both her
journalistic skill and her life of total dedication to her Catholic faith.
The Catholic Worker differed dramatically from the rest of the Catho-
lic newspapers of its time because it developed the principles and
ideals of the Catholic Worker movement. In fact, its design, lan-
guage, and style were directly related to the Daily Worker, the Com-
munist newspaper. Well written, The Catholic Worker was not a ve-
hicle of Church hierarchy, but the voice of social justice. It presented
Catholic teaching in direct application to the poor and oppressed,
not in abstract theological categories or in the apologetic forms of

the Baltimore Catechism.
Marquette journalism students followed Day to New York, moved
by her vision and her work. Some started a Catholic Worker house in
Milwaukee. Others opened stores of religious art and books with a
special room for discussing the ideas in The Catholic Worker and books.
Day’s clarion call touched the idealism of many beyond the circle of
Catholicism.
What drew these students? Michael Harrington shared her passion
for economic social justice and, after leaving the Catholic Worker, he
went on to write The Other America. Accounts of how Dorothy Day
changed the lives of those who worked with her in any capacity are
bountiful. Less bountiful are the other stories of those who just could
not bring themselves to such a total dedication to a life of poverty. In
the late 1980s I had in a conversation with an elderly New York
woman who wanted to donate some memorabilia of Dorothy Day
acquired during her years of working with Day and financially sup-
porting her work. In the course of the conversation she told of taking
Dorothy Day shopping at least twice a year for a new dress to replace
the worn and patched one. Day always insisted on shopping at sec-
ond hand stores. And, when this good woman tried to lead Day to
the nearly new dresses, Day always rummaged through the dresses to
find the most worn one. Fifty years later, this woman still had trouble
understanding Day’s complete fidelity to the life of voluntary pov-
erty.
On a much larger scale, Day’s radical Catholicism stood in sharp
contrast to the ethnic Catholic culture of the immigrants. Explicitly
linking Catholicism with principles of social justice, the Catholic
Worker movement opened up a form of Catholicism not previously
visible in America, a Catholicism which addressed the social realities
of the day and encouraged working to resolve them. Radical as Day’s
approach seemed in the ’30s, it drew more liberally oriented Catho-
lics, especially those active in the union movement and oriented to
social issues.
Day’s vision become less well received when America entered World
War II and The Catholic Worker continued its absolute pacifism and
opposition to all elementsof the military machine. For Catholics who
fought nativist anti-Catholicism by working constantly to prove they
were thoroughly American, this aspect of the Catholic Worker move-
ment went too far, and many dismissed Day as a false convert, a
20 William J. Thorn
communist at heart. Suspicion about Day and her paper even led the
Catholic Press Association to drum The Catholic Worker out as a
member, a step which was reversed years after World War II ended.
Day stood by her principles, even through the Civil Defense era of
the early Cold War when disaster drills were the norm in schools and
in cities. Viewing this as an extension of militarism which took money
away from the poor, Day expressed her pacifism by sitting in city
parks during New York’s disaster drills. She and other Catholic Work-
ers were arrested for civil disobedience.
By the 1960s Day was celebrated as a Catholic visionary, a role
model for Catholic concern about the poor. In fact, American Catho-
lics had only begun to catch up to the Catholic Worker ideals, and by
the 1980s Catholics accepted that the “preferential option for the
poor” was a central principle of Catholic thinking in the United States.
And when she died, Dorothy Day was celebrated as a visionary and
model Catholic, placed on a par with Mother Teresa. Today, the cause
of canonization of Dorothy Day as a saint moves forward with great
support. This, in itself, is hardly an uncommon pattern for radicals
like Day.
Day’s power to stimulate controversy and debate in the 21st cen-
tury, however, has something to do with those things which made
her controversial during her life, but not within Catholic circles. What
seems to make her controversial now are the fundamental aspects of
her life and their link to the Catholic Worker movement. Today’s
scholars, concentrating on one aspect of Day or the Catholic Worker
movement, contribute to the division when they encourage separa-
tion of Day’s integrity by studying only her works.
The Catholic Worker movement is today profoundly divided over
its Catholicity. Some argue catholic meaning universal, others argue
Catholic meaning rooted firmly in Catholic doctrine and religious
practice. No such division was possible while Day was alive. Articles
in this volume reveal the depths of that division. One group argues
that Day’s Catholicism and the very name of the movement means
that the Catholic Worker movement must remain faithful to Catho-
lic doctrine and practice, even if opposing abortion contradicts the
popular position of social liberals. The other group argues that while
Catholicism was fine for Day, it holds no special place nor obligates
those in the movement to refrain from supporting abortion. In some
respects this differs not at all from the issues which confronted other
movements when the founders passed on. In another respect, this
cuts to the core of the integrity of the Catholic Worker movement.

Can it continue to call itself Catholic when it proclaims positions
directly contrary to the Catholic Church?
Scholarly work on specific aspects of Day’s life, on Peter Maurin
and Ammon Hennacy, and the Catholic Worker movement provide
significant and interesting insights from various perspectives. For
example, a feminist perspective on Day highlights the uniqueness of
her position amidst a hierarchical structure that was completely male.
While not different in ways from that of every female religious leader
of the past 2 millennia in the Catholic Church, Day did not found a
religious community nor seek official Church affiliation. Debate and
research on the Catholic tradition of nonviolence and pacifism will
continue to bring up the ideas of Day and the Catholic Worker move-
ment.
Papers and panels at this conference recall life with Dorothy Day,
celebrate her life and vision in poetry, analyze the context and impli-
cations of Day and the Catholic Worker movement, and take up the
issues of the day in the context of Catholic Worker thinking. Through
these papers one can see how Day’s integrity gives rise to study of
different aspects of her work and life: pacifism, social justice, worker’s
rights, and the like.
When she thought about it, which was probably not that often,
Day opposed being put forward for canonization as a saint on the
grounds that saints are old figures easily dismissed and forgotten,
disconnected from contemporary life. The power of her life to prod
and challenge us demonstrates that, like others who lived lives of
total dedication to the most radical understanding of the Gospel,
formally sainted or not, Dorothy Day will continue to inspire and
confront those who are concerned about our personal obligations to
the poor, the homeless, the prisoners, the hungry, and all who suffer
from injustice.
This book contains some of the marvelous poetry which was read
during the Marquette conference. To bring it more fully to the atten-
tion of the readers, we chose to highlight each work by placing one at
the end of each section. Indeed, Dickey’s profoundly moving poem
opens the book. Powerful works by M.L. Liebler and Jeff Poniewaz
were located in sections which seemed most appropriate. The book
also contains the work of Ade Bethune and Rita Corbin, lest we ig-
nore the role that visual art has played in Catholic Worker publica-
tions and Day’s impact on the modernization of Catholic religious
22 William J. Thorn
art. Indeed, the conference section of the art of the Catholic Worker
included displays of the art which contributed so much to the im-
pact of The Catholic Worker.
The essays in each section provide a diverse set of perspectives on
Dorothy Day, the Catholic Worker movement, and its singular proph-
ets, Peter Maurin and Ammon Hennacy.
David O’Brien’s examination of Dorothy Day’s role in American
Catholicism over the past half century concludes with a clarion call
for reestablishment of a liberal Catholicism which fully corresponds
to the vision of the Catholic Worker movement which contributed
so significantly to its emergence. Louise and Mark Zwick recount
the results of the Houston Catholic Worker’s close study of the roots
of the Catholic Worker movement. They carefully review the reli-
gious, philosophical, and social writings which provided inspiration
for a “Revolution of the Heart” against the bourgeois spirit which
blinded so many to the poor and oppressed. As they note, much
research remains to be done on the roots of the movement.
Part II offers some of the most exciting and challenging essays in
this collection. Michael Baxter’s essay develops the wonderful image
of blowing the dynamite of the Church, extending O’Brien’s conclu-
sion that the radical vision of the Catholic Worker movement must
once again revolutionize the current complacency of Catholics and
institutional Catholicism. In addition, Baxter reminds us of the im-
portance of public theology, of the fundamental integration of theo-
logical vision and public policy. Fred Boehrer examines the anarchist
component of the Catholic Worker movement, noting that this is
precisely the component which urges a constant revolution against
institutional complacency while encouraging the movement to be
ecumenical. Ann O’Connor and Peter King, the foremost advocates
of Catholicism’s essential role in all Catholic Worker activities and
public positions, review the Catholic nature of the Catholic Worker
movement and Day’s own faith in addressing the controversy over
Catholic Worker positions on issues like abortion. Brian Terrell of-
fers a somewhat different perspective on Day’s Catholicism, remind-
ing us that she was not a meek and subservient Catholic but one who
lived in permanent dissatisfaction with that part of institutional Ca-
tholicism which stands with the rich and powerful. Matthew Smith
adds to the portrait of Dorothy Day a more contemporary issue of
liberation theology, noting the many points of correspondence be-
tween the underlying ideologies of the Catholic Worker movement

and liberation theology.
Two major scholars, Patrick Coy and Stephen Krupa, examine non-
violence in the Catholic Worker movement. Coy identifies the five
aspects of the Catholic Worker movement which made it congenial
to nonviolent action: biblical seriousness, personalist politics, soli-
darity with the poor, living in community, and turnover of members.
Krupa provides a deep and thorough historical and philosophical
analysis of nonviolence as but one aspect of Day’s prophetic role as a
biblical witness standing in direct and open contradiction to the domi-
nant American moral standards and a kind of Christian militarism
that pervades the national mythic system.
The essays in Part IV provide different approaches to understand-
ing Dorothy Day’s political and social thought. Geoffrey Gneuhs takes
issue with those who would simply locate Dorothy Day and the
Catholic Worker as the Catholic part of America’s left, identifying
the multiple reasons for which she should be more accurately under-
stood as a profoundly orthodox Catholic who went to the roots of
Catholic belief and lived out its social doctrine. Bill Kauffman pro-
vides a fascinating study which supports the unconventional view
that Dorothy Day, on the basis of shared values and ideology, may
have been more at home with Catholics on the American Right than
with the socialists and communists. Keith Morton and John Saltmarsh
employ the method of cultural construction, including Dorothy Day’s
construction of her life story, in order to identify her political and
social ideas before her conversion to Catholicism and then the links
to her early years in the Catholic Worker movement. They conclude
that even today Day’s approach offers a life of integrity and authen-
ticity.
Five essays specifically address work and the economy as Dorothy
Day and Peter Maurin understood them and took them up as issues.
John Cort, one of the early Catholic Workers, recounts Dorothy Day’s
deep involvement with workers, particularly those laid off or on strike
during the Depression, and her encouragement when he and others
established the Association of Catholic Trade Unionists (ACTU). Paul
Miller’s essay provides a larger portrait of John Cort in tracing the
history of the ACTU and Cort’s work and then setting it in the con-
text of Catholic culture. David Gregory, drawing from an extensive
law journal study of Dorothy Day and labor, identifies the lessons
for workers on the transformation of labor from mindless drudgery
24 William J. Thorn
to a task conveying human dignity to both employers and employ-

ees. Nicholas Lund-Molfese explores how the Distributists’ view of
the nature of work affected Maurin’s own view of labor as a potential
means to freedom, and leads to a call for both a restoration of dignity
to domestic work and protection of the dignity of those who are
unable to work. Eugene McCarraher draws from Day’s work and
writing on labor and technology a means for addressing the “wrench-
ing transformation in the nature of work and technology” America
faces at the turn of the 21st century.
Journalism played a central role in Day’s life and in the develop-
ment of the Catholic Worker movement. Essays by Carol Jablonski
and Markha Valenta deal directly with her writing and rhetoric, al-
though in markedly different ways. Carol Jablonski’s analysis of Day’s
rhetorical style centers on the problem reformers and prophets face
in trying to persuade the audience, especially that of toning down
the radical aspect to make the message palatable, and she concludes
by pointing out that Day’s use of irony, which worked well in com-
municating her message, also explains why Day resisted sainthood: it
is hard to think of an ironical saint. Markha Valenta provides a com-
pletely different approach, concentrating on the community of di-
verse voices which emerge in Day’s writing, including ancient Catholic
voices which challenge the very foundational perspectives of a capi-
talist society.
Part VII brings together three essays on the spirituality of Dorothy
Day, a topic which is both broader and more personal than her Ca-
tholicism. Catherine Faver’s outstanding study of the crises of iden-
tity and community which accompanied Day’s conversion provide
insight for contemporary women whose spirituality takes them into
the same crises of identity and community. Julie Leininger Pycior
offers an insightful and tantalizing overview of her long term research
project, a comparison of the shared aspects of the lives of Dorothy
Day and Thomas Merton, including their prolific writings which
revealed so much of their inner lives. Roger Statnick uncovers the
complex roots of Day’s religious vision and lifestyle in the context of
Christian tradition and her own spiritual journey to a level of spiri-
tual reality where nature and grace interact cooperatively.
Peter Maurin brought a distinctively European and communitarian
world view which complemented and enriched Day’s vision and
shaped much of the Catholic Worker movement. William Collinge’s
essay thoroughly explores the conceptual basis for Maurin’s ideal of
the farming commune, which the movement proposed as a solution

to the alienation and unemployment problems created by industrial
capitalism, and he notes in conclusion that those problems remain
with America as does Maurin’s ideal as part of the solution. Paul
Magno takes up perhaps the most troubling question, “why does
Peter Maurin matter?” Magno’s analysis of Maurin’s role in the life,
thought, and spirituality of Day and the Catholic Worker movement
leads him to conclude that it is essential to know Maurin in order to
understand the other two. Jeffrey Marlett examines Catholic Worker
farm communes as a demonstration of the “Catholic agrarian theol-
ogy” which emerged from the National Catholic Rural Life Confer-
ence, and tracks the development of both to the postwar return to
the farm movement of the 1950s. Frank Sicius’ excellent essay recon-
structs Day’s thoughts about Peter Maurin, and through her words
demonstrates that he was the spiritual companion who deepened her
understanding of Catholicism and taught her to see Christ in the
face of the poor: “Peter’s arrival changed everything; I finally found a
purpose in my life and the teacher I needed.”
The other major figure associated with Dorothy Day and the Catho-
lic Worker movement is Ammon Hennacy, an anarchist whose ad-
miration of her work led him to Dorothy Day and whose spiritual
longing led him into the Catholic Church despite his opposition to
organized religion. James Missey, employing the fruit of his careful
study of Hennacy’s correspondence, provides an intriguing account
of the ideological admiration of Day which turned to romantic hopes
and of his aspiration to radicalize the church to which he had con-
verted.
During the war in Vietnam, Catholic men seeking exemption from
the draft on the grounds of conscientious objection to war based on
religion found that draft boards demanded written justification drawn
from church teaching and history. While not a difficult task for Quak-
ers and members of the other peace churches whose theological ob-
jection to war was well known, it was difficult for Catholics because
of the almost unknown tradition of pacifism which ran through early
Christianity and Catholicism. Dorothy Day’s writings and the Catho-
lic Worker movement provided the justification. Four essays exam-
ine Catholic Worker pacifism before and during World War II and
the opposition which Day faced within Catholic circles for encour-
aging what was judged an unpatriotic, even treasonous position for
an American. John LeBrun traces Day’s development of Just War
26 William J. Thorn
Theory and of nonviolent Christianity through her articles in The

Catholic Worker and her testimony before Congress opposing a peace-
time draft, concluding that it was the “fountainhead of Catholic paci-
fism in the United States,” which fully developed pacifist theology
during the Cold War. William Cavanaugh’s analysis of Catholic Worker
editorials and articles provides a moving and insightful assessment of
Day’s understanding of the Catholic doctrine of the Mystical Body
of Christ, which led her to see the Church as the true body of Christ,
torn and suffering on the battlefields of Europe as well as starving
and homeless in the alleys of New York. Sandra Yocum Mize’s study
clarifies the pacifist commitment of The Catholic Worker during the
early years of World War II and its impact on the paper, on Day, and
on the movement. This essay also examines how Day’s understand-
ing was clarified with the help of Fr. Pacifique Roy and Fr. John
Hugo. John O’Sullivan examines the establishment of the Civilian
Public Service program as an alternative to the draft for members of
the peace churches and its relationship to those Catholics who claimed
conscientious objector status on account of their faith. His profile of
the resulting social situation in CPS camps and the Catholic corpo-
rate witness against war and military service justifies his conclusion
that these Catholics planted mustard seeds.
One of the more complex and fascinating areas of scholarship on
the Catholic Worker movement and Dorothy Day has explored them
from the perspective of other religious traditions. The four essays in
this section provide historical accounts and comparisons of beliefs.
Walter Chura compares the historical development of the Shakers
with that of the Catholic Workers, focusing in particular on the spe-
cial role Mother Ann Lee and Dorothy Day played in their respective
communities. Chura illustrates from his personal experience the shared
communal values and world view. Marc Ellis summarizes the Jewish
approach to Christianity as background for his profoundly challeng-
ing analysis of Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin’s “assertion of the
importance of Jews and Judaism to the fidelity of Christians” which
then and now allows proclamation of “a radical center to their faith”
to which the Catholic community can be called and an elaboration
of the mystery which Judaism and Catholicism share. Mel Piehl, in
analyzing the Protestant reception of Dorothy Day and the Catholic
Worker movement, broadens the perspective by beginning with Day’s
conversion to the Episcopal Church in 1907 and her youthful en-
counters with classic Protestantism. His analysis points out that while
Day has much more to say to Catholics about social justice based on
their faith, history, and customs, she is equally challenging to Protes-
tants, not on matters of social justice and personalism, but on “disci-
pline, prayer, and especially the centrality of church and commu-
nity.” John Sniegocki proposes to bring the Catholic Worker move-
ment into dialogue with Buddhism in one of the most challenging
essays in this collection. Working from primary authors on socially
engaged Buddhism, he aligns the points of common vision to create
a foundation for further dialogue, centering on two points: a “deep-
ened appreciation of spiritual discipline and a broader understand-
ing of nonviolence.”
This book would be incomplete without the personal reflections
of those who knew and worked with Dorothy Day. John Cort, in
recalling the now amusing challenges living and working in the Catho-
lic Worker house brought to his middle class sensibilities, sketches a
portrait of Day which emphasizes her leadership style and the power
of her personal vision. Tina Sipula, in an essay which borders on
poetry, leads us to understand how encounters with Day inspired so
many to follow her lead—in looking first to God for direction and
then in keeping a house of hospitality faithful to the Catholic Worker
vision. Rosalie Riegle, analyzes the conversion narratives which
emerged in her interviews for Voices for the Catholic Worker and con-
cludes that unlike Dorothy Day, whose conversion led to the forma-
tion of the Catholic Worker community, contemporary Catholic
Workers are drawn to the community which provides “an impetus
for conversion.” Jim Forest’s experience with Dorothy Day led him
to describe her as a saint and a troublemaker, the most Christ cen-
tered person he has ever known, one who continues to touch his life
more than 20 years after her death.
This bibliography which concludes this book is a compilation of
all the citations from all of the essays. Each entry was verified against
authoritative listings in the following libraries: Marquette University
(including the archives), the Library of Congress, the New York Pub-
lic Library, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the University of
Minnesota-Twin Cities, and Notre Dame University, and the special
archives cited by the authors.
28 William J. Thorn
Contemporary Students and

Dorothy Day
Dr. Susan Mountin
Marquette University
What is it about Dorothy?

What is it about a turn-of-the-twentieth-century person that en-
raptures turn-of-the-twenty-first-century college students? Why do
these college students bury themselves in decades-old archival records,
spend hours in snowy 10-degree-weather serving sandwiches and soup
to the poor and homeless of their campus neighborhood, and present
research and theological reflection on the church and society that
one might expect from seminary students?
For the past three years Marquette University’s Theology Depart-
ment has offered a course on Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker
Movement. I have been privileged to teach the 35-40 students who
have taken it each semester as they grapple with concepts and life
choices that most college students in this technological world of ever-
expanding “stuff ” will never broach. In spite of complaining about
heavy course requirements, tough grading, and too much reading,
the students will add on their course evaluations that “Dorothy” was
the best theology class they have taken. Why?
{Because} There is something about Dorothy. It may be elusive,
but there is enough of something special in Dorothy that she has
been raised by the Vatican to “Servant of God” on the path to saint-
hood, which raises all sorts of questions and issues for college stu-
dents in a society clearly lacking in positive role models.
The course, “Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker,” has four
components which compel students: 1) the Dorothy Day-Catholic
Worker Collection at Marquette; 2) the service learning component;
3) theological reflection based on the Gospels, Church history, social
justice teaching, and the writings of Dorothy; and 4) the contempo-
rary spin {perspective} on many of the timeless issues that Dorothy
and the movement addressed: poverty, hunger, justice, violence, war,
Contemporary Students and Dorothy Day 29
materialism, community, faith, religious expression, spiritual growth.

The list goes on and on and will be developed in the remainder of
this essay.
Marquette University’s
Dorothy Day–Catholic Worker Collection
Marquette University boasts of more than 200 cubic feet of ar-
chives on Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker which contain ev-
erything from original manuscripts to letters, videos and even ar-
ticles of clothing. Spending hours in the archives does not normally
rank as a fun idea for most college students, but I have found that
students find Dorothy and her story so compelling that they quickly
warm to her and dig deeply in the archives to discover clues about
her life and choices, many of which are the same the students face
today.
Imagine being a twenty-year-old female student who knows that
Dorothy is on the track to sainthood. Like Dorothy the student has
struggled with intimate relationships outside of marriage. Perhaps
she, too, or someone she knows has had an abortion, has left school,
has tried to get a job to support herself or has had gnawing questions
about the meaning of life and her role in the world.
Or perhaps think about a male ROTC student watching the esca-
lation of the Balkan War and worrying about what it might mean to
his future. Suddenly issues of war and peace become real in a way
they have not before.
Holding in one’s hands the original manuscript of a handwritten
or typed article, chapter, or letter produced by Dorothy or Peter
Maurin is a moving experience. Carefully reading the material takes
a researcher to new places and understanding.
The students in the class are required to do a major oral presenta-
tion and paper based on that archival research. Their initial groans
become whispers of excitement as they find new ideas, and share
information, which they are encouraged to do: cooperation not com-
petition is encouraged for these research projects and the students
readily find ways to share information and watch for tidbits that might
help a classmate.
The students produce publishable papers in this course. Topics can
be current. Some examples include: nonviolent resistence (a la the
School of the Americas protest in November of each year), a com-
parison of Ani de Franco ( a contemporary music performer who has
30 Susan Mountin
had an abortion) and Dorothy, the Just War Theory as looked at

through the experience of Kosovo, sainthood today, the current Catho-
lic Worker movement—the list goes on and on.
The archival research has another dimension: providing background
for the roundtable discussions which occur in class when there is
time. The students love Peter Maurin’s phrase, “You share a piece of
your mind and I will share a piece of my mind. Then together we
will both have more in our minds.” The discussions are free expres-
sions in which inquiry takes shape as the teacher stays out of the
picture allowing the students to speak freely and openly. They show
a remarkable respect for each other and really work on listening to
another perspective rather than biding time waiting to present their
own argument. They talk about learning a skill that they find them-
selves taking into their daily lives.
Service Learning
Dorothy Day is one of more than 150 Marquette courses which
incorporate an official “service learning” component. That means that
as part of the course requirements, students participate in some type
of community service. They get credit not for the service itself, but
for the learning, in this case the theological reflection, which flows
from the experience of service. Students in “ Dorothy” volunteer at
shelters and meal programs, particularly at an on campus noon time
meal program in which students make sandwiches and take them
along with soup and beverages and desserts in a van to a parking lot
on the edge of campus, providing lunch for 40 -100 people a day.
The service is important. It gives students an inkling of what Dor-
othy and the founders of the Worker experienced when they fed thou-
sands. At the same time, like the Worker, student coordinators of the
program, lovingly referred to as “Noon Run,” must find the money
to buy the food and support the program through donations and
simple fund-raisers, costing several thousand dollars each semester. I
recall a simple request that came from one of the Noon Run guests
and conveyed by the students: “Could we have some lettuce and to-
mato to put on the sandwiches instead of just bologna for the last
day of the semester?”
Noon Run, like Dorothy, takes its inspiration for existence from
the Gospel, specifically Matthew 25: “When I was hungry, you gave
me to eat...when I was thirsty, you gave me to drink....” Students
who have before scoffed at the homeless people who grace the Mar-
quette campus, call them “friends” by the end of the semester. They
share stories about their lives with each other, not just bread. The
students are surprised some of the homeless have college educations,
and some of the guests have regular jobs, but can’t make ends meet.
The students say that when they meet someone who “looks home-
less” on the street, they stop, smile and say “hi” instead of pretending
the person is not there. At the same time the “guests” say they are
inspired by the students and their care and they come to know their
concerns. Community takes place in ways unimaginable.
The learning takes place when students study the Gospels (par-
ticularly Matthew 25), the social encyclicals, the works of mercy, the
Bishops’ pastoral letter on the economy. They begin to ask questions
about the dignity of the human person, why a rich society is able to
send people to the moon but not house our mentally ill sisters and
brothers, or why our shelters are full every night. It extends when
they begin to see themselves taking roles in the future in which they
can work for change and use their education to make a difference in
a social service agency, in government, in policy making. It is in these
times that the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World
becomes a reality. John Courtney Murray would be proud, because
this kind of activity is what he envisioned writing about the role of
the laity in the modern world: bringing the Gospel into daily life.
Theological reflection/Theology
The Dorothy Day course is not a course in social work; it is a
theology course. So at its core is the research and theological reflec-
tion on service, coupled with a healthy dose of church history, scrip-
ture, and tradition. The course is part of both the Catholic Studies
Program and the Women’s Studies program.
Trying to understand the historical development of the Catholic
Church in the United States, especially as thousands of immigrant
Catholics poured into New York seeking housing and jobs, needing
education and language skills, seeking faith and future, students be-
gin to tell the stories of the grandparents and great-grandparents or
what they know about the founding of their parish communities.
They raise questions about the growth of the Church and building
of parishes and schools at a time when so many Catholics lived in
poverty. They are stunned to learn of Pope Leo XIII’s teaching on the
rights of workers in the late 1800s and the subsequent documents on
labor and the economy. They are surprised to study the Church’s
32 Susan Mountin
views on capitalism, Marxism, and communism. They learn about a

social gospel, perhaps for the first time. One woman proclaimed that
since she discovered the church taught all these radical ideas, she
might come return to the church which is not now as repugnant.
Students learn terms many have never heard before: “encyclical”
and “benediction.” They hear through Dorothy’s heart the “Te Deum”
and “Salve Regina” she loved so much. They are drawn into the idea
of “retreat” and several went on retreats in the course of the semester.
Students see the inherent consistency in Dorothy’s religious expres-
sion and acts for justice. They love her lack of hypocrisy. Dorothy
does not just read and pray what is in the Gospels and Catholic So-
cial Teaching: she lived it and it challenges them to do the same.
Dorothy invites students to read the Gospels in a new way, the way
Dorothy read them: not just in words but in action. The students,
like Dorothy and Peter, ask tough questions about what the church is
doing for the poor, about the dignity of the human person, about
prayer without works, and about what poverty and riches really are.
The Beatitudes take on new meaning. They struggle with the tenets
of Catholic Social Teaching and what it might mean for them and
the career track they are on. Suddenly their definition of “success’
takes on new meaning. A bank account and great clothes are no longer
important.
One student commented that when she went home for spring break
and went shopping, she found herself picking up one item after an-
other and saying to herself, “ I don’t really need this.” Dorothy would
be proud. Another student changed his plans for after graduation to
join a post-graduate volunteer project in a large city. Another stu-
dent spent the summer at a Catholic Worker house. The choices they
made were inspired by Dorothy.
Contemporary Issues
Today’s students are remarkably ignorant of contemporary history.
Thus, Dorothy’s life and activities, covering the greater part of twen-
tieth century, immerses students in areas they may have only heard
passing reference to before.
Like Dorothy who, as a journalist was constantly interacting with
the times, the students each semesters confront varied issues. Dor-
othy started with the Depression, and the war in Spain, with jobless-
ness, and housing and labor issues. She confronted war and its effects
and the tremendous growth of the military and defense industries
and nuclear weapons, with Vietnam and the School of the Amercias.
The issues of the day provided grist for the mill, topics for roundtable
discussions, inspiration for articles for The Catholic Worker newspa-
per.
The students also saw issues coming to the fore which Dorothy
and Peter faced. In the first semester, they attended the Dorothy Day
conference, meeting more than 500 participants including many who
had known and worked with Dorothy. They heard from Tom Cornell
in class and had so many questions. They used the Internet to access
materials about Dorothy, but also wondered what on earth Peter would
say if he knew!
The second time the course was offered, the United States led its
assault on Kosovo two weeks prior to the point on the syllabus which
listed “Theology of Non-Violence.” Flipping the syllabus was easy
and necessary. The discussion of nonviolent response and Dorothy’s
continued protests of war became fodder for lively discussion, espe-
cially with an ROTC student in class. Learning about the Just War
Theory and trying to understand the Church’s position was a chal-
lenge, but the students had some incredibly poignant discussions.
The class also learned via a New York Times article that the property
on Staten Island which was the site of Dorothy’s cottage would be-
come luxury condos, providing more fodder for great discussion.
The most recent offering of “Dorothy” had an entirely different
cast. A few weeks into the class notice of Cardinal John O’Connor’s
proposal to begin canonization processes hit the press, and in the
middle of the semester the announcement was made about Dorothy
being named “Servant of God.” What an opportunity for theological
questions and growth. What does sainthood really mean? Does it
mean anything today? What is holiness? Who is called to holiness?
Can someone who smoked and had an abortion be a saint? Why
does the church make people saints anyway? What would Dorothy
say? Peter?
Is Dorothy outmoded or outdated? No, there is something about
Dorothy. Her compelling story lives on and needs to be told. Several
students commented that they had been changed forever by study-
ing Dorothy. A few plan to live simpler lives. Some have joined small
communities for volunteer work after graduation. But most say they
will keep in their hearts this challenging woman who taught them a
different value system, a different way to make choices and decisions,
a different respect for people they had before rejected, and a new love
of Jesus Christ and his Gospel.
34 Phillip Runkel
Dorothy Day and the Catholic

Worker Archives
Phillip M. Runkel
Assistant Archivist
Marquette University Libraries
The presence of the Dorothy Day-Catholic Worker Collection here

at Marquette University is largely due to the foresight of William
Ready, director of libraries from 1956 to 1963, whose forte was the
acquisition of book and manuscript collections. Soon after his arrival
Ready joined forces with Raphael Hamilton, S.J., long-time profes-
sor of history, to establish the archives department in the new Me-
morial Library. Among those he solicited for donations was Dorothy
Day, whom he had met when she spoke at Stanford University dur-
ing his tenure there.
For her part, Day had reasons other than the presence of an admir-
ing librarian to be favorably disposed toward Marquette. The dean
of the College of Journalism, Jeremiah O’Sullivan, had provided moral
and material support to the Worker movement in its early days, and
several of his students had been active in the Milwaukee Catholic
Worker community before the Second World War; one of them—
Nina Polcyn Moore—remained one of Day’s closest friends. The
university’s Jesuit ties did not hurt either, as she thought well of that
order. Perhaps most of all, Marquette benefited—given Day’s incli-
nation to behave impulsively at times—from being the first archival
suitor. In any event, Dorothy Day readily agreed to send her papers
and the records of the New York Catholic Worker community to the
university, and the first shipment arrived in March 1962.
Father Hamilton had been appointed to the newly created posi-
tion of university archivist the year before, but William Ready con-
tinued to actively participate in the management of the manuscripts
program. So it was to Ready that Dorothy Day confided, in a letter
of May 22, 1962, that she was “having a fearful attack of cold feet”
Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker Archives 35
for having sent the records, “what with so many personal letters from
people in them.” She asked that the papers remain closed until she
could “come and go over them a bit.” Ready quickly dashed off a
note of reassurance, reiterated in his next note to her, two months
later, which contained the rather chivalrous promise, “I shall guard
your files against all.” True to her word, Day made her first “tour of
inspection” that November. How much time she spent in the library
is unknown, but she reportedly “showed great pleasure at the han-
dling of her papers.”
When Ready left Marquette, his role as Dorothy Day’s principal
contact at the university was assumed by William Miller of the His-
tory Department. Recognizing the significance of the Worker papers
and the need for a scholarly history of the movement, Miller had
written Day as soon as he learned of the records’ arrival to request
permission to use them, which she promptly granted. A lengthy cor-
respondence and close friendship ensued. The historian aided the
Archives by urging Dorothy Day and her colleagues at the New York
Catholic Worker to regularly transfer office records to the repository
without a prior culling of the material. This they faithfully proceeded
to do—though Day expressed some qualms in a Christmas 1973
note to Father Hamilton:
Dr. Miller kept telling me to send “everything” to the Archives and

as we answered my mail we just bundled up the mail and sent it on.
I have been thinking we have put you to a great deal of unnecessary
work. We should have eliminated a lot of useless material ourselves.
Before she had time to act on her good intentions, the archivist
hastened to assure her that the burden was a welcome one. So the
New York Catholic Workers have continued to “bundle up” their
mail and send it on to the Archives, following the Catholic Worker
“non-filing system,” and leaving to their archivist the task of creating
a semblance of order out of what seems, at times, pretty chaotic.
Today the Catholic Worker Archives comprise more than 300 boxes
of records, including the personal papers of Dorothy Day, Peter
Maurin, and others involved in the movement; records of past and
present CW communities; photographs; tape-recorded interviews and
speeches; television programs on film and videotape; and a wide va-
riety of publications. Although confidential materials—such as Day’s
diaries— have been restricted at the donors’ request, most records
36 Phillip Runkel
are now open to research use, which the archivists encourage and
strive to assist. They hope and trust that the resources in the CW
Archives will inspire others to work toward a world “where it is easier
to be good.”
The Archives is open weekdays from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and at other
times by appointment. Inquiries, requests, and encouraging words
are appreciated. Please write the
Department of Special Collections and University Archives

Marquette University Libraries
PO Box 3141, Milwaukee, WI 53201-33141;
telephone 414-288-7256;
or visit the Web site at
www.marquette.edu/library/ collections/archives/index.html.
Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker Archives 37
Angeli tui sancti habitent en ea,

qui nos in pace custodiant
– Compline
I had not met her
but went to Maryhouse
where aged, she was
cloistered in her room.
She doesn’t come down much
these days we were told.
Downstairs, I made conversation
with a woman in the hallway
stationed guard with an umbrella.
At dinner she heard the lavendar laughter
of three saints in her prune dish.
She sat next to a man who,

rocking back and forth,
peered into an empty soup bowl
and chanted with monklike reverence:
Is this a room
or a womb
or a tomb?
I am not a whore! she shouts for dessert.
Then chin on breast
lowers her voice
to take me into her confidence:
her favorite husband
committed suicide
by eating an omelet
scrambled with shattered glass.
I imagine Dorothy
in the upper room
with Mozart on the radio,
a pen, a bookmark, a book, a candle.
Her lips genuflect to the breviary
as she unhooks thick black
reading glasses from her ears.
38 Jacqueline Dickey
She closes her eyes.

She seeks solitude
the way soldiers
took to monasteries after battle.
A lifetime of the poor, the mad, the lonely
burns like a war zone in her.
Like Mary, she has held faithful to
what is precious in her womb.
Downstairs as we gather for evening prayer

I miss seeing the way candlelight heaves
shadows in the hollows of her high cheekbones
as she mouths the noctem quietam.
I miss the holy harbor of dark spaces
inside fingers rounded in supplication.
This is her work now in the great cloud of witnesses:
Leave the dishes undone
to end the night in prayer.
The breadlines are ours now–
In manus tuas Domine.
Jacqueline Dickey
South Bend, IN
PART I
THE CATHOLIC WORKER

AND HISTORY
The Significance of Dorothy Day
and the Catholic Worker Movement
in American Catholicism
David J. O’Brien
I gather we have come together today to discuss Dorothy Day and
the Catholic Worker movement because we honor her memory and
share the concerns that were central to her life and remain central to
the movement she founded. This is not a museum, and we are not
curators discussing Dorothy Day and her work as we would the bones
of some dead dinosaur. Nor is it a convocation called to examine some
odd aberration in church and society. In life Dorothy surely refused
to become a dinosaur and, as for academic gatherings, she seemed to
regard them with some suspicion, particularly if held in her honor.
The few times I saw her in a college setting, she seemed envious of
students with their opportunity for study and reflection and she
seemed as deferential toward professors as she sometimes was toward
bishops. Yet, when she spoke, to my amazement, she seemed simply
to assume that those who had gathered were a kind of family groping
to discover how to live properly while making a better world. So in her
unassuming way she would tell stories and talk about books and
conduct a kind of conversation. If I knew how, I would talk in that
kind of spirit today. But lacking her gift, I can only try to tell you
something from my work about the American Catholic Church and
where Dorothy and her movement fit in.
Now, that paragraph is a paraphrase pretty accurately of the
opening paragraph from a paper I delivered here at Marquette 16 years
ago on the occasion of a previous symposium held not long after
Dorothy’s death. Much has changed since that day, not least the
tremendous expansion of Catholic Worker scholarship evident in the
wonderful program we have before us today and tomorrow. When we
gathered in 1981, Bill Miller was still among us. Bill Miller was such
a friend and such a warm supporter for me when I was young. To him
42 David J. O’Brien
I am enormously grateful. I almost came to Marquette in 1968. I

taught summer school at Marquette that year and was ready to accept
an invitation to teach here. Then Bill decided to leave, and teaching
here seemed less attractive when he was gone. He was a wonderful
man.
I thought I would do my usual thing, that is, set a context by
offering a correct view of United States Catholic history. There are
incorrect views around. One view is that Catholic history is the story
of immigrant outsiders who are now insiders and should be grateful
and keep religion in church and get on with being good Americans.
An incorrect view from the left sees immigrant outsiders who became
insiders by pursuing the false gods of materialism and Americanism,
sins they should repent.
On occasion I try to offer the correct view that immigrant outsiders
chose to become insiders while remaining true to themselves and that
their success in becoming insiders, that is, achieving a degree of
economic well-being, educational advancement, and access to the
institutions and culture of this society, is an experience of liberation.
It may be a little murky, as all liberation experiences probably would
be. But it is an experience of liberation badly in need of theological
reflection and pastoral response.
The other part of history is that there are still many outsiders among
us, Catholic outsiders, who want the same thing. They are not well
served by those who hold to the incorrect views I just noted above. At
its best, our Church tells them that it’s okay to seek liberation in ways
that the United States makes available, and it’s okay to try to remain
true to yourselves in doing so, recognizing and hoping to learn from
all the false terms and murky parts of that earlier experience.
In this view Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker were not a
counter-story running along in the footnotes. H.G. Wells’ Outline of
History, the best seller of the 20s, held up the image of academic
historians who didn’t like the book constantly running along in the
footnotes yelling, “Stop! Stop!” Well, this is a way we might think
about the Catholic Worker—a kind of counter-cultural story in the
history of American Catholics. Imagine the Catholic Worker running
along and saying, ‘Stop! Stop! You’re making a mistake!”
I don’t think we should do that. But Dorothy Day stood as a
reminder of the many who were left behind in that story. It was and
remains a cruel process.
Significance of Dorothy Day and the CW in American Catholicism 43
She was a witness to the responsibilities of freedom, asking what to

do when one gets the ability to choose, freed from economic necessity.
What does one do with that freedom? She stood as a sign to the church,
perhaps a sacramental sign of a vital Christian truth like the mystical
body of Christ.
Certainly the Worker was a place, a network of communities,
where people had the opportunity to think as Catholics about what
was going on in their lives.
I thought I would help to stir things up a bit at the beginning of the
conference and try to place the Worker and Dorothy Day in the
context of the history of the Catholic Left, a fairly recent history. Let
me begin with a brief history of the Catholic Left. The Catholic Left
made attention-grabbing headlines in 1968 as the American press
picked up on the enormous public interest sparked by the surprising
appearance of priests and nuns in dramatic protests against the
Vietnam War. But a few years earlier prominent Catholics had taken
to the streets with Martin Luther King, first in Selma, later in Chicago.
One of their number, Fr. James Groppi entered the ranks of civil
rights heroes as he marched for open housing with youthful black
activists in hostile ethnic Catholic neighborhoods right here in
Milwaukee. He had counterparts in many American cities where
Catholics were shocked and some angered by priests and religious who
seemed to switch sides in disputes over open housing, educational
reform and public employment. Race was the first wedge to shape
what really was a new Catholic Left.
Vietnam was the next. A growing number of priests, religious, and
lay people joined long-time Catholic pacifists like Dorothy Day and
Gordon Zahn in protesting nuclear weapons, the arms race, and
especially the escalating American war in Indo-China. What caught
press attention in 1968 of course was the raid on the Catonsville,
Maryland, draft board by a group of Catholics. They seized draft
records, burned them in the parking lot with homemade napalm, sang
hymns and awaited arrest. The group’s leaders, Philip and Daniel
Berrigan, imprinted themselves on national consciences as The
Berrigans. They were the leaders of the most radical wing of the anti-
war movement. I remember when Holy Cross produced an issue of its
alumni publication on the Berrigans, which caused all kinds of stir. It
was later published as a book under the title The Berrigans (Casey and
Nobile 1971). From that moment on, the phrase, “Catholic Left” had
a fairly vivid meaning as a broad movement of Catholics who on the
44 David J. O’Brien
basis of their faith challenged national policy and sought to bring

about substantial social change.
The radicals were no longer alone; backing them up were growing
numbers of priests, sisters and religious orders called to renewal by the
Second Vatican Council. Many orders thought deeply about their
work in light of the Gospel and the needs of the church in the world.
The coincidence of this renewal movement and the conflicts of the 60s
drew substantial numbers of religious priests, brothers and sisters to
support work for peace and justice either by enlisting directly in
activist work or by supporting those causes in their existing ministries.
While religious orders occupied the cutting edge of the conflict,
diocesan clergy were not far behind. The National Federation of
Priests’ Councils (NFPC), founded in 1967 to represent the new
senates and associations of diocesan clergy, soon adopted a very
progressive social agenda. The NFPC’s Mike Gannon, a priest histo-
rian, later with the University of Florida, lined up dozens of priests
volunteer to go to North Vietnam and take the place of the POWs. A
marvelous spirit of idealism swept through these groups of priests and
religious. While there were murmurs of conservative dissent, the
momentum stirred by racial conflict, assassinations, and Vietnam
created a powerful current to the left. Advocacy of racial justice and
opposition to the Vietnam War topped the peace and justice agenda,
but there were other causes. Among them was the organizing move-
ment of Cesar Chavez among Mexican American farm workers in
California, which drew church support locally and nationally and
then through a nationwide boycott of table grapes enlisted the
backing of thousands of lay people.
At the same time, urban disorders, sometimes extremely violent,
spawned a wide variety of reform efforts with churches at the core.
While less inclined to nonviolent direct action than the Berrigans, the
activists in these causes increasingly shared the radicals’ pessimism
about reform, suspicion of government, and alienation from main-
stream American culture. This process of radicalization received
support from liberation movements in Latin America and from the
new liberation theology these movements spawned. As we moved into
the 1970s, we got a sense that this was part of the worldwide upsurge
in the church that had tremendously significant historical and public
importance. Returning missionaries familiar with these currents
confirmed suspicions that the deep poverty of the Third World was
systemic and that the U.S. government helped sustain authoritarian
Significance of Dorothy Day and the CW in American Catholicism 45
regimes determined to crush popular movements for social change,

many of which were led by priests, sisters, and lay catechists.
This rapid transformation of attitudes toward American society
was also supported by the seemingly permanent national commit-
ment to ever more dangerous weapons of mass destruction. In
addition, in 1973 as American participation in the Vietnam War
ended, the Supreme Court struck down state laws limiting abortion,
opening yet another window on what a growing number of Catholic
radicals perceived as deeply rooted violence and injustice in American
society. The belief that reform had failed and that only systemic
structural change, even revolution, would open the way to social
justice and world peace became almost a unifying conviction across
the Catholic Left.
In the 1960s Catholic social action across the country had the
character of an authentic movement aimed at working with other
groups to bring about substantial change in the economic and social
institutions of the country. The experience of the war on poverty, the
failure of civil rights in northern cities, the discovery of deeply rooted
sources of poverty, particularly institutional racism, and the terrible
violence that punctuated the decade climaxing in the outbreaks that
followed the assassination of Dr. King in 1968 all contributed to a
radicalization of social discourse, secular and religious, Catholic and
non-Catholic.
The presence of a New Left and a Catholic Left shifted the center
of society in the Church, at least for a moment. A social gospel spirit
influenced many groups within the church and brought in a more
radical language. The major Catholic provider of social services,
Catholic Charities, represents diocesan and social welfare agencies.
Their self-study concluded that while the Church should continue to
offer direct social services, it should work to decentralize service
delivery, strengthen its capacity to serve as an advocate for the poor
before public and private institutions, and rebuild parish capacity to
deliver services and serve as a catalyst for social change. Almost Peter
Maurin’s dream of shelters in parishes. This resulted a few years later
in a major effort by Catholic Charities to bring about parish based
community organizing aimed at challenging racism, systemic poverty
and structural injustice
In 1974 the Bishops themselves launched a national consultation
on the theme of liberty and justice for all to mark the national
bicentennial. This process climaxed with a Call to Action Conference
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MADAME DELMARE'S FLIGHT
She waited a long while; she looked at her watch and
found that the appointed time had passed. The sea was
so high, and navigation about the shores of the island is
so difficult in the best of weather, that she was
beginning, to despair of the courage of the men who
were to take her aboard, when she spied on the
gleaming waves the black shadow of a pirogue, trying
to make the land.
When they were a few leagues from port, a sort of comedy was played
on board to avoid a confession of trickery. Captain Random pretended
to discover Madame Delmare on his vessel; he feigned surprise,
questioned the sailors, went through the form of losing his temper and
of quieting down again, and ended by drawing up a report of the
finding of a stowaway on board; that is the technical term used on
such occasions.
Allow me to go no farther with the story of this voyage. It will be
enough for me to tell you, for Captain Random's justification, that,
despite his rough training, he had enough natural good sense to
understand Madame Delmare's character very quickly; he ventured
upon very few attempts to abuse her unprotected condition and
eventually was touched by it and acted as her friend and protector. But
that worthy man's loyal behavior and Indiana's dignity did not restrain
the comments of the crew, the mocking glances, the insulting
suspicions and the broad and stinging jests. These were the real
torments of the unhappy woman during that journey, for I say nothing
of the fatigue, the discomforts, the dangers, the tedium and the sea-
sickness; she paid no heed to them.
XXVIII
Three days after the despatch of his letter to Ile Bourbon, Raymon had
entirely forgotten both the letter and its purpose. He had felt decidedly
better and had ventured to make a visit in the neighborhood. The
estate of Lagny, which Monsieur Delmare had left to be sold for the
benefit of his creditors, had been purchased by a wealthy
manufacturer, Monsieur Hubert, a shrewd and estimable man, not like
all wealthy manufacturers, but like a small number of the newly-rich.
Raymon found the new owner comfortably settled in that house which
recalled so many memories. He took pleasure in giving a free rein to
his emotion as he wandered through the garden where Noun's light
footprints seemed to be still visible on the gravel, and through those
great rooms which seemed still to retain the echoes of Indiana's soft
words; but soon the presence of a new hostess changed the current of
his thoughts.
In the main salon, on the spot where Madame Delmare was
accustomed to sit and work, a tall, slender young woman, with a
glance that was at once pleasant and mischievous, caressing and
mocking, sat before an easel, amusing herself by copying in water-
colors the odd hangings on the walls. The copy was a fascinating thing,
a delicate satire instinct with the bantering yet refined nature of the
artist. She had amused herself by exaggerating the pretentious
finicalness of the old frescoes; she had grasped the false and shifting
character of the age of Louis XIV. on those stilted figures. While
refreshing the colors that time had faded, she had restored their
affected graces, their perfume of courtiership, their costumes of the
boudoir and the shepherd's hut, so curiously identical. Beside that
work of historical raillery she had written the word copy.
She raised her long eyes, instinct with merriment of a caustic,
treacherous, yet attractive sort, slowly to Raymon's face. For some
reason she reminded him of Shakespeare's Anne Page. There was in
her manner neither timidity nor boldness, nor affectation, nor self-
distrust. Their conversation turned upon the influence of fashion in the
arts.
"Is it not true, monsieur, that the moral coloring of the period was in
that brush?" she said, pointing to the wainscoting, covered with rustic
cupids after the style of Boucher. "Isn't it true that those sheep do not
walk or sleep or browse like sheep of to-day? And that pretty
landscape, so false and so orderly, those clumps of many-petalled
roses in the middle of the forest where naught but a bit of eglantine
grows in our days, those tame birds of a species that has apparently
disappeared, and those pink satin gowns which the sun never faded—
is there not in all these a deal of poesy, ideas of luxury and pleasure,
of a whole useless, harmless, joyous life? Doubtless these absurd
fictions were quite as valuable as our gloomy political deliverances! If
only I had been born in those days!" she added with a smile; "frivolous
and narrow-minded creature that I am, I should have been much
better fitted to paint fans and produce masterpieces of thread-work
than to read the newspapers and understand the debates in the
Chambers!"
Monsieur Hubert left the young people together; and their conversation
drifted from one subject to another, until it fell at last upon Madame
Delmare.
"You were very intimate with our predecessors in this house," said the
young woman, "and it is generous on your part to come and see new
faces here. Madame Delmare," she added, with a penetrating glance at
him, "was a remarkable woman, so they say; she must have left
memories here which place us at a disadvantage, so far as you are
concerned."
"She was an excellent woman," Raymon replied, unconcernedly, "and
her husband was a worthy man."
"But," rejoined the reckless girl, "she was something more than an
excellent woman, I should judge. If I remember rightly there was a
charm about her personality which calls for a more enthusiastic and
more poetic description. I saw her two years ago, at a ball at the
Spanish ambassador's. She was fascinating that night; do you
remember?"
Raymon started at this reminder of the evening that he spoke to
Indiana for the first time. He remembered at the same moment that he
had noticed at that ball the distingué features and clever eyes of the
young woman with whom he was now talking; but he did not then ask
who she was.
Not until he had taken his leave of her and was congratulating
Monsieur Hubert on his daughter's charms, did he learn her name.
"I have not the good fortune to be her father," said the manufacturer;
"but I did the best I could by adopting her. Do you not know my
story?"
"I have been ill for several months," Raymon replied, "and have heard
nothing of you beyond the good you have already done in the
province."
"There are people," said Monsieur Hubert with a smile, "who consider
that I did a most meritorious thing in adopting Mademoiselle de
Nangy; but you, monsieur, who have elevated ideas, will judge whether
I did anything more than true delicacy required. Ten years ago, a
widower and childless, I found myself possessed of funds to a
considerable amount, the results of my labors, which I was anxious to
invest. I found that the estate and château of Nangy in Bourgogne,
national property, were for sale and suited me perfectly. I had been in
possession some time when I learned that the former lord of the
manor and his seven-year-old granddaughter were living in a hovel, in
extreme destitution. The old man had received some indemnity, but he
had religiously devoted it to the payment of debts incurred during the
emigration. I tried to better his condition and to give him a home in my
house; but he had retained in his poverty all the pride of his rank. He
refused to return to the house of his ancestors as an object of charity,
and died shortly after my arrival, having steadfastly refused to accept
any favors at my hands. Then I took his child there. The little patrician
was proud already and accepted my assistance most unwillingly; but at
that age prejudices are not deeply rooted and resolutions do not last
long. She soon accustomed herself to look upon me as her father and I
brought her up as my own daughter. She has rewarded me
handsomely by the happiness she has showered on my old age. And
so, to make sure of my happiness, I have adopted Mademoiselle de
Nangy, and my only hope now is to find her a husband worthy of her
and able to manage prudently the property I shall leave her."
Encouraged by the interest with which Raymon listened to his
confidences, the excellent man, in true bourgeois fashion, gradually
confided all his business affairs to him. His attentive auditor found that
he had a fine, large fortune administered with the most minute care,
and which simply awaited a younger proprietor, of more fashionable
tastes than the worthy Hubert, to shine forth in all its splendor. He felt
that he might be the man destined to perform that agreeable task, and
he gave thanks to the ingenious fate which reconciled all his interests
by offering him, by favor of divers romantic incidents, a woman of his
own rank possessed of a fine plebeian fortune. It was a chance not to
be let slip, and he put forth all his skill in the effort to grasp it.
Moreover, the heiress was charming; Raymon became more kindly
disposed toward his providence.
As for Madame Delmare, he would not think of her. He drove away the
fears which the thought of his letter aroused from time to time; he
tried to persuade himself that poor Indiana would not grasp his
meaning or would not have the courage to respond to it; and he finally
succeeded in deceiving himself and believing that he was not
blameworthy, for Raymon would have been horrified to find that he
was selfish. He was not one of those artless villains who come on the
stage to make a naïve confession of their vices to their own hearts.
Vice is not reflected in its own ugliness, or it would frighten itself; and
Shakespeare's Iago, who is so true to life in his acts, is false in his
words, being forced by our stage conventions to lay bare himself the
secret recesses of his deep and tortuous heart. Man rarely tramples his
conscience under foot thus coolly. He turns it over, squeezes it, pinches
it, disfigures it; and when he has distorted it and exhausted it and
worn it out, he carries it about with him as an indulgent and obliging
mentor which accommodates itself to his passions and his interests,
but which he pretends always to consult and to fear.
He went often to Lagny, therefore, and his visits were agreeable to
Monsieur Hubert; for, as you know, Raymon had the art of winning
affection, and soon the rich bourgeois's one desire was to call him his
son-in-law. But he wished that his adopted daughter should choose
him freely and that they should be allowed every opportunity to know
and judge each other.
Laure de Nangy was in no haste to assure Raymon's happiness; she
kept him perfectly balanced between fear and hope. Being less
generous than Madame Delmare, but more adroit, distant yet
flattering, haughty yet cajoling, she was the very woman to subjugate
Raymon; for she was as superior to him in cunning as he was to
Indiana. She soon realized that her admirer craved her fortune much
more than herself. Her placid imagination anticipated nothing better in
the way of homage; she had too much sense, too much knowledge of
the world to dream of love when two millions were at stake. She had
chosen her course calmly and philosophically, and she was not inclined
to blame Raymon; she did not hate him because he was of a
calculating, unsentimental temper like the age in which he lived; but
she knew him too well to love him. She made it a matter of pride not
to fall below the standard of that cold and scheming epoch; her self-
esteem would have suffered had she been swayed by the foolish
illusions of an ignorant boarding-school miss; she would have blushed
at being deceived as at being detected in a foolish act; in a word, she
made her heroism consist in steering clear of love, as Madame
Delmare's consisted in sacrificing everything to it.
Mademoiselle de Nangy was fully resolved, therefore, to submit to
marriage as a social necessity; but she took a malicious pleasure in
making use of the liberty which still belonged to her, and in imposing
her authority for some time on the man who aspired to deprive her of
it. No youth, no sweet dreams, no brilliant and deceptive future for
that girl, who was doomed to undergo all the miseries of wealth. For
her, life was a matter of stoical calculation, happiness a childish
delusion against which she must defend herself as a weakness and an
absurdity.
While Raymon was at work building up his fortune, Indiana was
drawing near the shores of France. But imagine her surprise and alarm,
when she landed, to see the tri-colored flag floating on the walls of
Bordeaux! The city was in a state of violent agitation; the prefect had
been almost murdered the night before; the populace were rising on all
sides; the garrison seemed to be preparing for a bloody conflict, and
the result of the revolution was still unknown.
"I have come too late!" was the thought that fell upon Madame
Delmare like a stroke of lightning.
In her alarm she left on board the little money and the few clothes that
she possessed, and ran about through the city in a state of frenzy. She
tried to find a diligence for Paris, but the public conveyances were
crowded with people who were either escaping or going to claim a
share in the spoils of the vanquished. Not until evening did she
succeed in finding a place. As she was stepping into the coach an
improvised patrol of National Guards objected to the departure of the
passengers and demanded to see their papers. Indiana had none.
While she argued against the absurd suspicions of the triumphant
party, she heard it stated all about her that the monarchy had fallen,
that the king was a fugitive, and that the ministers had been
massacred with all their adherents. This news, proclaimed with
laughter and stamping and shouts of joy, dealt Madame Delmare a
deadly blow. In the whole revolution she was personally interested in
but one fact; in all France she knew but one man. She fell on the
ground in a swoon, and came to herself in a hospital—several days
later.
After two months she was discharged, without money or linen or
effects, weak and trembling, exhausted by an inflammatory brain fever
which had caused her life to be despaired of several times. When she
found herself in the street, alone, hardly able to walk, without friends,
resources or strength, when she made an effort to recall the particulars
of her situation and realized that she was hopelessly lost in that great
city, she had an indescribable thrill of terror and despair as she thought
that Raymon's fate had long since been decided and that there was not
a solitary person about her who could put an end to her horrible
uncertainty. The horror of desertion bore down with all its might upon
her crushed spirit, and the apathetic despair born of hopeless misery
gradually deadened all her faculties. In the mental numbness which
she felt stealing over her, she dragged herself to the harbor, and,
shivering with fever, sat down on a stone to warm herself in the
sunshine, gazing listlessly at the water plashing at her feet. She sat
there several hours, devoid of energy, of hope, of purpose; but
suddenly she remembered her clothes and her money, which she had
left on the Eugène, and which she might possibly recover; but it was
nightfall, and she dared not go among the sailors who were just
leaving their work with much rough merriment and question them
concerning the ship. Desiring, on the other hand, to avoid the attention
she was beginning to attract, she left the quay and concealed herself in
the ruins of a house recently demolished behind the great esplanade of
Les Quinconces. There, cowering in a corner, she passed that cold
October night, a night laden with bitter thoughts and alarms. At last
the day broke; hunger made itself felt insistent and implacable. She
decided to ask alms. Her clothes, although in wretched condition, still
indicated more comfortable circumstances than a beggar is supposed
to enjoy. People looked at her curiously, suspiciously, ironically, and
gave her nothing. Again she dragged herself to the quays, inquired
about the Eugène and learned from the first waterman she addressed
that she was still in the roadstead. She hired him to put her aboard
and found Random at breakfast.
"Well, well, my fair passenger," he cried, "so you have returned from
Paris already! You have come in good time, for I sail to-morrow. Shall I
take you back to Bourbon?"
He informed Madame Delmare that he had caused search to be made
for her everywhere, that he might return what belonged to her. But
Indiana had not a scrap of paper upon her from which her name could
be learned when she was taken to the hospital. She had been entered
on the books there and also on the police books under the designation
unknown; so the captain had been unable to learn anything about her.
The next day, despite her weakness and exhaustion, Indiana started
for Paris. Her anxiety should have diminished when she saw the turn
political affairs had taken; but anxiety does not reason, and love is
fertile in childish fears.
On the very evening of her arrival at Paris she hurried to Raymon's
house and questioned the concierge in an agony of apprehension.
"Monsieur is quite well," was the reply; "he is at Lagny."
"At Lagny! you mean at Cercy, do you not?"
"No, madame, at Lagny, which he owns now."
"Dear Raymon!" thought Indiana, "he has bought that estate to afford
me a refuge where public malice cannot reach me. He knew that I
would come!"
Drunk with joy, she hastened, light of heart and instinct with new life,
to take apartments in a furnished house, and devoted the night and
part of the next day to rest. It was so long since the unfortunate
creature had enjoyed a peaceful sleep! Her dreams were sweet and
deceptive, and when she woke she did not regret them, for she found
hope at her pillow. She dressed with care; she knew that Raymon was
particular about all the minutiæ of the toilet, and she had ordered the
night before a pretty new dress which was brought to her just as she
rose. But, when she was ready to arrange her hair, she sought in vain
the long and magnificent tresses she had once had; during her illness
they had fallen under the nurse's shears. She noticed it then for the
first time, her all-engrossing thoughts had diverted her mind so
completely from small things.
Nevertheless, when she had curled her short black locks about her pale
and melancholy brow, when she had placed upon her shapely head a
little English hat, called then, by way of allusion to the recent blow to
great fortunes, a three per cent.; when she had fastened at her girdle
a bunch of the flowers whose perfume Raymon loved, she hoped that
she would still find favor in his sight; for she was as pale and fragile as
in the first days of their acquaintance, and the effect of her illness had
effaced the traces of the tropical sunshine.
She hired a cab in the afternoon and arrived about nine at night at a
village on the outskirts of Fontainebleau. There she ordered the driver
to put up his horse and wait for her until the next day, and started off
alone, on foot, by a path which led to Lagny park by a walk of less
than quarter of an hour through the woods. She tried to open the
small gate but found it locked on the inside. It was her wish to enter
by stealth, to avoid the eyes of the servants and take Raymon by
surprise. She skirted the park wall. It was quite old; she remembered
that there were frequent breaches, and, by good luck, she found one
and passed over without much difficulty.
When she stood upon ground which belonged to Raymon and was to
be thenceforth her refuge, her sanctuary, her fortress and her home,
her heart leaped for joy. With light, triumphant foot she hastened
along the winding paths she knew so well. She reached the English
garden, which was dark and deserted on that side. Nothing was
changed in the flower-beds; but the bridge, the painful sight of which
she dreaded, had disappeared, and the course of the stream had been
altered; the spots which might have recalled Noun's death had been
changed, and no others.
"He wished to banish that cruel memory," thought Indiana. "He was
wrong, I could have endured it. Was it not for my sake that he planted
the seeds of remorse in his life? Henceforth we are quits, for I too
have committed a crime. I may have caused my husband's death.
Raymon can open his arms to me, we will take the place of innocence
and virtue to each other."
She crossed the stream on boards laid across where a bridge was to be
built and passed through the flower-garden. She was forced to stop,
for her heart was beating as if it would burst; she looked up at the
windows of her old bedroom. O bliss! a light was shining through the
blue curtains, Raymon was there. As if he could occupy any other
room! The door to the secret stairway was open.
"He expects me at any time," she thought; "he will be happy but not
surprised."
At the top of the staircase she paused again to take breath; she felt
less strong to endure joy than sorrow. She stooped and looked through
the keyhole. Raymon was alone, reading. It was really he, it was
Raymon overflowing with life and vigor; his trials had not aged him,
the tempests of politics had not taken a single hair from his head;
there he sat, placid and handsome, his head resting on his white hand
which was buried in his black hair.
Indiana impulsively tried the door, which opened without resistance.
"You expected me!" she cried, falling on her knees and resting her
feeble head upon Raymon's bosom; "you counted the months and
days, you knew that the time had passed, but you knew too that I
could not fail to come at your call. You called me and I am here, I am
here! I am dying!"
Her ideas became tangled in her brain; for some time she knelt there,
silent, gasping for breath, incapable of speech or thought. Then she
opened her eyes, recognized Raymon as if just waking from a dream,
uttered a cry of frantic joy, and pressed her lips to his, wild, ardent and
happy. He was pale, dumb, motionless, as if struck by lightning.
"Speak to me, in Heaven's name," she cried; "it is I, your Indiana, your
slave whom you recalled from exile and who has travelled three
thousand leagues to love you and serve you; it is your chosen
companion, who has left everything, risked everything, defied
everything, to bring you this moment of joy! You are happy, you are
content with her, are you not? I am waiting for my reward; with a
word, a kiss I shall be paid a hundred fold."
But Raymon did not reply; his admirable presence of mind had
abandoned him. He was crushed with surprise, remorse and terror
when he saw that woman at his feet; he hid his face in his hands and
longed for death.
"My God! my God! you don't speak to me, you don't kiss me, you have
nothing to say to me!" cried Madame Delmare, pressing Raymon's
knees to her breast; "is it because you cannot? Joy makes people ill, it
kills sometimes, I know! Ah! you are not well, you are suffocating, I
surprised you too suddenly! Try to look at me; see how pale I am, how
old I have grown, how I have suffered! But it was for you, and you will
love me all the better for it! Say one word to me, Raymon, just one."
"I would like to weep," said Raymon in a stifled tone.
"And so would I," said she, covering his hands with kisses. "Ah! yes,
that would do you good. Weep, weep on my bosom, and I will wipe
your tears away with my kisses. I have come to bring you happiness,
to be whatever you choose—your companion, your servant or your
mistress. Formerly I was very cruel, very foolish, very selfish. I made
you suffer terribly, and I refused to understand that I demanded what
was beyond your strength. But since then I have reflected, and as you
are not afraid to defy public opinion with me, I have no right to refuse
to make any sacrifice. Dispose of me, of my blood, of my life, as you
will; I am yours body and soul. I have travelled three thousand leagues
to tell you this, to give myself to you. Take me, I am your property, you
are my master."
I cannot say what infernal project passed rapidly through Raymon's
brain. He removed his clenched hands from his face and looked at
Indiana with diabolical sang-froid; then a wicked smile played about his
lips and made his eyes gleam, for Indiana was still lovely.
"First of all, we must conceal you," he said, rising.
"Why conceal me here?" she said; "aren't you at liberty to take me in
and protect me, who have no one but you on earth, and who, without
you, shall be compelled to beg on the public highway? Why, even
society can no longer call it a crime for you to love me; I have taken
everything on my own shoulders! But where are you going?" she cried,
as she saw him walking toward the door.
She clung to him with the terror of a child who does not wish to be left
alone a single instant, and dragged herself along on her knees behind
him.
His purpose was to lock the door; but he was too late. The door
opened before he could reach it, and Laure de Nangy entered. She
seemed less surprised than exasperated, and did not utter an
exclamation, but stooped a little to look with snapping eyes at the half-
fainting woman on the floor; then, with a cold, bitter, scornful smile,
she said:
"Madame Delmare, you seem to enjoy placing three persons in a very
strange situation; but I thank you for assigning me the least ridiculous
rôle of the three, and this is how I discharge it. Be good enough to
retire."
Indignation renewed Indiana's strength; she rose and drew herself up
to her full height.
"Who is this woman, pray?" she said to Raymon, "and by what right
does she give me orders in your house?"
"You are in my house, madame," retorted Laure.
"Speak, in heaven's name, monsieur," cried Indiana fiercely, shaking
the wretched man's arm; "tell me whether she is your mistress or your
wife!"
"She is my wife," Raymon replied with a dazed air.
"I forgive your uncertainty," said Madame de Ramière with a cruel
smile. "If you had remained where your duty required you to remain,
you would have received cards to monsieur's marriage. Come,
Raymon," she added in a tone of sarcastic amiability, "I am moved to
pity by your embarrassment. You are rather young; you will realize
now, I trust, that more prudence is advisable. I leave it for you to put
an end to this absurd scene. I would laugh at it if you didn't look so
utterly wretched."
With that she withdrew, well satisfied with the dignity she had
displayed, and secretly triumphant because the incident had placed her
husband in a position of inferiority and dependence with regard to her.
When Indiana recovered the use of her faculties she was alone in a
close carriage, being driven rapidly toward Paris.
XXIX
The carriage stopped at the barrier. A servant whom Madame Delmare

recognized as a man who had formerly been in Raymon's service came
to the door and asked where he should leave madame. Indiana
instinctively gave the name and street number of the lodging-house at
which she had slept the night before. On arriving there, she fell into a
chair and remained there until morning, without a thought of going to
bed, without moving, longing for death but too crushed, too inert to
summon strength to kill herself. She believed that it was impossible to
live after such terrible blows, and that death would of its own motion
come in search of her. She remained there all the following day, taking
no sustenance, making no reply to the offers of service that were
made her.
I do not know that there is anything more horrible on earth than life in
a furnished lodging-house in Paris, especially when it is situated, as
this one was, in a dark, narrow street, and only a dull, hazy light crawls
regretfully, as it were, over the smoky ceilings and soiled windows. And
then there is something chilly and repellent in the sight of the furniture
to which you are unaccustomed and to which your idle glance turns in
vain for a memory, a touch of sympathy. All those objects which
belong, so to speak, to no one, because they belong to all comers; that
room where no one has left any trace of his passage save now and
then a strange name, found on a card in the mirror-frame; that
mercenary roof, which has sheltered so many poor travellers, so many
lonely strangers, with hospitality for none; which looks with
indifference upon so many human agitations and can describe none of
them: the discordant, never-ending noise from the street, which does
not even allow you to sleep and thus escape grief or ennui: all these
are causes of disgust and irritation even to one who does not bring to
the horrible place such a frame of mind as Madame Delmare's. You ill-
starred provincial, who have left your fields, your blue sky, your
verdure, your house and your family, to come and shut yourself up in
this dungeon of the mind and the heart—see Paris, lovely Paris, which
in your dreams has seemed to you such a marvel of beauty! see it
stretch away yonder, black with mud and rainy, as noisy and pestilent
and rapid as a torrent of slime! There is the perpetual revel, always
brilliant and perfumed, which was promised you; there are the
intoxicating pleasures, the wonderful surprises, the treasures of sight
and taste and hearing which were to contend for the possession of
your passions and faculties, which are of limited capacity and
powerless to enjoy them all at once! See, yonder, the affable, winning,
hospitable Parisian, as he was described to you, always in a hurry,
always careworn! Tired out before you have seen the whole of this
ever-moving population, this inextricable labyrinth, you take refuge,
overwhelmed with dismay, in the cheerful precincts of a furnished
lodging-house, where, after hastily installing you, the only servant of a
house that is often of immense size leaves you to die in peace, if
fatigue or sorrow deprive you of the strength to attend to the thousand
necessities of life.
But to be a woman and to find oneself in such a place, spurned by
everybody, three thousand leagues from all human affection; to be
without money, which is much worse than being abandoned in a vast
desert without water; to have in all one's past not a single happy
memory that is not poisoned or withered, in the whole future not a
single hope to divert one's thoughts from the emptiness of the present,
is the last degree of misery and hopelessness. And so Madame
Delmare, making no attempt to contend against a destiny that was
fulfilled, against a broken, ruined life, submitted to the gnawings of
hunger, fever and sorrow without uttering a complaint, without
shedding a tear, without making an effort to die an hour earlier, to
suffer an hour less.
They found her on the morning of the second day, lying on the floor,
stiff with cold, with clenched teeth, blue lips and lustreless eyes; but
she was not dead. The landlady examined her secretary and, seeing
how poorly supplied it was, considered whether the hospital was not
the proper place for this stranger, who certainly had not the means to
pay the expenses of a long and costly illness. However, as she was a
woman overflowing with humanity, she caused her to be put to bed
and sent for a doctor to ascertain if the illness would last more than a
day or two.
A doctor appeared who had not been sent for. Indiana, on opening her
eyes, found him beside her bed. I need not tell you his name.
"Oh! you here! you here!" she cried, throwing herself, almost fainting,
on his breast. "You are my good angel! But you come too late, and I
can do nothing for you except to die blessing you."
"You will not die, my dear," replied Ralph with deep emotion; "life may
still smile upon you. The laws which interfered with your happiness no
longer fetter your affection. I would have preferred to destroy the
invincible spell which a man whom I neither like nor esteem has cast
upon you; but that is not in my power, and I am tired of seeing you
suffer. Hitherto your life has been perfectly frightful; it cannot be more
so. Besides, even if my gloomy forebodings are realized and the
happiness of which you have dreamed is destined to be of short
duration, you will at least have enjoyed it for some little time, you will
not die without a taste of it. So I sacrifice all my repugnance and
dislike. The destiny which casts you, all alone as you are, into my
arms, imposes upon me the duties of a father and a guardian toward
you. I come to tell you that you are free and that you may unite your
lot to Monsieur de Ramière's. Delmare is no more."
Tears rolled slowly down Ralph's cheeks while he was speaking.
Indiana suddenly sat up in bed and cried, wringing her hands in
despair:
"My husband is dead! and it was I who killed him! And you talk to me
of the future and happiness, as if such a thing were possible for the
heart that detests and despises itself! But be sure that God is just and
that I am cursed. Monsieur de Ramière is married."
She fell back, utterly exhausted, into her cousin's arms. They were
unable to resume conversation until several hours later.
"Your justly disturbed conscience may be set at rest," said Ralph, in a
solemn, but sad and gentle tone. "Delmare was at death's door when
you deserted him: he did not wake from the sleep in which you left
him, he never knew of your flight, he died without cursing you or
weeping for you. Toward morning, when I woke from the heavy sleep
into which I had fallen beside his bed, I found his face purple and he
was burning hot and breathing stertorously in his sleep; he was
already stricken with apoplexy. I ran to your room and was surprised
not to find you there; but I had no time to try to discover the
explanation of your absence; I was not seriously alarmed about it until
after Delmare's death. Everything that skill could do was of no avail,
the disease progressed with startling rapidity, and he died an hour
later, in my arms, without recovering the use of his senses. At the last
moment, however, his benumbed, clouded mind seemed to make an
effort to come to life; he felt for my hand which he took for yours—his
were already stiff and numb—he tried to press it, and died,
stammering your name."
"I heard his last words," said Indiana gloomily; "at the moment that I
left him forever, he spoke to me in his sleep. 'That man will ruin you,'
he said. Those words are here," she added, putting one hand to her
heart and the other to her head.
"When I succeeded in taking my eyes and my thoughts from that dead
body," continued Ralph, "I thought of you; of you, Indiana, who were
free thenceforth, and who could not weep for your master unless from
kindness of heart or religious feeling. I was the only one whom his
death deprived of something, for I was his friend, and, even if he was
not always very sociable, at all events I had no rival in his heart. I
feared the effect of breaking the news to you too suddenly, and I went
to the door to wait for you, thinking that you would soon return from
your morning walk. I waited a long while. I will not attempt to describe
my anxiety, my search, and my alarm when I found Ophelia's body, all
bleeding and bruised by the rocks; the waves had washed it upon the
beach. I looked a long while, alas! expecting to discover yours; for I
thought that you had taken your own life, and for three days I believed
that there was nothing left on earth for me to love. It is useless to
speak of my grief; you must have foreseen it when you abandoned me.
"Meanwhile, a rumor that you had fled spread swiftly through the
colony. A vessel came into port that had passed the Eugène in
Mozambique Channel; some of the ship's company had been aboard
your ship. A passenger had recognized you, and in less than three days
the whole island knew of your departure.
"I spare you the absurd and insulting reports that resulted from the
coincidence of those two events on the same night, your flight and
your husband's death. I was not spared in the charitable conclusions
that people amused themselves by drawing; but I paid no attention to
them. I had still one duty to perform on earth, to make sure of your
welfare and to lend you a helping hand if necessary. I sailed soon after
you; but I had a horrible voyage and have been in France only a week.
My first thought was to go to Monsieur de Ramière to inquire about
you; but by good luck I met his servant Carle, who had just brought
you here. I asked him no questions except where you were living, and
I came here with the conviction that I should not find you alone."
"Alone, alone! shamefully abandoned!" cried Madame Delmare. "But let
us not speak of that man, let us never speak of him. I can never love
him again, for I despise him; but you must not tell me that I once
loved him, for that reminds me of my shame and my crime; it casts a
terrible reproach upon my last moments. Ah! be my angel of
consolation; you who never fail to come and offer me a friendly hand
in all the crises of my miserable life. Fulfil with pity your last mission;
say to me words of affection and forgiveness, so that I may die at
peace, and hope for pardon from the Judge who awaits me on high."
She hoped to die; but grief rivets the chain of life instead of breaking
it. She was not even dangerously ill; she simply had no strength, and
lapsed into a state of languor and apathy which resembled imbecility.
Ralph tried to distract her; he took her away from everything that
could remind her of Raymon. He took her to Touraine, he surrounded
her with all the comforts of life; he devoted all his time to making a
portion of hers endurable; and when he failed, when he had exhausted
all the resources of his art and his affection without bringing a feeble
gleam of pleasure to that gloomy, careworn face, he deplored the
powerlessness of his words and blamed himself bitterly for the
ineptitude of his affection.
One day he found her more crushed and hopeless than ever. He dared
not speak to her, but sat down beside her with a melancholy air.
Thereupon, Indiana turned to him and said, pressing his hand
tenderly:
"I cause you a vast deal of pain, poor Ralph! and you must be patient
beyond words to endure the spectacle of such egotistical, cowardly
misery as mine! Your unpleasant task was finished long ago. The most
insanely exacting woman could not ask of friendship more than you
have done for me. Now leave me to the misery that is gnawing at my
heart; do not spoil your pure and holy life by contact with an accursed
life; try to find elsewhere the happiness which cannot exist near me."
"I do in fact give up all hope of curing you, Indiana," he replied; "but I
will never abandon you even if you should tell me that I annoy you; for
you still require bodily care, and if you are not willing that I should be
your friend, I will at all events be your servant. But listen to me; I have
an expedient to propose to you which I have kept in reserve for the
last stage of the disease, but which certainly is infallible."
"I know but one remedy for sorrow," she replied, "and that is
forgetting; for I have had time to convince myself that argument is
unavailing. Let us hope everything from time, therefore. If my will
could obey the gratitude which you inspire in me, I should be now as
cheerful and calm as in the days of our childhood; believe me, my
friend, I take no pleasure in nourishing my trouble and inflaming my
wound; do I not know that all my sufferings rebound on your heart?
Alas! I would like to forget, to be cured! but I am only a weak woman.
Ralph, be patient and do not think me ungrateful."
She burst into tears. Sir Ralph took her hand.
"Listen, dear Indiana," he said; "to forget is not in our power; I do not
accuse you! I can suffer patiently; but to see you suffer is beyond my
strength. Indeed, why should we struggle thus, weak creatures that we
are, against a destiny of iron? It is quite enough to drag this cannon-
ball; the God whom you and I adore did not condemn man to undergo
so much misery without giving him the instinct to escape from it; and
what constitutes, in my opinion, man's most marked superiority over
the brute is his ability to understand what the remedy is for all his ills.
The remedy is suicide; that is what I propose, what I advise."
"I have often thought of it," Indiana replied after a short silence. "Long
ago I was violently tempted to resort to it, but religious scruples
arrested me. Since then my ideas have reached a higher level, in
solitude. Misfortune clung to me and gradually taught me a different
religion from that taught by men. When you came to my assistance I
had determined to allow myself to die of hunger; but you begged me
to live, and I had not the right to refuse you that sacrifice. Now, what
holds me back is your existence, your future. What will you do all
alone, poor Ralph, without family, without passions, without affections?
Since I have received these horrible wounds in my heart I am no
longer good for anything to you; but perhaps I shall recover. Yes,
Ralph, I will do my utmost, I swear. Have patience a little longer; soon,
perhaps, I shall be able to smile. I long to become tranquil and light-
hearted once more in order to devote to you this life for which you
have fought so stoutly with misfortune."
"No, my dear, no; I do not desire such a sacrifice; I will never accept
it," said Ralph. "Wherein is my life more precious than yours, pray?
Why must you inflict a hateful future upon yourself in order that mine
may be pleasant? Do you think that it will be possible for me to enjoy it
while feeling that your heart has no share in it? No, I am not so selfish
as that. Let us not attempt, I beg you, an impossible heroism; it is
overweening pride and presumption to hope to renounce all self-love
thus. Let us view our situation calmly and dispose of our remaining
days as common property which neither of us has the right to
appropriate at the other's expense. For a long time, ever since my
birth, I may say, life has been a bore and a burden to me; now I no
longer feel the courage to endure it without bitterness of heart and
impiety. Let us go together; let us return to God, who exiled us in this
world of trials, in this vale of tears, but who will surely not refuse to
open His arms to us when, bruised and weary, we go to Him and
implore His indulgence and His mercy. I believe in God, Indiana, and it
was I who first taught you to believe in Him. So have confidence in
me; an upright heart cannot deceive one who questions it with
sincerity. I feel that we have both suffered enough here on earth to be
cleansed of our sins. The baptism of unhappiness has surely purified
our souls sufficiently; let us give them back to Him who gave them."
This idea engrossed Ralph and Indiana for several days, at the end of
which it was decided that they should commit suicide together. It only
remained to choose what sort of death they would die.
"It is a matter of some importance," said Ralph; "but I have already
considered it, and this is what I have to suggest. The act that we are
about to undertake not being the result of a momentary mental
aberration, but of a deliberate determination formed after calm and
pious reflection, it is important that we should bring to it the meditative
seriousness of a Catholic receiving the sacraments of his Church. For
us the universe is the temple in which we adore God. In the bosom of
majestic, virgin nature we are impressed by the consciousness of His
power, pure of all human profanation. Let us go back to the desert,
therefore, so that we may be able to pray. Here, in this country
swarming with men and vices, in the bosom of this civilization which
denies God or disfigures Him, I feel that I should be ill at ease,
distraught and depressed. I would like to die cheerfully, with a serene
brow and with my eyes gazing heavenward. But where can we find
heaven here? I will tell you, therefore, the spot where suicide appeared
to me in its noblest and most solemn aspect. It is in Ile Bourbon, on
the verge of a precipice, on the summit of the cliff from which the
transparent cascade, surmounted by a gorgeous rainbow, plunges into
the lonely ravine of Bernica. That is where we passed the sweetest
hours of our childhood; that is where I bewailed the bitterest sorrows
of my life; that is where I learned to pray, to hope; that is where I
would like, during one of the lovely nights of that latitude, to bury
myself in those pure waters and go down into the cool, flower-decked
grave formed by the depths of the verdure-lined abyss. If you have no
predilection for any other spot, give me the satisfaction of offering up
our twofold sacrifice on the spot which witnessed the games of our
childhood and the sorrows of our youth."
"I agree," said Madame Delmare, placing her hand in Ralph's to seal
the compact. "I have always been drawn to the banks of the stream by
an invincible attraction, by the memory of my poor Noun. To die as she
died will be sweet to me; it will be an atonement for her death, which I
caused."
"Moreover," said Ralph, "another sea voyage, made under the influence
of other feelings than those which have agitated us hitherto, is the
best preparation we could imagine for communing with ourselves, for
detaching ourselves from earthly affections, for raising ourselves in
unalloyed purity to the feet of the Supreme Being. Isolated from the
whole world, always ready to leave this life with glad hearts, we shall
watch with enchanted eyes the tempest arouse the elements and
unfold its magnificent spectacles before us. Come, Indiana, let us go;
let us shake the dust of this ungrateful land from our feet. To die here,
under Raymon's eyes, would be to all appearance a mere
commonplace, cowardly revenge. Let us leave that man's punishment
to God; and let us go and beseech Him to open the treasures of His
mercy to that barren and ungrateful heart."
They left France. The schooner Nahandove, as fleet and nimble as a
bird, bore them to their twice-abandoned country. Never was there so
pleasant and fast a passage. It seemed as if a favorable wind had
undertaken to guide safely into port those two ill-fated beings who had
been tossed about so long among the reefs and shoals of life. During
those three months Indiana reaped the fruit of her docile compliance
with Ralph's advice. The sea air, so bracing and so penetrating,
restored her impaired health; a wave of peace overflowed her wearied
heart. The certainty that she would soon have done with her sufferings
produced upon her the effect of a doctor's assurances upon a
credulous patient. Forgetting her past life, she opened her heart to the
profound emotions of religious hope. Her thoughts were all
impregnated with a mysterious charm, a celestial perfume. Never had
the sea and sky seemed to her so beautiful. It seemed to her that she
saw them for the first time, she discovered so many new splendors and
glories in them. Her brow became serene once more, and one would
have said that a ray of the Divine essence had passed into her sweetly
melancholy eyes.
A change no less extraordinary took place in Ralph's soul and in his
outward aspect; the same causes produced almost the same results.
His heart, so long hardened against sorrow, softened in the revivifying
warmth of hope. Heaven descended also into that bitter, wounded
heart. His words took on the stamp of his feelings and for the first time
Indiana became acquainted with his real character. The reverent, filial
intimacy that bound them together took from the one his painful
shyness, from the other her unjust prejudices. Every day cured Ralph
of some gaucherie of his nature, Indiana of some error of her
judgment. At the same time the painful memory of Raymon faded
away and gradually vanished in face of Ralph's unsuspected virtues, his
sublime sincerity. As the one grew greater in her estimation, the other
fell away. At last, by dint of comparing the two men, every vestige of
her blind and fatal love was effaced from her heart.
XXX
It was last year, one evening during the never-ending summer that
reigns in those latitudes, that two passengers from the schooner
Nahandove journeyed into the mountains of Ile Bourbon three days
after landing. These two persons had devoted the interval to repose, a
precaution quite inconsistent with the plan which had brought them to
the colony. But such was evidently not their opinion; for, after taking
faham together on the veranda, they dressed with especial care as if
they intended to pass the evening in society, and, taking the road to
the mountain, they reached the ravine of Bernica after about an hour's
walk.
Chance willed that it should be one of the loveliest evenings for which
the moon ever furnished light in the tropics. That luminary had just
risen from the dark waves and was beginning to cast a long band of
quick-silver on the sea; but its rays did not shine into the gorge, and
the edges of the basin reflected only the trembling gleam of a few
stars. Even the lemon-trees on the higher slopes of the mountain were
not covered with the pale diamonds with which the moon sprinkles
their polished, brittle leaves. The ebony trees and the tamarinds
murmured softly in the darkness; only the bushy tufts at the summit of
the huge palm-trees, whose slender trunks rose a hundred feet from
the ground, shone with a greenish tinge in the silvery beams.
The sea-birds were resting quietly in the crevices of the cliffs, and only
a few blue pigeons, concealed behind the projections of the mountain,
raised their melancholy, passionate note in the distance. Lovely
beetles, living jewels, rustled gently in the branches of the coffee-
trees, or skimmed the surface of the lake with a buzzing noise, and the
regular plashing of the cascade seemed to exchange mysterious words
with the echoes on its shores.
The two solitary promenaders ascended by a steep and winding path
to the top of the gorge, to the spot where the torrent plunges down in
a white column of vapor to the foot of the precipice. They found
themselves on a small platform admirably adapted to their purpose. A
number of convolvuli hanging from the trunks of trees formed a natural
cradle suspended over the waterfall. Sir Ralph, with wonderful self-
possession, cut away several branches which might impede their
spring, then took his companion's hand and drew her to a seat beside
him on a moss-covered rock from which in the daytime the beautiful
view from that spot could be seen in all its wild and charming
grandeur. But at that moment the darkness and the dense vapor from
the cascade enveloped everything and made the height of the
precipice seem immeasurable and awe-inspiring.
"Let me remind you, my dear Indiana," said Ralph, "that the success of
our undertaking requires the greatest self-possession on our part. If
you jump hastily in a direction where, because of the darkness, you
see no obstacles, you will inevitably bruise yourself on the rocks and
your death will be slow and painful; but, if you take care to throw
yourself in the direction of the white line which marks the course of the
waterfall you will fall into the lake with it, and the water itself will see
to it that you do not miss your aim. But, if you prefer to wait an hour,
the moon will rise high enough to give us light."
"I am willing," Indiana replied, "especially as we ought to devote these
last moments to religious thoughts."
"You are right, my dear," said Ralph. "This last hour should be one of
meditation and prayer. I do not say that we ought to make our peace
with the Eternal, that would be to forget the distance that separates us
from His sublime power; but we ought, I think, to make our peace with
the men who have caused our suffering, and to confide to the wind
which blows toward the northeast words of pity for those from whom
three thousand leagues of ocean separate us."
Indiana received this suggestion without surprise or emotion. For
several months past her thoughts had become more and more
elevated in direct proportion to the change that had taken place in
Ralph. She no longer listened to him simply as a phlegmatic adviser;
she followed him in silence as a good spirit whose mission it was to
take her from the earth and deliver her from her torments.
"I agree," she said; "I am overjoyed to feel that I can forgive without
an effort, that I have neither hatred nor regret nor love nor resentment
in my heart; indeed, at this moment, I hardly remember the sorrows of
my sad life and the ingratitude of those who surrounded me. Almighty
God! Thou seest the deepest recesses of my heart; Thou knowest that
it is pure and calm, and that all my thoughts of love and hope have
turned to Thee."
Thereupon, Ralph seated himself at Indiana's feet and began to pray in
a loud voice that rose above the roar of the cascade. It was the first
time perhaps since he was born that his whole thought came to his
lips. The hour of his death had struck; his heart was no longer held in
check by fetters or mysteries; it belonged to God alone; the chains of
society no longer weighed it down. Its ardor was no longer a crime, it
was free to soar upward to God who awaited it; the veil that concealed
so much virtue, grandeur and power fell away, and the man's mind
rose at its first leap to the level of his heart.
As a bright flame burns amid dense clouds of smoke and scatters
them, so did the sacred fire that glowed in the depths of his being
send forth its brilliant light. The first time that that inflexible conscience
found itself delivered from its trammels and its fears, words came of
themselves to the assistance of his thoughts, and the man of mediocre
talents, who had never said any but commonplace things in his life,
became, in his last hour, eloquent and convincing as Raymon had
never been. Do not expect me to repeat to you the strange harangue
that he confided to the echoes of the vast solitude; not even he
himself, if he were here, could repeat it. There are moments of mental
exaltation and ecstasy when our thoughts are purified, subtilized,
etherealized as it were. These infrequent moments raise us so high,
carry us so far out of ourselves, that when we fall back upon the earth
we lose all consciousness and memory of that intellectual debauch.
Who can understand the anchorite's mysterious visions? Who can tell
the dreams of the poet before his exaltation cooled so that he could
write them down for us? Who can say what marvellous things are
revealed to the soul of the just man when Heaven opens to receive
him? Ralph, a man so utterly commonplace to all outward appearance
—and yet an exceptional man, for he firmly believed in God and
consulted the book of his conscience day by day—Ralph at that
moment was adjusting his accounts with eternity. It was the time to be
himself, to lay bare his whole moral being, to lay aside, before the
Judge, the disguise that men had forced upon him. Casting away the
haircloth in which sorrow had enveloped his bones, he stood forth
sublime and radiant as if he had already entered into the abode of
divine rewards.
As she listened to him, it did not occur to Indiana to be surprised; she
did not ask herself if it were really Ralph who talked like that. The
Ralph she had known had ceased to exist, and he to whom she was
listening now seemed to be a friend whom she had formerly seen in
her dreams and who finally became incarnate for her on the brink of
the grave. She felt her own pure soul soar upward in the same flight. A
profound religious sympathy aroused in her the same emotions, and
tears of enthusiasm fell from her eyes upon Ralph's hair.
Thereupon, the moon rose over the tops of the great palms, and its
beams, shining between the branches of the convolvuli, enveloped
Indiana in a pale, misty light which made her resemble, in her white
dress and with her long hair falling over her shoulders, the wraith of
some maiden lost in the desert.
Sir Ralph knelt before her and said:
"Now, Indiana, you must forgive me for all the injury I have done you,
so that I may forgive myself for it."
"Alas!" she replied, "what can I possibly have to forgive you, my poor
Ralph? Ought I not, on the contrary, to bless you to the last moment of
my life, as you have forced me to do in all the days of misery that have
fallen to my lot?"
"I do not know how far I have been blameworthy," rejoined Ralph;
"but it is impossible that, in the course of such a long and terrible
battle with my destiny, I should not have been many times without my
own volition."
"Of what battle are you speaking?" queried Indiana.
"That is what I must explain to you before we die; that is the secret of
my life. You asked me to tell it to you on the ship that brought us here,
and I promised to do so on the shore of Bernica Lake, when the moon
should rise upon us for the last time."
"That moment has come," she said, "and I am listening."
"Summon all your patience then, for I have a long story to tell you,
Indiana, and that story is my own."
"I thought that I knew it, inasmuch as I have hardly ever been
separated from you."
"You do not know it; you do not know it for a single day, a single hour,"
said Ralph sadly. "When could I have told it to you, pray? It is Heaven's
will that the only suitable moment for me to do so, should be the last
moment of your life and my own. But it is as innocent and proper to-
day as it would formerly have been insane and criminal. It is a personal
gratification for which no one has the right to blame me at this hour,
which you accord to me in order to complete the task of patience and
gentleness which you have taken upon yourself with regard to me.
Endure to the end, therefore, the burden of my unhappiness; and if my
words tire you and annoy you, listen to the waterfall as it sings the
hymn of the dead over me.
"I was born to love; none of you chose to believe it, and your error in
that regard had a decisive influence on my character. It is true that
nature, while giving me an ardent heart, was guilty of a strange
inconsistency; she placed on my face a stone mask and on my tongue
a weight that it could not raise; she refused me what she grants to the
most ordinary mortals, the power to express my feelings by the glance
or by speech. That made me selfish. People judged the mental being
by the outer envelope and, like an imperfect fruit I was compelled to
dry up under the rough husk which I could not cast off. I was hardly
born when I was cast out of the heart which I most needed. My
mother put me away from her breast with disgust, because my baby
face could not return her smile. At an age when one can hardly
distinguish a thought from a desire, I was already branded with the
hateful designation of egotist.
"Thereupon it was decided that no one would love me, because I was
unable to put in words my affection for anyone. They made me
unhappy, they declared that I did not feel my unhappiness; I was
almost banished from my father's house; they sent me to live among
the rocks like a lonely shore-bird. You know what my childhood was,
Indiana. I passed the long days in the desert, with no anxious mother
to come there in search of me, with no friendly voice amid the silence
of the ravines to remind me that the approach of night called me back
to the cradle. I grew up alone, I lived alone; but God would not permit
me to be unhappy to the end, for I shall not die alone.
"Heaven however sent me a gift, a consolation, a hope. You came into
my life as if Heaven had created you for me. Poor child! abandoned
like me, like me set adrift in life without love and without protectors,
you seemed to be destined for me—at least I flattered myself that it
was so. Was I too presumptuous? For ten years you were mine,
absolutely mine; I had no rivals, no misgivings. At that time I had had
no experience of what jealousy is.
"That time, Indiana, was the least dismal period of my life. I made of
you my sister, my daughter, my companion, my pupil, my whole
society. Your need of me made my life something more than that of a
wild beast; for your sake I threw off the gloom into which the
contempt of my own family had cast me. I began to esteem myself by
becoming useful to you. I must tell you everything, Indiana; after
accepting the burden of life for you, my imagination suggested the
hope of a reward. I accustomed myself—forgive the words I am about
to use; even to-day I cannot utter them without fear and trembling—I
accustomed myself to think that you would be my wife; child that you
were, I looked upon you as my betrothed; my imagination arrayed you
in the charms of young womanhood; I was impatient to see you in
your maturity. My brother, who had usurped my share of the family
affection and who took pleasure in peaceful avocations, had a garden
on the hillside which we can see from here by daylight, and which
subsequent owners have transformed into a rice-field. The care of his
flowers occupied his pleasantest moments, and every morning he went
out to watch their progress with an impatient eye, and to wonder, child
that he was, because they had not grown so much as he expected in a
single night. You, Indiana, were my whole vocation, my only joy, my
only treasure; you were the young plant that I cultivated, the bud that
I was impatient to see bloom. I, too, looked eagerly every morning for
the effect of another day that had passed over your head; for I was
already a young man and you were but a child. Already passions of
which you did not know the name were stirring my bosom; my fifteen
years played havoc with my imagination, and you were surprised to
see me so often in a melancholy mood, sharing your games, but taking
no pleasure in them. You could not imagine that a fruit or a bird was
no longer a priceless treasure to me as it was to you, and I already
seemed cold and odd to you. And yet you loved me such as I was; for,
despite my melancholy, there was not a moment of my life that was
not devoted to you; my sufferings made you dearer to my heart; I
cherished the insane hope that it would be your mission to change
them to joys some day.
"Alas! forgive me for the sacrilegious thought which kept me alive for
ten years; if it were a crime in the accursed child to hope for you,
lovely, simple-hearted child of the mountains, God alone is guilty of
giving him, for his only sustenance, that audacious thought. Upon what
could that wounded, misunderstood heart subsist, who encountered
new necessities at every turn and found a refuge nowhere? from
whom could he expect a glance, a smile of love, if not from you, whose
lover and father he was at the same time?
"Do not be shocked to find that you grew up under the wing of a poor
bird consumed by love; never did any impure homage, any
blameworthy thought endanger the virginity of your soul; never did my
mouth brush from your cheeks that bloom of innocence which covered
them as the fruit is covered with a moist vapor in the morning. My
kisses were the kisses of a father, and when your innocent and playful
lips met mine they did not find there the stinging flame of virile desire.
No, it was not with you, a tiny blue-eyed child, that I was in love. As I
held you in my arms, with your innocent smile and your dainty
caresses, you were simply my child, or at most my little sister; but I
was in love with your fifteen years, when, yielding to the ardor of my
own youth, I devoured the future with a greedy eye.
"When I read you the story of Paul and Virginie, you only half
understood it. You wept, however; you saw only the story of a brother
and sister where I had quivered with sympathy, realizing the torments
of two lovers. That book made me miserable, whereas it was your joy.
You enjoyed hearing me read of the attachment of a faithful dog, of
the beauty of the cocoa-palms and the songs of Dominique the negro.
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Andrew Tallon, Series Editor

Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data

Dorothy Day and the Catholic worker movement : centenary essays /

Cover Design by Andrew J. Tallon

© Marquette University Press 2001

All rights reserved.

Photo of Dorothy Day on back cover first published in the

Contemporary Students and Dorothy Day

Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker Archives

2. Roots of the Catholic Worker Movement: Saints and Philoso-

4. Diversity, Plurality and Ambiguity: Anarchism in the Catholic

5. What’s Catholic about the Catholic Worker Movement? Then

6. Dorothy Day, Rebel Catholic: Living in a State of Permanent

7. The Catholic Worker Movement: Toward a Theology of Libera-

Poem: Roll Away the Stone

9. American Myth and the Gospel: Manifest Destiny and Dorothy

Poem: The Anti-War Politics of Christ

12. A Cultural Context for Understanding Dorothy Day’s Social

Poem: Mass Production

15. Dorothy Day and the Transformation of Work: Lessons for

16. Peter Maurin, the Distributists and the Nature of Work

17. Into Their Labors: Work, Technology, and the Sacramentalism

Poem: Wildcat Musings

19. The Last Word Is Love: Activism, Spirituality, and Writing in

Poem: Well Paid Slaves

21. Dorothy Day and Thomas Merton: Overview of a Work in

22. Dorothy Day: Citizen of the Kingdom

Poem: Proverb after Dorothy Day

24. Why Peter Maurin Matters

25. Down on the Farm and Up to Heaven: Catholic Worker Farm

26. Dorothy Day’s View of Peter Maurin

Poem: The Hundred-Foot Fiberglass Hiawatha

31. An Uneasy Community: Catholics in Civilian Public Service

Poem: Cultural Exchange

34. Protestant Responses to Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker

35. The Catholic Worker and Socially Engaged Buddhism: A Dia-

Poem: Where Are the Signs of Spring?

37. Threads of Life: Telling the Story

38. A Long Loneliness: Metaphors of Conversion within the Catho-

39. Dorothy Day: Saint and Troublemaker

Poem: The Lazarus Dream Forgiven (for Todd Duncan)

Bibliography ............................................................................. 589

Authors ..................................................................................... 611

Essays Published Elsewhere ....................................................... 613

Index ........................................................................................ 614

William J. Thorn, Ph.D.

way she taught this moral vision to others. In their recollections in

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