Death Comes for the Archbishop

By Willa Cather

“Death Comes for the Archbishop” is the critically acclaimed novel of the settlement of the American Southwest by celebrated author Willa Cather. First published in 1927, it is widely regarded as one of the best American books of the 20th century and masterfully captures this pivotal time of America’s westward expansion. The story is based on the real-life struggles of Catholic clergy members as they attempt to establish a regular diocese in the lawless and vast New Mexico Territory in the late 19th century. Cather’s main characters, the French Bishop Jean Marie Latour and American vicar Joseph Vaillant, are based upon the real-life Jean-Baptiste Lamy and Joseph Projectus Machebeuf. The fictional pair encounters many of the same dangers and obstacles as their rel-life counterparts as they bring the Roman Catholic Church and its politics to the native people of the desert of the Southwest. While many of the clergy members are good and honorable people dedicated to spreading the Word of God, others are greedy and corrupt, making Latour and Vaillant’s work all the more difficult. Beautifully written with complex characters struggling to conquer a stunning and brutal land, “Death Comes for the Archbishop” is one of Cather’s most accomplished and thoughtful works. This edition includes a biographical afterword.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Jan 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781420981131

Willa Cather

Willa Cather (1873-1947) was an award-winning American author. As she wrote her numerous novels, Cather worked as both an editor and a high school English teacher. She gained recognition for her novels about American frontier life, particularly her Great Plains trilogy. Most of her works, including the Great Plains Trilogy, were dedicated to her suspected lover, Isabelle McClung, who Cather herself claimed to have been the biggest advocate of her work. Cather is both a Pulitzer Prize winner and has received a gold medal from the Institute of Arts and Letters for her fiction.

Book preview

Prologue. At Rome

One summer evening in the year 1848 three Cardinals and a missionary Bishop from America were dining together in the gardens of a villa in the Sabine hills, overlooking Rome. The villa was famous for the fine view from its terrace. The hidden garden in which the four men sat at table lay some twenty feet below the south end of this terrace, and was a mere shelf of rock, overhanging a steep declivity planted with vineyards. A flight of stone steps connected it with the promenade above. The table stood in a sanded square, among potted orange and oleander trees, shaded by spreading ilex oaks that grew out of the rocks overhead. Beyond the balustrade was the drop into the air, and far below the landscape stretched soft and undulating; there was nothing to arrest the eye until it reached Rome itself.

It was early when the Spanish Cardinal and his guests sat down to dinner. The sun was still good for an hour of supreme splendour, and across the shining folds of country the low profile of the city barely fretted the sky-line—indistinct except for the dome of St. Peter’s, bluish grey like the flattened top of a great balloon, just a flash of copper light on its soft metallic surface. The Cardinal had an eccentric preference for beginning his dinner at this time in the late afternoon when the vehemence of the sun suggested motion. The light was full of action and had a peculiar quality of climax—of splendid finish. It was both intense and soft, with a ruddiness as of much-multiplied candle-light, an aura of red in its flames. It bored into the ilex trees, illuminating their mahogany trunks and blurring their dark foliage; it warmed the bright green of the orange trees and the rose of the oleander blooms to gold; sent congested spiral patterns quivering over the damask and plate and crystal. The churchmen kept their rectangular clerical caps on their heads to protect them from the sun. The three Cardinals wore black cassocks with crimson pipings and crimson buttons, the Bishop a long black coat over his violet vest.

They were talking business; had met, indeed, to discuss an anticipated appeal from the Provincial Council at Baltimore for the founding of an Apostolic Vicarate in New Mexico—a part of North America recently annexed to the United States. This new territory was vague to all of them, even to the missionary Bishop. The Italian and French Cardinals spoke of it as Le Mexique, and the Spanish host referred to it as New Spain. Their interest in the projected Vicarate was tepid, and had to be continually revived by the missionary, Father Ferrand—Irish by birth, French by ancestry—a man of wide wanderings and notable achievement in the New World, an Odysseus of the Church. The language spoken was French—the time had already gone by when Cardinals could conveniently discuss contemporary matters in Latin.

The French and Italian Cardinals were men in vigorous middle life—the Norman full-belted and ruddy, the Venetian spare and sallow and hook-nosed. Their host, Garcia Maria de Allande, was still a young man. He was dark in colouring, but the long Spanish face, that looked out from so many canvases in his ancestral portrait gallery, was in the young Cardinal much modified through his English mother. With his caffè oscuro eyes, he had a fresh, pleasant English mouth, and an open manner.

During the latter years of the reign of Gregory XVI, de Allande had been the most influential man at the Vatican; but since the death of Gregory, two years ago, he had retired to his country estate. He believed the reforms of the new Pontiff impracticable and dangerous, and had withdrawn from politics, confining his activities to work for the Society for the Propagation of the Faith—that organization which had been so fostered by Gregory. In his leisure the Cardinal played tennis. As a boy, in England, he had been passionately fond of this sport. Lawn tennis had not yet come into fashion; it was a formidable game of indoor tennis the Cardinal played. Amateurs of that violent sport came from Spain and France to try their skill against him.

The missionary, Bishop Ferrand, looked much older than any of them, old and rough—except for his clear, intensely blue eyes. His diocese lay within the icy arms of the Great Lakes, and on his long, lonely horseback rides among his missions the sharp winds had bitten him well. The missionary was here for a purpose, and he pressed his point. He ate more rapidly than the others and had plenty of time to plead his cause—finished each course with such dispatch that the Frenchman remarked he would have made an ideal dinner companion for Napoleon.

The Bishop laughed and threw out his brown hands in apology. Likely enough I have forgot my manners. I am preoccupied. Here you can scarcely understand what it means that the United States has annexed that enormous territory which was the cradle of the Faith in the New World. The Vicarate of New Mexico will be in a few years raised to an Episcopal See, with jurisdiction over a country larger than Central and Western Europe, barring Russia. The Bishop of that See will direct the beginning of momentous things.

Beginnings, murmured the Venetian, there have been so many. But nothing ever comes from over there but trouble and appeals for money.

The missionary turned to him patiently. Your Eminence, I beg you to follow me. This country was evangelized, in fifteen hundred, by the Franciscan Fathers. It has been allowed to drift for nearly three hundred years and is not yet dead. It still pitifully calls itself a Catholic country, and tries to keep the forms of religion without instruction. The old mission churches are in ruins. The few priests are without guidance or discipline. They are lax in religious observance, and some of them live in open concubinage. If this Augean stable is not cleansed, now that the territory has been taken over by a progressive government, it will prejudice the interests of the Church in the whole of North America.

But these missions are still under the jurisdiction of Mexico, are they not? inquired the Frenchman.

In the See of the Bishop of Durango? added Maria de Allande.

The missionary sighed. Your Eminence, the Bishop of Durango is an old man; and from his seat to Santa Fé is a distance of fifteen hundred English miles. There are no wagon roads, no canals, no navigable rivers. Trade is carried on by means of pack-mules, over treacherous trails. The desert down there has a peculiar horror; I do not mean thirst, nor Indian massacres, which are frequent. The very floor of the world is cracked open into countless canyons and arroyos, fissures in the earth which are sometimes ten feet deep, sometimes a thousand. Up and down these stony chasms the traveller and his mules clamber as best they can. It is impossible to go far in any direction without crossing them. If the Bishop of Durango should summon a disobedient priest by letter, who shall bring the padre to him? Who can prove that he ever received the summons? The post is carried by hunters, fur trappers, gold seekers, whoever happens to be moving on the trails.

The Norman Cardinal emptied his glass and wiped his lips.

And the inhabitants, Father Ferrand? If these are the travellers, who stays at home?

Some thirty Indian nations, Monsignor, each with its own customs and language, many of them fiercely hostile to each other. And the Mexicans, a naturally devout people, untaught and unshepherded, they cling to the faith of their fathers.

I have a letter from the Bishop of Durango, recommending his vicar for this new post, remarked Maria de Allande.

Your Eminence, it would be a great misfortune if a native priest were appointed; they have never done well in that field. Besides, this vicar is old. The new vicar must be a young man, of strong constitution, full of zeal, and, above all, intelligent. He will have to deal with savagery and ignorance, with dissolute priests and political intrigue. He must be a man to whom order is necessary—as dear as life.

The Spaniard’s coffee-coloured eyes showed a glint of yellow as he glanced sidewise at his guest. I suspect, from your exordium, that you have a candidate—and that he is a French priest, perhaps.

You guess rightly, Monsignor. I am glad to see that we have the same opinion of French missionaries.

Yes, said the Cardinal lightly, they are the best missionaries. Our Spanish fathers made good martyrs, but the French Jesuits accomplish more. They are the great organizers.

Better than the Germans? asked the Venetian, who had Austrian sympathies.

Oh, the Germans classify, but the French arrange! The French missionaries have a sense of proportion and rational adjustment. They are always trying to discover the logical relation of things. It is a passion with them. Here the host turned to the old Bishop again. But, your Grace, why do you neglect this Burgundy? I had this wine brought up from my cellar especially to warm away the chill of your twenty Canadian winters. Surely you do not gather vintages like this on the shores of the Great Lake Huron?

The missionary smiled as he took up his untouched glass. It is superb, your Eminence, but I fear I have lost my palate for vintages. Out there a little whisky, or Hudson Bay Company rum, does better for us. I must confess I enjoyed the champagne in Paris. We had been forty days at sea, and I am a poor sailor.

Then we must have some for you. He made a sign to his major-domo. "You like it very cold? And your new Vicar Apostolic, what will he drink in the country of bison and serpents à sonnettes? And what will he eat?"

He will eat dried buffalo meat and frijoles with chili, and he will be glad to drink water when he can get it. He will have no easy life, your Eminence. That country will drink up his youth and strength as it does the rain. He will be called upon for every sacrifice, quite possibly for martyrdom. Only last year the Indian pueblo of San Fernandez de Taos murdered and scalped the American Governor and some dozen other whites. The reason they did not scalp their padre was that their padre was one of the leaders of the rebellion and himself planned the massacre. That is how things stand in New Mexico!

Where is your candidate at present, Father?

He is a parish priest, on the shores of Lake Ontario, in my diocese. I have watched his work for nine years. He is but thirty-five now. He came to us directly from the seminary.

And his name is?

Jean Marie Latour.

Maria de Allande, leaning back in his chair, put the tips of his long fingers together and regarded them thoughtfully.

Of course, Father Ferrand, the Propaganda will almost certainly appoint to this Vicarate the man whom the Council at Baltimore recommends.

Ah yes, your Eminence; but a word from you to the Provincial Council, an inquiry, a suggestion——

Would have some weight, I admit, replied the Cardinal, smiling. And this Latour is intelligent, you say? What a fate you are drawing upon him! But I suppose it is no worse than a life among the Hurons. My knowledge of your country is chiefly drawn from the romances of Fenimore Cooper, which I read in English with great pleasure. But has your priest a versatile intelligence? Any intelligence in matters of art, for example?

And what need would he have for that, Monsignor? Besides, he is from Auvergne.

The three Cardinals broke into laughter and refilled their glasses. They were all becoming restive under the monotonous persistence of the missionary.

Listen, said the host, "and I will relate a little story, while the Bishop does me the compliment to drink my champagne. I have a reason for asking this question which you have answered so finally. In my family house in Valencia I have a number of pictures by the great Spanish painters, collected chiefly by my great-grandfather, who was a man of perception in these things and, for his time, rich. His collection of El Greco is, I believe, quite the best in Spain. When my progenitor was an old man, along came one of these missionary priests from New Spain, begging. All missionaries from the Americas were inveterate beggars, then as now, Bishop Ferrand. This Franciscan had considerable success, with his tales of pious Indian converts and struggling missions. He came to visit at my great-grandfather’s house and conducted devotions in the absence of the chaplain. He wheedled a good sum of money out of the old man, as well as vestments and linen and chalices—he would take anything—and he implored my grandfather to give him a painting from his great collection, for the ornamentation of his mission church among the Indians. My grandfather told him to choose from the gallery believing the priest would covet most what he himself could best afford to spare. But not at all; the hairy Franciscan pounced upon one of the best in the collection; a young St. Francis in meditation, by El Greco, and the model for the saint was one of the very handsome Dukes of Albuquerque. My grandfather protested; tried to persuade the fellow that some picture of the Crucifixion, or a martyrdom, would appeal more strongly to his redskins. What would a St. Francis, of almost feminine beauty, mean to the scalp-takers?

"All in vain. The missionary turned upon his host with a reply which has become a saying in our family: ‘You refuse me this picture because it is a good picture. It is too good for God, but it is not too good for you.’

"He carried off the painting. In my grandfather’s manuscript catalogue, under the number and title of the St. Francis, is written: Given to Fray Teodocio, for the glory of God, to enrich his mission church at Pueblo de Cia, among the savages of New Spain.

It is because of this lost treasure, Father Ferrand, that I happen to have had some personal correspondence with the Bishop of Durango. I once wrote the facts to him fully. He replied to me that the mission at Cia was long ago destroyed and its furnishings scattered. Of course the painting may have been ruined in a pillage or massacre. On the other hand, it may still be hidden away in some crumbling sacristy or smoky wigwam. If your French priest had a discerning eye, now, and were sent to this Vicarate, he might keep my El Greco in mind.

The Bishop shook his head. No, I can’t promise you—I do not know. I have noticed that he is a man of severe and refined tastes, but he is very reserved. Down there the Indians do not dwell in wigwams, your Eminence, he added gently.

No matter, Father. I see your redskins through Fenimore Cooper, and I like them so. Now let us go to the terrace for our coffee and watch the evening come on.

The Cardinal led his guests up the narrow stairway. The long gravelled terrace and its balustrade were blue as a lake in the dusky air. Both sun and shadows were gone. The folds of russet country were now violet. Waves of rose and gold throbbed up the sky from behind the dome of the Basilica.

As the churchmen walked up and down the promenade watching the stars come out, their talk touched upon many matters, but they avoided politics, as men are apt to do in dangerous times. Not a word was spoken of the Lombard war, in which the Pope’s position was so anomalous. They talked instead of a new opera by young Verdi, which was being sung in Venice; of the case of a Spanish dancing girl who had lately become a religious and was said to be working miracles in Andalusia. In this conversation the missionary took no part, nor could he even follow it with much interest. He asked himself whether he had been on the frontier so long that he had quite lost his taste for the talk of clever men. But before they separated for the night Maria de Allande spoke a word in his ear, in English.

"You are distrait, Father Ferrand. Are you wishing to unmake your new Bishop already? It is too late. Jean Marie Latour—am I right?"

Book I. The Vicar Apostic

I. The Cruciform Tree

One afternoon in the autumn of 1851 a solitary horseman, followed by a pack-mule, was pushing through an arid stretch of country somewhere in central New Mexico. He had lost his way and was trying to get back to the trail, with only his compass and his sense of direction for guides. The difficulty was that the country in which he found himself was so featureless—or rather that it was crowded with features all exactly alike. As far as he could see, on every side, the landscape was heaped up into monotonous red sand-hills, not much larger than haycocks, and very much the shape of haycocks. One could not have believed that in the number of square miles a man is able to sweep with the eye there could be so many uniform red hills. He had been riding among them since early morning, and the look of the country had no more changed than if he had stood still. He must have travelled through thirty miles of these conical red hills, winding his way in the narrow cracks between them, and he had begun to think that he would never see anything else. They were so exactly like one another that he seemed to be wandering in some geometrical nightmare; flattened cones, they were, more the shape of Mexican ovens than haycocks—yes, exactly the shape of Mexican ovens, red as brick-dust, and naked of vegetation except for small juniper trees. And the junipers, too, were the shape of Mexican ovens. Every conical hill was spotted with smaller cones of juniper, a uniform yellowish green, as the hills were a uniform red. The hills thrust out of the ground so thickly that they seemed to be pushing each other, elbowing each other aside, tipping each other over.

The blunted pyramid, repeated so many hundred times upon his retina and crowding down upon him in the heat, had confused the traveller, who was sensitive to the shape of things.

"Mais c’est fantastique!" he muttered, closing his eyes to rest them from the intrusive omnipresence of the triangle.

When he opened his eyes again, his glance immediately fell upon one juniper which differed in shape from the others. It was not a thick-growing cone, but a naked, twisted trunk, perhaps ten feet high, and at the top it parted into two lateral, flat-lying branches, with a little crest of green in the centre, just above the cleavage. Living vegetation could not present more faithfully the form of the Cross.

The traveller dismounted, drew from his pocket a much worn book, and baring his head, knelt at the foot of the cruciform tree.

Under his buckskin riding-coat he wore a black vest and the cravat and collar of a churchman. A young priest at his devotions; and a priest in a thousand, one knew at a glance. His bowed head was not that of an ordinary man—it was built for the seat of a fine intelligence. His brow was open, generous, reflective, his features handsome and somewhat severe. There was a singular elegance about the hands below the fringed cuffs of the buckskin jacket. Everything showed him to be a man of gentle birth—brave, sensitive, courteous. His manners, even when he was alone in the desert, were distinguished. He had a kind of courtesy toward himself, toward his beasts, toward the juniper tree, before which he knelt, and the God whom he was addressing.

His devotions lasted perhaps half an hour, and when he rose he looked refreshed. He began talking to his mare in halting Spanish, asking whether she agreed with him that it would be better to push on, weary as she was, in hope of finding the trail. He had no water left in his canteen, and the horses had had none since yesterday morning. They had made a dry camp in these hills last night. The animals were almost at the end of their endurance, but they would not recuperate until they got water, and it seemed best to spend their last strength in searching for it.

On a long caravan trip across Texas this man had had some experience of thirst, as the party with which he travelled was several times put on a meagre water ration for days together. But he had not suffered then as he did now. Since morning he had had a feeling of illness; the taste of fever in his mouth, and alarming seizures of vertigo. As these conical hills pressed closer and closer upon him, he began to wonder whether his long wayfaring from the mountains of Auvergne were possibly to end there. He reminded himself of that cry, wrung from his Saviour on the Cross, "J’ai soif! Of all our Lord’s physical sufferings, only one, I thirst," rose to His lips. Empowered by long training, the young priest blotted himself out of his own consciousness and meditated upon the anguish of his Lord. The Passion of

Reviews for Death Comes for the Archbishop

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is not the story I expected it to be. I think I was expecting a 1920s fun mystery because of the title. Instead I discovered a heartwarming, gentle tale of persistence in the face of adversity. I loved it. The story is based on a real person, Archbishop Lamay, who founded the Cathedral of Santa Fe, New Mexico. It is beautifully told, with the customs and cultures of the peoples of the Southwest getting full respect.

[eas7788 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I only knew My Antonía and didn't know the plot of this, so I came in with no expectations except that I would recognize some of Santa Fe. I was surprised that it was not a straight ahead novel but instead a series of stories and sometimes even anecdotes or sketches. I've been reading such plot-heavy stuff that I enjoyed the shift. I also enjoyed knowing some of the history and landscape that she wrote about. The tone was interesting because it had bits of judgment in it but also a lot of objectivity and fondness. She not surprisingly excels at making the landscape part of the story. I enjoyed returning to some of the sweetness of Catholicism and marked many of its meannesses as well. Very interesting politics. The relationship between Jean and Joseph is definitely the core of the book, but also Jean's relationship with NM--the book wavered its its portrayal of Native Americans and Mexicans, but overall pretty good for a white woman in the 1920s--there is a RANGE of characters who are native or Mexican or Hispanic, and that is the biggest accomplishment.

[kslade-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Really fine account of Catholic priest in N. Mexico.

[soylentgreen23 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

'Death Comes for the Archbishop' felt similar in structure to 'Winesburg, Ohio,' in that it is built up of a series of vignettes. The sense of place is also central to the story - or stories - and is definitely one of the highlights of this novel, which broadly tells of the life of the Archbishop Lamy (here called Latour) and his career in the Catholic church.

[stravinsky-544320 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

simple, touching

[dmturner · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It is surprising how easy it is to read this slow, meditative book with its long, long descriptions of landscape and vegetation, even though it has basically no plot and is a series of episodes in the life of two Catholic priests in the 1800s American Southwest, based loosely on an historical character. The landscape itself is a character in the novel, one that reveals itself differently in every passage.

The book wears surprisingly well except perhaps for tinges of disdain for the Protestants, the gold miners, and the Ohioans. A gentle book about solitary people in a cruel world.

[arubabookwoman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Like The Professor's House which I read earlier this year, this book almost seemed to be two distinct books. Most of the book was the story of Father Jean Latour and his friend and fellow priest Joseph Vaillant. They leave France to become missionaries in the New World in the early 19th century, and sometime around 1850 Latour is named Bishop of New Mexico. Readers are treated to lots of southwest history and culture, including clashes among Mexicans, various Native American tribes, Europeans, and Americans. Even Kit Carson plays a major role. And the beautiful southwest landscape is lovingly evoked by Cather's perfect prose. Together and separately, Latour and Vaillant have many "adventures" over the years.The final two chapters find Latour as an old man. He became Archbishop, but is now retired. Vaillant, before his death, had moved on to the wilds of the Colorado gold rush. This part of the book was what I had been expecting the whole book to be like: an older man looking back on life choices and contemplating death.I'm finding Cather is not an easy writer to categorize. Sometimes while reading it seems like not much has happened, and then you realize she's created a whole world. What is sometimes missing is a narrative arc, and I sometimes find that there are lots of stories and characters only tenuously connected. Nevertheless, I want to read more by her.I learned after reading the book that it is based on true characters, and is based on William Howlett's account of the life of Father Macheboeuf. One of the reviews on Amazon described this book as not a story, but a "mural" of a time, place, and the relationship between two very different characters. I agree.4 stars

[pdcread · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

New Mexico has just become part of the United States, and Jean Marie Latour a bishop and Joseph Vaillant, a minister are travelling from Ohio to there to establish a new diocese. Their journey takes a year by boat and then overland, where Latour spends the remainder of his life establishing the Roman Catholic church.

The story tells us how these two French priests find the established Mexican clergy and the native Hopi and Navajo Indians on their travels there, and the frustrations of convincing that the local population that this new religion is the way forward.

The writing in this book is lovely, eloquent, effortless to read and the descriptions of this part of the world were lovely. But I found the characters to be lacking something and they felt a little two dimensional to me. A stronger plot would have been good too.

[sandrabrower · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have lived in the red stone surrounded valleys and Ms. Cather's imagery brings me home every time!

I love the relationship between Father Joseph and Bishop Latour. The idea of the same gender having a deep commonality of friendship is lost now a days in the twist of author's making everything sexual. Two young men who grow old doing what God has called them to accomplish. All the while touching so many lives is an example of how all human beings should live. To do what is best for All Men not just those whom are most like you, is what Father Joseph teaches in this gorgeous, gorgeous novel. I know I am better for reading it not only from a reader's perspective but also a writer's. The idea of two French Men revolutionizing Religion in many western states is similar to a lot of westerns but, the craft of the prose: the scenery, story line, POV have changed my thoughts on what is great writing; as a teen would've seen this as just a good religious western, today I see it as a brilliant story of companionship and love of mankind set in native New Mexico.

How is this book not a required reading for an Ap English Class? It tells a simplistic, moving story without the base words most AP books hold in them.

[greeniezona · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book had been on my TBR for years, I picked it up this particular week because of a Bookopoly prompt (long story) I'd made to pick a book from a friend's list of books that had influenced her. And I am just so grateful for the whole weird series of steps that led to me finally picking this book off of the shelf. I loved every bit of this. Somehow the spareness fo Cather's writing is perfectly suited to the deserts of the American Southwest. This book has been praised by many smarter than me, so let me just say this: Despite this book not always following "the rules" of a typical narrative novel, EVERYTHING about this book feels very much on purpose, and evidence of a master practicing her craft.I loved the setting, I loved learning more about the old mission churches of the Southwest and the various cultures that collided there. Amazing book.

[lamour_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This is my second Cather and while I thourhly enjoyed , this title was disappointing. It should not have as it was full of history of New Mexico and Arizona following their annexation from Mexico.The narrative follows the trials and tribulations of two French Roman Catholic priests who have been assigned by Rome to save the Church from Protestants but more importantly from the decadence that has seeped into after years of neglect a Church leadership in Mexico. On arrival they find preists with concubines and children plus stealing from their flocks to enrich themselves.Father Latour and his colleague, Father Valliannt minister a flock spread over thousands of miles and accessible only by horseback. Their parisoners include wealthy Spanish, indiginous tribes including Hopi and Navaho and American farmers. If lack of water in desert travels or bitterly cold in winter does not kill them, armed robbers or angry natives may.Why do I not like this novel? Maybe it's the 1920's language that is full of description that adds little to the narrative. Reminds me of some of Zane Grey's weaker titles.

[amandrake_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Well-written with occasional ethical interest, but not particularly interesting.

[judithrs · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Death Comes for the Archbishop. In The Best Works of Willa Cather. 1927 I read this book 12 or so years ago and just finished re-reading it for DIPSO, our book club. I enjoyed it the first time and the second time. This is strange because I have never been that interested in the Southwest, and I don’t go out of my way to read books with lots of nature descriptions. It is a novel of the lives of Catholic priests who came to New Mexico after the Mexican American War. The descriptions of the Southwest landscape were mesmerizing and I thought of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings while I was reading. Cather does not neglect to mention the violence and mistreatment of the Indians and Mexicans by some of the priests, but her accounts of the good priests and the positive things they did are heartwarming. The hardships the priests and the indigenous people endured were heart breaking. The perseverance of the priests is a testament to the strong faith they had

[paradiseporch · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A beautiful story that sneaks up on you - just like life - and death.

[quondame · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A book full of beauty which I cannot love. There is a smugness to the tone and attitudes that made me want to toss it across the room more than once.

[foggidawn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In the year 1851, the priest Jean Latour is sent to the new American territory of New Mexico, to re-establish the Roman Catholic Church among the people there. For over 30 years, he works among them, becoming greatly beloved.This is a lovely, refreshing book. It describes the beauty of the southwestern landscape as well as the events of a lifetime of service. Based on the life of the first bishop of New Mexico, this book made me want to revisit Santa Fe and see the cathedral there again. Recommended.

[nicolewbrown · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book is loosely based on the life of the first Bishop of the New Mexico Territory, Jean-Baptiste Ramy. It is 1851 and Jean Marie Latour has just been named Vicar Apostolic of New Mexico and Bishop of Agathonica in partibus. The New Mexico Territory is vast and new to the United States having just been won from Mexico in the war, so his diocese is a large one. The seat of it is located at Sante Fe. The Bishop did not come alone, though. He was followed once again by his longtime friend Father Joseph Valliant whom he met in Seminary back in France and with whom he has been doing mission work with in America ever since. The two are an unlikely pair as Valliant has always been sickly, yet hardy in his faith. He is able to raise money for the things the church really needs but basically never takes anything for himself with only a rare occurrence. Latour is hardy in health by his faith has doubts at times. He is good at running the churches and organizing things and does accept the odd nice gift from a parishioner. They compliment each other nicely. I really prefer Father Valliant over Bishop Latour. He's a much more likable fellow and in the book, he has many more friends. They both have their work cut out for them as the Mexican priests don't want to be under the rule of the Americans. And they have no interest to be under the rule of a new French Bishop. There are some good priests and there are some churches that are in need of priests so Valliant and Latour must travel to them to do Mass. Some of these churches are Native American churches and they must contend with their dual religions of Catholicism and the old ways. The author also deals with, to some small extent, how the Native Americans have been treated by both the Americans and the Mexicans, which is interesting considering this book was published in 1927. The problem priests believe in being able to run wild and have sex with whatever woman they choose and pick up money from ventures that are not necessarily legal or morally right. Latour sends Valliant out to one of the churches to preach for a while and bring the congregation back to the righteous path rather than the party path and gives the priest a rest so he can reflect on what he did wrong. But the other two priests prove more wily and harder to deal with and a different solution must present itself.This book is not really a novel with a plot so much as a collection of vignettes. With this title, I must admit I was hoping for something a bit, well, sexier, like a murder mystery or a suspense novel. But instead I got a good, but a not too exciting book, about a Bishop and a priest who tries to set up an American diocese in the old west. The descriptions will make you really feel as though you are there, but they can also go on and on in excruciating detail. Overall this wasn't a bad book if it's your cup of tea.

[jwhenderson_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This novel is based on the lives of two historical figures, Jean-Baptiste Lamy and Joseph Projectus Machebeuf and rather than any one singular plot, is the stylized re-telling of their lives serving as Roman Catholic clergy in New Mexico. The narrative has frequent digressions, either in terms of stories related to the pair (including the story of the Our Lady of Guadeloupe and the murder of an oppressive Spanish priest at Acoma Pueblo) or through their recollections. The narrator is in the Third-Person Omniscient style. Interwoven in the narrative are fictionalized accounts of actual historical figures, including Kit Carson, Manuel Antonio Chaves and Pope Gregory XVI.In the prologue, Bishop Montferrand, a French bishop who works in the New World, is soliciting 3 cardinals at Rome to pick his candidate for the newly created diocese of New Mexico (which has recently passed into American hands). Bishop Montferrand is successful in getting his candidate, the Auvergnat Jean-Marie Latour, recommended by the cardinals. Cather describes the garden setting in great detail. It is carved into the mountains overlooking Rome. The setting is refined and cultivated, underscored by the cardinal's tastes for fine wine, gourmet food, and art. As the Catholic Church has become the predominant civilizing element of Europe, so too will it serve to civilize the American Southwest.The host cardinal admits that his knowledge of the North American continent derives primarily from the Leatherstocking novels of James Fenimore Cooper. But he is eager to champion Ferrand's nomination to the Vicarate if it means he can retrieve an El Greco painting of St. Francis of Assisi his great-grandfather had donated from his collection to a Franciscan missionary priest in the New World.The cardinals find Bishop Ferrand's single-mindedness annoying, and change the subject to current political and cultural events. Bishop Ferrand is unable to take part in the conversation and worries that he has been on the frontier so long that he can no longer engage in clever discussion. Sensing that Ferrand might have second-thoughts about appointing Latour to such a remote, uncivilized, and desolate post, Allande tells Ferrand that it is too late.Father Latour is described as a thirty-five-year-old French Jesuit missionary. The French Jesuits are believed by the cardinals to be great organizers. Ferrand predicts that the New Mexico territory will "drink up [Latour's] youth and strength as it does the rain." Latour also will be called upon to make great personal sacrifices, perhaps even becoming a martyr.Cather foreshadows the color themes she dedicates to the southwestern landscape by describing the dome of St. Peter's as bluish-gray with "a flash of copper light." Later, as the sun sets, Cather describes the sky as "waves of rose and gold." She will eventually use various shades of copper and gold to describe the terrain of New Mexico. In addition, her description of the "soft metallic surface" of St. Peter's contrasts with the hardness of the American frontier depicted by the bishop. Cather also describes the light as both intense and soft, revealing the relative easiness of European life in comparison to the lives of American missionaries.

[lkernagh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Definitely one of those "right book, right time" kind of reads. Cather brings to life a time and place that I feel is irrevocably lost to us. It is a deeply spiritual read, and not just because the focus of the story is on two French missionaries that have come to bring the word to the Southwestern United States. Cather presents the plains of New Mexico and Arizona as stunning vistas peopled by nations Navajo and Hopi nations, influencing how the missionaries approach their seemingly impossible task to tame renegade priests and bring both the new Americans and the older aboriginal nations to embrace the Catholic faith. Cather has a wonderful way with prose and presentation: The story is soft, muted, and reflective in tone while still conveying the strong vibrance of life and communicating that each individual has their own way of embracing religion and a calling. Favorite quote from the book: "He did not know just when it had become so necessary to him, but he had come back to die in exile for the sake of it. Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts, and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind, into the blue and the gold, into the morning, into the morning!" An absolutely beautiful read.

[untraveller · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Good read about the area I'm working in this summer. The book did seem pointless at times, but such are the vagaries of religion....

[debnance_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Who knew I’d be traveling in a book the same places I was traveling in real life when I picked up Death Comes for the Archbishop? It was the perfect book to read while I was in New Mexico, the perfect book for this new Catholic. The plot centers on two French priests who come to work in New Mexico in the 1850’s, but the real story is the story of the peoples of New Mexico. Willa Cather finds a way to include the stories of the appearance of Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico and the murder of a cruel Spanish priest as well as speculations about God and religion and the Native Americans of New Mexico in this wonderful little book.

[wagner5sarah35 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I had trouble getting into this book, although I struggled through to the end - when death finally came for the archbishop. I will say that this novel does seem to fit its period and locale very well, depicting the remoteness and sparseness of the 19th-century American Southwest. The characters and their tales also depict the diversity of the era, with priests and murders rubbing shoulders together. I would recommend this book to those who enjoy Willa Cather's style or books written about the American West.

[randymetcalfe · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

With a remarkably assured tone and gentle touch, Cather tells the story of the first Bishopric of New Mexico. Bishop Latour and his devoted vicar Father Vaillant travel southwest from Ohio to take up their new diocese. There travels and travails are many. They are threatened by murderers, sandstorms, snowstorms, and the arid desert. But they also find friendship and devout catholics in need of shepherding. These two men of very different temperament complement each other. Where the bishop is wise in the ways of men and the world, his companion knows the heart of the poor and the native inhabitants of these lands. Together they bring restoration to the church in this area and rebuild it on a solid edifice of hard work and faith. Their end, when it comes, as it does to all, is as a pleasant rain in mid-summer — as something earned if not overtly desired.Cather’s style here is remarkable. In an after note drawn from a letter to the editor of The Commonweal, she notes that she had, “all my life wanted to do something in the style of legend, which is absolutely the reverse of dramatic treatment.” And indeed she has managed just that. The episodic vignettes that make up the novel are none of them working toward some larger dramatic end. Rather they function as provocateurs of a particular mood, which might as well be called reverence. It feels both ancient and at the same time intensely modern. And it fully justifies her reputation.Very highly recommended.

[daniel5estes · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

To fully appreciate the textured canvas that is Willa Cather's Death Comes for the Archbishop, I highly recommend some historical pre-reading for context. An overview of New Mexico's history during the 19th century, with a specific focus on the Mexico Cession of 1848, should give the unfamiliar reader a basic foundation of what life was like. Other helpful areas of interest would be a history of Santa Fe, a comparative study of religions of the region, and a familiarity with the American Indian tribes of the southwest.

[tomeboy_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of the very best stories I've ever read.

[gbelik_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A beautiful story of courage and faith and a glorious reflection of the beauty of New Mexico. Bishop Latour and Father Joseph, two young friends and French priests come to the village of Santa Fe to minister to this area in the mid 19th century. They deal with Indians, Mexican and Americans in this area as it develops. The author has a clear reverence for her characters and their surroundings; this was a joy to read.

[janerawoof · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Compelling story and writing! Two Catholic missionaries, a bishop and his vicar, friends from seminary days. are sent to New Mexico of the 1880s to reawake the morbid Catholicism of the Spaniards, Mexicans, and Indians living there. This novel consists of 10 vignettes tracing their lives in the mission field, from their arrival in that forbidding territory and their labors among the various classes of people. Then it ends with the deaths of the two men. Cather painted glowing descriptions of the American Southwest, with sympathy for its people. This novel was based on the writings of an actual missionary who lived there at that time. A "must-read."

[trgllylibrarian · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Sometimes the forms of piety held up as good examples in the story were a bit repellant to me, but I feel like it accurately describes the attitudes of people living at the time. Overall, I came to sympathize completely with Bishop Latour. It was particularly interesting because of the description of the land of New Mexico--it was very familiar and I could tell Cather had been to NM. I also liked getting a detailed, colorful picture of the mixture of people and cultures in the region at the time. In some ways, it was the same as New Mexico is today.

[vcg610 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Death Comes For The Archbishop is an American classic featuring two French Catholic missionaries in the extremely foreign territory of New Mexico in the 1870's. New Mexico has just been annexed by the United States and the Catholic Church in Rome decides that they must send priests to that remote area to shepherd the Indians and Hispanics that were now only nominal Catholics; their forefathers having been converted when the Franciscan missionaries of Spain had passed through that land in the 1500's. The church of Rome recognizes that the future of the Catholic faith in the New World is at stake. The faith of the people has mixed with ancient traditions of the Indian people and is now diluted by the worldly conduct of many of the existing priests.Father LaTour and his boyhood friend Father Vaillant are serving in Ohio when they receive the call from Rome. It takes a year or two for them to receive the instructions to go and about that long to traverse the United States to get to the destination, Santa Fe, New Mexico. But when they finally arrive, the Mexican priests refuse to acknowledge their authority. It takes a trip on horseback into Old Mexico to get the okay from the Bishop of Durango, whom the New Mexican priests recognize as authoritative in matters related to the church.LaTour and Vaillant patiently work and serve, traveling all over the huge territory to make friends, to baptize children and marry folks who have been living together without the benefit of matrimony, as many priests charge confiscatory prices for these sacraments. They meet and befriend all kinds of people including the great scout Kit Carson.The book is similar to a journal in that it is a more or less chronological listing of the events and interactions of these priests and the people they have come to serve. Their patience, wisdom and perseverance in the face of great adversity defines these men and endears them over time to the people of New Mexico. Ms. Cather's descriptions of the geography as the priests travel miles over mountains and desert land is so vivid that one can picture it's barren beauty vividly.Ms. Cather's descriptions of Father LaTour's thoughts and behavior over the years of his life in New Mexico is a picture of what a mature Christian's thoughts and behavior should be. Father Vaillant is a very different type of Christian...less intellectual; much more of a servant, but both are examples of what great faith in action looks like. And to think of all the years I spent seeing that title and assuming it was a murder mystery...thanks Book Club, and thanks Fay Guy, for leading a wonderful discussion about a very significant piece of literature!

[bayardus-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Having read Willa Cather's My Antonia before this one my expectations were probably too high. In My Antonia Cather was able to draw upon her experiences to paint a portrait of Nebraska that communicated that life vividly. That novel stuck with me, from small segments like the struggle and eventual suicide of Antonia's father to Jim Burden's final return trip to that hard land.

Death Comes for the Archbishop does not reach the heights of My Antonia, despite being a competent novel. Cather has no similar depth of experience with New Mexico to draw from like she had for Nebraska, nor does she have the experiences of a priest like she had as a pioneer. Thus, the spiritual life of Latour and Vaillant is barely explored, likewise true for the priestly duties of the two characters. The friendship between these two is the strongest part of the novel, and I enjoyed Cather's exploration of what it means to fulfill your life's ambitions and have to go on living, but it seemed like there could have been a deeper exploration of what it means to have faith in such circumstances, and what the life of a missionary entails psychologically.

Fine writing, with good imagery and realistic depictions of friendship and growing older, but this book didn't convey a depth of understanding like My Antonia did. For a more interesting exploration of the thoughts of a religious man and an aging man, check out Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.