The Bankhead Gleaner, January 5, 2025

The lone and level sands

AI Image of St. John Neumann, left. He was about 5’2.”

Dear Friends of the Gleaner:

Hello, old FOGs. I note that today, January 5, is the feast day of St. John Neumann, Bohemian by birth but Yankee by choice. He was, as I gather, the first (and only) American gentleman to successfully complete the challenging sequence of learner permit / journeyman / show-us-a-miracle requirements that precede canonization. He became an object of veneration in 1977; the whole process took just about eighty years.

Like most of the modern saints - not that I’m an expert when it comes to hagiographical lines of inquiry - he didn’t have one of those gloriously gory Foxe’s Book of Martyrs deaths. At the time of his demise, in 1860, Neumann was the Bishop of Philadelphia. He hadn’t been in the position that long, but he was well thought of; a bit on the stolid side, but hard-working. One afternoon, saying that he was feeling light-headed, off his game, he went for a walk, and dropped dead at the corner of Vine and Twelfth. That was January 5, 1860: his death day became his feast day.

The funeral, held on the following Monday, was, unsurprisingly, well attended, closely observed, and lovingly described in the papers of the day.

The remains were resting on a mattress in the funeral car, which was richly built, and was drawn by four black horses. The features of the deceased were distinctly visible through the glass panels of the car. The expression was calm and natural, though a great deal paler than we have seen in life.

Under the circumstances, I think we can forgive him his pallor. Here’s an AI interpretation of the above-cited passage. I particularly appreciate the gothic inclusion of lightning.

1846

One of the highlights of the Neumann funeral was the prominent display of an important work of art, an ivory carving of Christ known as the “Genoese Crucifix.” It had been widely exhibited after its arrival in the USA round about 1845 - see the above poem (the first few stanzas) to gauge the effect it exerted on its viewers - and in this generous sidebar, the journalist reporting on the Neumann obsequies for the Delaware Inquirer provides a potted history.

Above the head of the deceased, as it lay in state, was a large ivory crucifix, much valued by the distinguished divine, who intended to have it placed in one of the chapels in the new Cathedral. The relic possesses a rare interest. One of the former United States consuls to Genoa, Mr. Lester, was at one time engaged in visiting the different places of note in that city, when he met with a monk who was carving out of a solid piece of ivory a crucifix, upon which he spent many years of labor, and to the perfection of which he gave his undivided attention. Mr. Lester became particularly interested in the sculptor and the work which she was producing, and he purchased the crucifix at a considerable price. He then sent it for inspection to the renowned sculptor, Powers, with directions to him to make such improvements upon it as he might think fit. Powers held it in his possession for six months, at the end of which he returned it, stating at the same time that the figure was a most perfect work of art, and could not be in any way improved. When Mr. Lester arrived in this country, he sold the cross to the Cosmopolitan Art Association for the sum of ten thousand dollars. The Association afterwards placed it among us premiums to be won by subscribers in the Association at the annual lottery. It fell into the hands of a schoolmaster in Lancaster County, Pa., from whom it was purchased by the deceased bishop, who, upon many occasions since, had been heard to say that no money upon earth could re-purchase the treasure. From the size of the crucifix, it must be inferred that the ivory belonged to the tusk of an animal which existed ages since, as no elephant in modern times could supply an equal amount of tusk. The ivory, when found, was a black mass, like coal. The second coating was a yellowish tinge, and the last of pure milk white. Those who have seen the figure never fail to mention it as a work fit to secure the admiration of every lover of the beautiful in art. The veins in the body are distinctly visible, and every muscle and ligament in its exact position.

It was from Francis Bolan, of Minersville, that (the eventual St.) John Neumann purchased the Genoese Crucifix after Mr. Bolan won it in the Art Association lottery of 1858. Did the Bishop pay the school master the full ten thousand? Or was there some kind of clergy discount, a special deal, the promise of intercessionary favours? Neumann could have paid retail and never felt the pinch. No one seems to know how an immigrant servant of God who had sworn vows of poverty amassed quite so much dough during his quarter century in America, but it was discovered after he was scooped up from the corner of Vine and Twelfth that he’d amassed considerable personal wealth, $55,000 in bonds, among other holdings.

The Genoese Crucifix was among the objects stolen from the Cathedral in March of 1936. It was still missing in 1977, the year of Neumann's official ascension to the realm of saints, and I can find no evidence that it was ever recovered.

Presumably, the Genoese Crucifix is extant and is covertly held. Speculation at the time of the heist was that it had made its way into a private collection in Europe. That it might resurface is not impossible; these things happen, as we know. Ivory lasts. Statues take a lot to topple.

Here’s a “found poem” that might put you in mind, speaking of statuary, of the Shelley classic, “Ozymandias.” This is another entry in the sequence I call 50 X 50. I select an English language stock phrase as a search term, a kind of bait, and dangle it in the waters of digitally archived newspapers. Most of what bites I throw back, but I keep 50, then I take them home and make a stew.

Nothing remained except broken statuary, unsightly piles of rubbish,and the foundations of the bell-tower - see number 19, below.

The phrase in this case was "nothing remained except" — not as musical as Shelley’s “nothing beside remains” — which connects to all kinds of stories of personal and / or political import; intimate stories and stories of geopolitical significance; stories tender and tragic. The “found lines” in the poem are all from 19th century sources, and I've added the numbers for those who care about this sort of thing. If you read it out loud -- as I intend -- the numbers aren't articulated. The findings appear in the order I think works best, not chronologically or in their order of acquisition. Each was originally preceded by "Nothing remained except.”

Nothing remained except 
(1) clumps of chimneys, 
most dangerous to pass, 
and tottering with the wind 
during the whole of the day;
nothing except (2)  some trumpery ashes that told 
of paltry fires kindled by simpletons;
(3) some smouldering embers;
Nothing remained except
(4) the black and desolate remains 
of the once prosperous town;
(5) a few puerile theological pugnacities:
nothing remained except 
(6) to follow the enemy to Five Forks. 

(7) The outward shells,
(8) the marble front: 
(9) the grudge felt against him by Prince Bismarck:
nothing remained except 
(10) the possibility of determining 
where they met their fate, and perhaps how;
nothing remained except 
(11) to engage a person to mix the puddings 
and prepare the vegetables for boiling.
(12) An indistinguishable bloody mass.

Nothing remained.
(13) The ghastly evidence of the scaffold,
(14) the left ear and a flap of skin;
(15) here and there, the wrecks of his habitation, 
and a portion of his damaged corn:
(16) the charred pieces amid the rocks of the river.
Nothing remained except 
(17) to allow the renewal of the hostilities 
until success shall have declared itself;
except to depend in some degree upon loyal volunteers;
(18) except to charge at the head of 2,000 men, 
who were still unbroken, 
and either turn the fate of the day 
or die sword in hand.

Nothing, nothing, nothing remained except
(19) broken statuary, unsightly piles of rubbish, 
and the foundations of the bell-tower:
Nothing remained except (20) shapeless fragments, 
scattered timber, and pieces of rope,
(21) some lots of small Highland beasts, of inferior quality,
(22) quaking walls and piles of burning debris,
(23) some bones and half-consumed flesh,
(24) the memory of the clown and the trick mules.

(25) Binding and buttons.
(26) Canvas and paper.
(27) A mass of anarchy.
Nothing remained except for (28) the people
to become daily more unmanageable and barbarous.
(29) Every man, sitting peacefully 
under his own vine and fig tree:
(30) the goreless scene of the bloodless strife. 

Nothing remained except 
(31) fragments of the wreck, 
more or less charred, 
and cinders which covered the water for miles.
Nothing remained except 
(32) a few isolated portions of brick-work, 
rising up from a confused mass of
building materials and stores, 
burning furiously upon the ground, 
and sending forth large volumes 
of flames, smoke, and sparks.
Nothing remained except 
(33) the hum of crowds returning home, 
and quiet Turks making a night of it.
Nothing remained. 


Nothing remained except 
(34) a small, old and dilapidated farmhouse, 
a pair of hunting dogs, 
an old Circasian pony 
which his creditors scorned to take, and a pet fawn, 
which he would not have parted with 
for all of his lost fortune, 
for he had raised it himself.

(35) The friendship of a great artist, 
whose only fortune was his talent,
(36) a broad luminous streak across the northern sky,
(37) a feeling of holy awe, 
mingled with a remembrance 
of the deep, sullen roar 
of the ocean’s swelling tide,
(38) the two bullet holes 
and the evidences of forcing the door:
nothing remained except 
to (39) report the occurrence to the Coroner, 
and notify the relatives of the lost man;
except to (40) lay the man out upon some 
rough boxes found in the court, 
and to put a guard over his remains.

Nothing remained except 
(41) the slow and embarrassed movement 
of the functions of respiration. 
Nothing remained except 
(42) the walls of the towers to the first arcade:
(43) the outer walls,
(44) the blackened walls,
(45) the bare walls;
(46) the bare, thorny stems.

Nothing remained except 
(47) the last painful ceremony:
(48) a few ragged streamers,
(49) the bones,
(50) his head.