Hawaii’s Walter Murray Gibson got a little carried away with his fondness for Mother Marianne Cope

By Father Louis Yim

On Nov. 8, 1883, seven Sisters of St. Francis from Syracuse, N.Y., arrived in Honolulu on the steamship Mariposa. They had come in response to the Hawaii government’s appeal to care for the Hansen’s disease patients at the Branch Hospital in Kakaako. From the wharf they were escorted by carriage to a crowded Our Lady of Peace Cathedral on Fort Street for a prayer service led by Bishop Hermann Koeckemann of the Hawaii Catholic mission. With grateful hearts they chanted the ancient hymn of thanksgiving, “Te Deum,” near the altar where almost 20 years earlier, the young Damien De Veuster had been ordained to the priesthood.

On that momentous day, the kingdom’s prime minister Walter Murray Gibson had also been present at the dock to greet the sisters. Someone there described him as a “tall, thin old gentleman with white hair and beard: a portrait of the Duke of Wellington at later life.” Bowing low, the 61-year-old statesman kissed the hand of each nun and bid them all “Aloha!”

He had been immediately and deeply impressed with these “angels of mercy,” most especially their 45-year-old superior, Mother Marianne Cope. In the days to come, Gibson’s attraction to her would blossom steadfastly into an incongruous and unrequited infatuation that only ended five years later with his exile and lonely death in San Francisco.

Walter Murray Gibson by all accounts was the most powerful political figure in Hawaii during the reign of King David Kalakaua. Historian R.S. Kuykendall referred to this period in Hawaii’s history as the “Gibson Regime.” As Kalakaua’s confidant, he was “minister of everything.” In addition to being prime minister, he was in charge of foreign affairs, education, the navy (with its “fleet” of one sailing vessel, the Kaimiloa), and was also the president of the Board of Health.

It was in this latter capacity that he had arranged for the coming of the Franciscan Sisters to minister (as Father Damien was doing on Molokai) to those inflicted with “mai pake,” the sickness that had plagued the islands since the 1860s.

Much of what we know of Gibson’s relationship with these nuns is derived from his diaries of 1886 and 1887. He writes about the people and the events in the kingdom but entries into his journals also reveal the close and “happy” association with the sisters during his frequent, almost daily, visits to the convent on the Kakaako hospital grounds. He saw them in an official capacity at the hospital and also as a privileged friend in the relaxing atmosphere of the convent parlor.

He was a father figure, a benevolent patriarch, seeing to the care and needs of these dedicated women. Generous to a fault, Gibson made it a habit to send over to the convent, from his residence near Queen Street, victuals of all sorts: pies and cakes, butter and buttermilk, bottles of wine and ale, fruits and flowers, a dinner of roasted duck or turkey prepared by his cook. And it thrilled him to no end when his carriage driver would return with a “sweet note” of sincere appreciation from the nuns. He treasured deeply the “noble friendship” of these gracious ladies.

But it was Mother Marianne that he singled out with an exclusive affection. He freely admitted to his diaries his fondness for her, a matter he would not disclose to the world. On Jan. 4, 1887, Gibson writes: “… so happy with M. (Marianne). How noble and how good. How much I love her.” Four days later, he writes: “I need a companionship she cannot give me. But a strong and constant love binds me to her.” Again, two days later: “... the sweetness and fondness of her manner completely satisfies my heart.” On his birthday, Jan. 16, six days later: “... a sweet note from M. … I was made happy.” Five days after that, Gibson writes: “... How I love (this) woman.”

But there were moments when he felt the sharp pain and disappointments of this relationship. At times Mother Marianne seemed to be (so he thought) unpleasant, uninterested, unsympathetic, unappreciative of all he had done. On these days, he went home and summed up his feelings under the word: “disappointed.”

Gibson also seemed susceptible to some jealous resentment. When Father Damien came from Molokai to Kakaako for medical treatment on July 11, 1886, Gibson’s diary revealed an annoyance at the attention Mother Marianne and the sisters gave this “noble priest.”

His comments about Father Damien were disparaging: “I begin to doubt the genuineness of his religious devotion,” petty: “He talks too much,” and even callous: “(I) will be content when he returns to Molokai.”

On another occasion, another priest aroused Gibson’s unseemly suspicion. On March 20, 1887, the ship Zealandia arrived from the United States and the prime minister went to the wharf to pick up its incoming mail. He later wrote about the incident: “Carried letters this P.M. to convent. One from Rev. J. Tuohy — name outside. Anxious to hear about him. M. did not wish to communicate particulars of his letter. Regret this. Had reason to believe that there was a particular interest between the two.”

For days this mysterious letter bothered him. He wrote: “The Tuohy letter has unsettled my mind somewhat. I wish it could be explained.” And again, he wrote: “I ought to ask her to explain all about it.” What Mother Marianne did not disclose to Gibson — as it was none of his business — was that Father Tuohy was one of a number of alcoholic priests that she had treated and befriended at St. Joseph Hospital in Syracuse. No doubt, she had considered this a private matter not to be discussed with anyone.

If Gibson never openly revealed his feelings for Mother Marianne in words, his actions on March 12, 1887, made it obvious how he really felt about his “beloved daughter.” On that day he came to the convent bearing a special gift — a gold ring. The inner surface was engraved with the date “March 12, 1885.” The outer surface had two inscriptions, one: the initials “W” and “M” separated by a heart; the other: the scriptural reference “Ruth 1:16,17.”

Gibson was commemorating that day the second anniversary of a most happy moment (a “cherry,” as he put it) in his life, the day Mother Marianne told him that she would not be returning to Syracuse but would remain in Hawaii. The Old Testament quotation described the moment the Moabite woman Ruth, having left her homeland, decided to remain in the land of the Israelites.

Mother Marianne must have been stunned by such a personal gift but she accepted the ring. She was not Gibson’s “beloved,” but she indeed was a dear friend. Today, the ring, in pristine condition, rests in the archives of the Franciscan motherhouse in Syracuse.

This quixotic saga of Hawaii’s prime minister came to an abrupt end four months later. Ironically, it was not Mother Marianne who would depart the islands. She would go on ministering to the sick until her death on Aug. 9, 1918, at age 80, in Kalaupapa. It was Gibson who would leave, forced into exile on July 12 by the political upheaval of 1887. He died six months later, on Jan. 21, 1888, in St. Mary’s Hospital, San Francisco.

Near the ending of his diary of 1887, on Dec. 12, Gibson made this entry: “What a glorious company of sweet, good women they are. The Catholic religious woman is a true woman and the best of women — blessed I sincerely feel. How I reverence and love my Franciscans...”

We can be sure he especially meant Mother Marianne Cope.