CHAPTER XXIII.

FOOTNOTES:[66]Cholenec's letter.

[66]Cholenec's letter.

KATERI ILL.—THÉRÈSE CONSULTS THE BLACKGOWN.—FEAST OF THE PURIFICATION.—THE BED OF THORNS.

KATERI'S health was fast failing; and those with whom she lived, perceiving this, watched her more closely and sought to check her in her fasts and penances. They saw that on Wednesdays and Saturdays she ate nothing. At these times she would spend the whole day in the woods gathering fuel. They were careful after this to have the soup ready before she started out in the morning; but even then she would occasionally find an excuse to slip away without her breakfast. When it was the turn of one of the other women of the same lodge-fire to go for wood, Kateri sometimes interfered, saying that the woman in question had a baby to nurse and ought to stay in the cabin; as for herself, there was nothing to keep her, she could just as well go as not. Before they noticed that she had not yet taken a mouthful, she would be off to the woods and at work. When she could no longer fast without attracting notice, she still kept up the practice of mingling ashes with her food, or denying herself in some other way.

About this time a child of her adopted sister died. As Kateri was assisting the other women to make a grave for her little nephew, one of them said to her,laughing, "Where is yours, Kateri?" "It is there," she answered, pointing to a certain spot.[67]The incident was soon forgotten; but Kateri was not mistaken, as was proved later. The place she indicated was near the tall cross by the river, where she was accustomed to pray, and where she had her first long talk with Thérèse Tegaiaguenta.

Her only pleasure now was in prayer or in spiritual conversations with her friend Thérèse or with Anastasia; for both of them spoke often of God. All other companionship had become distasteful to her. Her natural gift of ready and witty conversation, as well as her helpful disposition, won her many friends without effort. She was beloved as well as reverenced by the whole population, while careful to shun more and more all intercourse that did not help her heavenward. In her humility it did not occur to her that she on her part could perhaps do something towards lifting others to the high plane of her own thoughts. Chauchetière relates the following incident of how she was once called on for advice, much to her own surprise. Two young married people—François, the Seneca, and his wife Marguerite—had watched Kateri's way of life with much interest and admiration. They knew she had made a vow of virginity, and one day they called her into their cabin with the idea of learning from her how a good Christian ought to live in this world. In order that she might be less embarrassed and speak freely,they sent at the same time for her companion, Thérèse. When both were seated, the door was closed as a token that what they were about to ask Kateri was a great secret, and that they were ready to keep it sacred. François the Seneca (called by the French La Grosse Buche) began the conversation. He addressed himself both to Kateri and to Thérèse, saying first that he knew what they had done and the state of life they had embraced. This he said, that they might speak out. As for himself he wished to be a good Christian and to give himself entirely to God. His wife was of the same mind. He spoke for both. Kateri was much surprised at this discourse. She was silent for some time, and then asked her companion to speak. It would take too long to tell all that was said on both sides concerning the state of life that was most pleasing to God. It is enough to say that they gave no advice to the young married couple other than that they should go to the blackgown and propose their plan to him. The woman was not more than twenty, and the man scarcely older. This good François, it seems, wished to live with his wife as with his sister. He did so for some years, and would have continued to do so had he not been advised to the contrary. His wish was to repair as far as possible the evil he had done before his baptism. He was an excellent hunter and a good warrior. He was afflicted later in life with a painful disease, from which he suffered severely for fourteen years. Kateri was at all times his model. He endeavored to imitate her patience and resignation, as well as her other virtues. After death he wore about his neck a little chaplet, which he called Kateri's beads. Strungnext to the cross on which theCredowas to be said were two beads, one for aPaterand one for anAve; then there were three other little beads on which he was accustomed to say theGloria Patrithree times, to thank the Blessed Trinity for the graces bestowed upon Kateri. Always cheerful and contented himself, he consoled and encouraged his wife, who, although a great devotee, was apt to complain of her poverty. When his health no longer permitted him to go to the chase, he mended kettles, made pipes, and did what work he could about the village. He brought up his children strictly, taught them the catechism with care, and was always on hand to sing in the church. He had a book or scroll of pictures in which all the chief events recorded in the Old and New Testaments were depicted. Copies of this ingenious form of Indian Bible are still to be seen at Caughnawaga and elsewhere. François, the Seneca, by these means won many converts to Christianity. He was accustomed, however, to give Kateri the credit for his success. He besought her intercession with God in all his undertakings, and endeavored to imitate her as far as possible in his life and in his death, which occurred in 1695.

As Kateri had a great love for virginity,—a fact of which her whole life is a proof,—she did not fail to cultivate a deep and tender devotion to the Virgin Mother of Christ, whom she regarded in a special manner as her queen and mistress. Each day in reciting the litany she had occasion to call upon her as the "Queen of Virgins." To Kateri this was one of the sweetest and dearest of her many beautiful titles. To prove herself a devoted follower of this virgin of allvirgins, she would gladly have cut off her hair, as the nuns do; but the fear of appearing singular and eccentric deterred her. Though she thus tried as much as possible to hide from observation by accommodating herself to the ways and dress of those with whom she lived, there grew to be a something about her,—a "je ne scay quoy," says Chauchetière,—an atmosphere of purity and sanctity that almost amounted to a visible halo. Even her directors sometimes wondered at the impression of personal sanctity which she made upon the people. If we consider her lonely, long, and frequent prayers, not only in the chapel but at the foot of the tall cross by the river-bank, there is nothing to be wondered at. Even the roughest and giddiest of the young people of Caughnawaga were awed to a respectful demeanor as she passed near them. Not only Indians, but occasionally the French from La Prairie hovered about and watched for her as she came or went from her cabin or field, in order to get a look at the young Mohawk girl who, as they said, lived like "a religious." Of this reverential admiration, however, Kateri was quite unconscious. Unquestioned and undisturbed she followed her own course, the details of which were known only to her bosom friend, Thérèse.

At last Kateri was seized with a dangerous illness. A violent fever came on, and she lay at the point of death. Thérèse, pale and trembling with alarm, now thought of their weekly scourgings in the deserted cabin; she feared to have her friend die without letting the blackgown know what they had been doing, and besought Kateri to allow her to go to Father Cholenec and tell him all. To this Kateri willingly assented.The blackgown concealed his astonishment at what he heard from Thérèse, and blamed both her and her friend for their want of discretion. Kateri, however, recovered from this attack. As soon as she was well she began at once and did not cease to importune her confessor to have pity on her and allow her at least some of her accustomed austerities, in order, as she said, that her body might not have the victory over her. Whether undergoing self-inflicted pains or those that come directly from the hand of God, her fortitude was extraordinary, even for an Indian. Though subject to many and frequent bodily infirmities, she never for a moment lost her patience, or uttered the least complaint. On the contrary, she seemed always desirous of increasing her sufferings rather than of alleviating them, but only from this one motive,—that she might bear a closer resemblance to the crucified Saviour. When she was ill, and her confessor had forbidden her to fast, she would put herself in a painful position. Anastasia, whom she called mother, perceiving this, reproached her, saying that she would kill herself. Kateri only reminded her, with a smile, that our Lord was much more ill at ease on the cross,—that she was not suffering at all in comparison with him!

During the last winter of her life Kateri had frequent attacks of illness severe enough to keep her in the cabin. No sooner was she on her feet, however, than she was again at work. She did not spare herself or shorten her devotions. When she was too weak to kneel, she could still be seen at her prayers in the church, supporting herself against a bench. On one occasion when her health was restored for a time, sheaccompanied Thérèse to La Prairie, whither she was sent to carry certain articles from the village at the Sault. On the way there or back, Kateri, falling a little behind the others, took off her moccasins and walked barefooted on the ice. She was noticed and hastily put on her shoes again. She soon overtook the others, and would willingly have let them suppose she had been delayed by a little accident of some sort. Thérèse, who knew her best, thought otherwise.

On the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin most of the villagers were away at the hunting-camp. Kateri chose to walk through her field on that day with bare feet, as if in a sort of procession, while she recited her beads several times over, the snow being more than knee-deep.

As Lent approached, she increased her austerities till at last she reached the climax of all. Thinking that she had not much longer to live, and must hasten to do penance while on earth, she looked about for some new instrument of pain. It was then the beginning of Lent, and she had been meditating on the Passion of our Lord. She was gathering wood. Near at hand, she saw a great thorny brier. In a transport of fervor she seized it. The thorns were sharp and cutting. Had she looked far and near, she could not have found anything better suited to her purpose. She eagerly and hurriedly conceals it in her bundle of fagots, then lifts the scraggy mass to her back, adjusts the burden strap on her forehead, and starts at once for the lodge of Anastasia. Finding her own lodge-seat, she loosens the thorny brier from the fagots, covers it quickly with a large mat, and then proceeds to stow the wood in its properplace. The evening drags, but at length the inmates all come in for the night, and soon the evening meal is over. The prayers have been said. The lodge-fires flicker and die out. The Indians fall asleep,—all but Kateri. She has no thought of rest. She prays far into the night. Her bed is made, and a cruel bed it is. At last she looks towards it. She lifts the rug that covers it, clasps tightly in her hand a little crucifix she always wears about her neck, and with a fervent aspiration of love to God, throws herself upon the thorns. As she rolls from side to side, she grows faint, and her lips are parched with thirst, but still she has no desire to leave her thorny couch. She murmurs prayer after prayer, and waits for the daylight to come before rising from her bed to hide the brambles, now flecked with blood. Kateri is as busy as usual the next day, and her blithe smile comes and goes as freely as ever. Still, when night settles down on the village, she does not sleep, but tosses again on her bed of thorns. On the following day Thérèse observes that Kateri is tired and weak. She draws her breath quickly, as they walk over the rough ground together, and her head droops low at her prayers. Her friend tries to coax her to take more rest, to leave this or that task for another day. But all in vain. To Kateri every moment is precious now, and not one daily duty is left undone when she retires for the third time to her bed of thorns. When day dawns, she is up as usual, and Thérèse comes early to see her. Gladly would she escape the searching eye of her friend, but it is of no use. Kateri is ghastly pale, and Thérèse, suspecting the truth, will not be put off. She espies the thorns, and Kateri confesses all. A pang went tothe heart of Thérèse, when she thought of Kateri's innocence and of her own sins. How could she have slept while this pure-hearted one whom she loved so well was rolling upon thorns! The next thought of the impulsive, warm-hearted Thérèse was one of concern for the life of her friend. She spoke quickly and vehemently to Kateri, declaring that she would certainly offend God if she inflicted such sufferings on herself without the permission of her confessor. This aroused the scruples of Tekakwitha. "Catherine, who trembled at the very appearance of sin," says Cholenec, "came immediately to find me, to confess her fault and ask pardon of God. I blamed her indiscretion, and directed her to throw the thorns into the fire." This she did at once. When it was simply a question of obedience to one who held rightful authority over her, Kateri did not hesitate. Her confessor testifies that she never showed the least attachment to her own will, but was always submissive to his direction. "She found herself very ill," he continues, "towards the time that the men are accustomed to go out to the hunting-grounds in the forest, and when the females are occupied from morning until evening in the fields. Those who are ill are therefore obliged to remain alone through the whole day in their cabins, a plate of Indian corn and a little water having in the morning been placed near the mat." It was thus that Kateri Tekakwitha passed through her last illness, during the Lent of 1680. She lay helpless in the lodge of Anastasia, while the corn was being planted in the fields, and the birds were flying northward across the Mohawk River. These little friends of hers brought back to her many a thought ofher native valley, as they stopped to dip their bills in the St. Lawrence, and to sing awhile to Kateri in her pain.

The children, too, came in to see her now and then. The blackgown whose task it was to teach them, gathered them close to her mat one day. She was too ill to move; but when he unrolled the pictures of the Old and New Testaments which he had with him, and began to explain them to the eager, bright-eyed little ones, a glow of interest came into the weary eyes that were dull with suffering a moment before. Forgetting all else but her insatiable desire for true knowledge, Kateri with great effort raised herself on her elbow, that she might see and understand better what was going on. A question now and then from her drew out a fuller explanation from the blackgown. The children themselves, with quick sympathy, caught from her low, earnest tones, a keener relish for the truth, and listened with rapt attention to the lesson drawn from the sacred story. At the stroke of the Angelus the instruction was over, and also the children's visit. How quickly the time had passed! Kateri thanked the blackgown, and begged him to come again with his class to the lodge, that he might teach both her and them. "Farewell, Kateri," the children cry, as they hasten out to their sports. Quickly they forget her, and she too has forgotten them; she has clasped her crucifix in her hands, and is still buried in prayer when the women begin to come in from the field.

FOOTNOTES:[67]This incident is given by Cholenec in his manuscript entitled "La Vie de Catherine Tegakouita, Première Vierge Irokoise." He adds: "Père Chauchetière wanted her put in the church; but I put her in the place she had indicated, without knowing it till long afterwards."

[67]This incident is given by Cholenec in his manuscript entitled "La Vie de Catherine Tegakouita, Première Vierge Irokoise." He adds: "Père Chauchetière wanted her put in the church; but I put her in the place she had indicated, without knowing it till long afterwards."

KATERI'S DEATH.—"I WILL LOVE THEE IN HEAVEN."—THE BURIAL.—HER GRAVE AND MONUMENT.

FOR nearly a year Kateri had been slowly losing strength. She had a continuous low fever; but during the last two months of her life her sufferings were very acute, and she could not change her position without severe pain. It was in Passion Week that the children were instructed by the blackgown at her bedside for the last time. Anastasia and the other women of the lodge continued to attend to her few wants morning and evening, before and after their work in the fields. They knew, however, by this time, that the young girl could not recover. Anastasia drearily watched her sinking day by day. She had never fully understood Kateri, but she loved her very much, and did all that would have been expected of an Indian mother under the circumstances. The dish of Indian corn and a pot of fresh water were left beside her each day; and towards the last, women were appointed to watch with the sufferer at night. These watchers belonged to the Association of the Holy Family. Kateri was not more neglected than others who were ill at these busy times. She, however, was perfectly content, and even glad to be left alone with God. This relish for solitude did not prevent her from greeting with a smile or a gay,bright word any or all who came to her side. There was one in the village at whose coming her heart bounded. It is needless to say that this was Thérèse Tegaiaguenta. Of all hearts at the Sault St. Louis, hers was the saddest through the days that Kateri lay dying. It was hard to work in the corn-field; it was hard not to be with her in the lodge. On Palm Sunday, at least, they could have a few hours together between Mass and Benediction. Whenever Thérèse knelt at prayer in the chapel, she felt that Kateri, lying on her mat, joined her in spirit. But when she prayed for her friend's recovery, she knew that Kateri's lips were unresponsive. They murmured no amen. The only prayer they could form at such times was like unto this: "God pity Thérèse, and give her the strength she needs!"

On Monday in Holy Week, she asked for permission to fast, in honor of our Saviour's passion. She wished to pass the whole day without food. They told her that this she could not do,—that she had not long to live, and that she ought to be thinking of other things. Not long to live? Was this in truth what they said? She could not conceal her happiness at the thought of death. The angel with shadowy wings was close at hand, waiting to show her the face of Rawenniio.

On Tuesday she failed rapidly in strength. They feared she would die, and prepared to give her the last sacraments. Father Cholenec did not intend for a moment that she should be deprived of the Viaticum,—that strength of the wayfarer, and bread of angels, so needful to the dying. But just how it should be administered was a question. Thus far the Blessed Sacrament hadnever been carried to an Indian's cabin. The sick were put on a bark litter and borne to the door of the church, where they received Holy Communion. Kateri was too weak for this. The two Fathers at the mission consulted together, and quickly resolved to make an exception in her case. No one either then or afterwards murmured at this distinction accorded to the Lily of the Mohawks. Father Cholenec at once entered the sanctuary, took the sacred particle from the tabernacle, and passed out of the church, following the shortest road to Anastasia's cabin. All who were then in the village assembled to accompany him, and knelt about the door of the lodge, leaving a passage for the blackgown to enter. In the mean time Kateri heard of the honored Guest whom she was to receive; whose sacramental presence had been so long denied her, on account of her inability to drag herself to the chapel. This had not been possible since the first weeks of Lent. She was now overjoyed at the good news they brought her. Her face lighted up with happiness. Then all at once she remembered the miserable condition and great poverty to which long-continued sickness had reduced her. So she held fast to the hand of Thérèse, who was then at her side, and begged her earnestly not to leave her. As soon as they were left alone for a moment, she confided to her friend that she owned no decent garment in which to receive her Lord, who was about to visit her, having only those she now wore. Thérèse, touched at this avowal from one who knew so well how to care for herself and others when she had been able to work, quickly brought a chemise of her own for Kateri, and dressed her properly for the great event so near at hand. Katerihad hidden her poverty even from Anastasia. All is at last in readiness, both within the lodge and without; her heart's desire is at hand. "Behold He cometh, leaping over the mountains."

The blackgown, with the sacred Viaticum, entered the rude bark cabin, which was crowded with kneeling Indians. TheConfiteorwas recited. Kateri Tekakwitha renewed her baptismal vows and the solemn offering she had made of her body to Almighty God. She recalled the graces bestowed upon her, and especially such as had enabled her to preserve her chastity through life. She then received the Body and Blood of Christ, and after a few moments of silent adoration, all present joined with her in prayer. Throughout the afternoon other Indians of the village, as they came in from the hunt or the field, were constantly going back and forth to the lodge where she lay. All wished to see her and to hear her dying words. Not one was indifferent to the passing of her soul. Many were the signs of love and of reverence shown for her on that day. It would seem as if she had been to each one of them like a favorite sister. All were eager to gain a remembrance in her prayers.

"The Father profited by this occasion," says Chauchetière, "and obliged Catherine to exhort some persons who needed to be encouraged in virtue." He adds that the words of the dying always had great effect at the mission in converting those who could not be brought otherwise to be baptized or to confess their sins. If this were the case ordinarily, how doubly effective must have been the words thus wrung from Kateri, despite her humility, by the command of her director! Butafter all, it was her example, in life and in death, that preached most forcibly to them. The effort she made to speak—for, indeed, it was more natural for her to be silent—exhausted her very much. Thinking she was about to expire, Father Cholenec wished to anoint her at once, and ran in haste as far as the church; but her calm assurance to Thérèse, to the Father, and to others that there was no occasion for hurry, caused them to believe afterwards that the hour of her death, as well as the place of her burial, had been privately revealed to her by God.

During the evening of Tuesday Thérèse left her friend for a time. In the night she was again watching by Kateri's side with another woman.[68]The sufferer asked them to take turns in order to get more rest, or they would be too weary the next day. When Thérèse remained alone with her, Kateri, who had looked forward to this moment, said: "I know very well, my sister, what I am saying. I know the place from which you came, and I know what you were doing there. Take courage!" she continued with great tenderness; "you may be sure that you are pleasing in the eyes of God, and I will help you more when I am with Him." The eyes of Thérèse opened wide at these words, and then filled with tears. How could Kateri have known what she had done? She had stolen off to the woods without saying a word to any one, and had cruelly scourged herself as she prayed from her heart for her dying friend. But Kateri, it seems, did know about it; and in the morning early, when Thérèse wished to stay by herlest she should not be there at the last, she said in a decided tone: "You may go to the field, Thérèse; do not fear. You will be back in time." In this, too, she was not mistaken.

Father Martin, in describing these last hours of Kateri, gives the following conversation which took place that same morning, and which shows the touching simplicity of her Indian friends. "If we must go," they said to her, "ask God not to let you die while we are away." Kateri again assured them that there was time enough. "On your return you will find me still living," she said. They went away satisfied, and God blessed their confidence.

It will be remembered that this was the morning of Wednesday in Holy Week. What follows is from Chauchetière, who says that the companion of the dying girl was sent for about ten o'clock that day.

"Marie Thérèse Tegaiaguenta arrived in the cabin shortly before Extreme Unction was given. After she [Kateri] had received all the sacraments, she conversed with her companion. She was failing, however, all the time, and at last, speaking with difficulty and unable to raise her voice, seeing her comrade weeping bitterly, she bade her this last farewell: 'I leave you,' said Catherine; 'I am going to die. Remember always what we have done together since we knew one another. If you change, I will accuse you before the judgment-seat of God. Take courage; despise the discourse of those who have no faith. When they would persuade you to marry, listen only to the Fathers. If you cannot serve God here, go away to the mission of Lorette. Never give up mortification. I will love you in heaven,—I will pray for you,—I will help you—'"The Father who was near by on his knees to say the prayers for the dying, heard a little of what Catherine was saying. He kept his eyes fixed upon the face of Catherine to notice what was passing, and at the same time he encouraged them both. Catherine had her face turned towards Heaven, and her companion embraced her with one hand, having the other resting on the cheek of Catherine, and listening with attention to the last words of the dying one."This blessed girl in saying to her companion, 'I will love thee in Heaven,' lost the power of speech. It had been a long time since she closed her eyes to created things. Her hearing, however, still remained, and was good to the last breath. It was noticed several times that when some acts were suggested to her she seemed to revive. When she was excited to the love of God, her whole face seemed to change.[69]Every one wished to share in the devotion inspired by her dying countenance. It seemed more like the face of a person contemplating than like the face of one dying. In this state she remained until the last breath. Her breathing had been decreasing since nine or ten o'clock in the morning, and became gradually imperceptible. But her face did not change. One of the Fathers who was on his knees at her right side noticed a little trembling of the nerve on that side of her mouth, and she died as if she had gone to sleep. Those beside her were for a time in doubt of her death."When they felt certain that all was over, her eulogywas spoken in the cabin, to encourage others to imitate her. What her father confessor said, together with what they had seen, made them look upon her body as a precious relic. The simplicity of the Indians caused them to do more than there was need for on this occasion, as, for instance, to kiss her hands; to keep as a relic whatever had belonged to her; to pass the evening and the rest of the night near her; to watch her face, which changed little by little in less than a quarter of an hour. It inspired devotion, although her soul was separated from it. It appeared more beautiful than it had ever done when she was living. It gave joy, and fortified each one of them in the faith he had embraced. It was a new argument for belief with which God favored the Indians to give them a relish for the faith!"

"The Father who was near by on his knees to say the prayers for the dying, heard a little of what Catherine was saying. He kept his eyes fixed upon the face of Catherine to notice what was passing, and at the same time he encouraged them both. Catherine had her face turned towards Heaven, and her companion embraced her with one hand, having the other resting on the cheek of Catherine, and listening with attention to the last words of the dying one.

"This blessed girl in saying to her companion, 'I will love thee in Heaven,' lost the power of speech. It had been a long time since she closed her eyes to created things. Her hearing, however, still remained, and was good to the last breath. It was noticed several times that when some acts were suggested to her she seemed to revive. When she was excited to the love of God, her whole face seemed to change.[69]Every one wished to share in the devotion inspired by her dying countenance. It seemed more like the face of a person contemplating than like the face of one dying. In this state she remained until the last breath. Her breathing had been decreasing since nine or ten o'clock in the morning, and became gradually imperceptible. But her face did not change. One of the Fathers who was on his knees at her right side noticed a little trembling of the nerve on that side of her mouth, and she died as if she had gone to sleep. Those beside her were for a time in doubt of her death.

"When they felt certain that all was over, her eulogywas spoken in the cabin, to encourage others to imitate her. What her father confessor said, together with what they had seen, made them look upon her body as a precious relic. The simplicity of the Indians caused them to do more than there was need for on this occasion, as, for instance, to kiss her hands; to keep as a relic whatever had belonged to her; to pass the evening and the rest of the night near her; to watch her face, which changed little by little in less than a quarter of an hour. It inspired devotion, although her soul was separated from it. It appeared more beautiful than it had ever done when she was living. It gave joy, and fortified each one of them in the faith he had embraced. It was a new argument for belief with which God favored the Indians to give them a relish for the faith!"

Thus died Kateri Tekakwitha, on Wednesday, April 17, 1680. She was twenty-four years of age.

The change in her countenance after death, mentioned by Chauchetière, is described at some length by Cholenec. He recalls the fact that when Kateri was four years old she was attacked by the small-pox, and that some marks of it were left on her face. It had been much more disfigured, however, by her austerities and by her last illness. "But this face," says Cholenec, "thus emaciated and marked, changed all at once, about a quarter of an hour after her death; and it became in an instant so beautiful and so fair that, having perceived it at once (for I was in prayer near her), I gave a great cry, so much was I seized with astonishment, and I had the Father called, who was working on the repository for Thursday morning. He ran to see it at once, and with him all the Indians, at the news of this prodigy, which we had leisure to contemplate until herburial. I must admit frankly," her confessor continues, "that the first thought which came to me was that Catherine might have indeed entered at that moment into heaven, and that on her virginal body was reflected in advance a small ray of the glory which was dawning on her soul!"

The spirit of Kateri Tekakwitha rejoiced in leaving its casket of clay; but the friend who had known her best still lingered disconsolate by her mat, till at last the crowd was scattered and none remained but those who belonged to the cabin wherein she died. Then the body was cared for in the usual manner. Thérèse, whose loving task it was to bring the necessary garments, now assisted Kateri's adopted sister and the good matron, Anastasia, in their last sad duties to the gentle inmate of their lodge. Her hair was oiled and braided. New moccasins were put on her feet. She was tenderly laid out on a mat, and the entrances of the lodge were again left open for visitors. A moving throng passed in and out. Many lingered for a long, long time, unable to withdraw their eyes from the face of the Iroquois maiden so long hidden by her blanket, and now so wondrous fair to behold. It was aglow with a miraculous beauty that gave deep joy to those who looked upon it; with the joy came also a longing to be pure and holy, and to possess the happiness reflected on those noble features. As she lay thus motionless on her mat, two Frenchmen from La Prairie, who had come to the Indian village to be present at the services there on Holy Thursday, wandered idly into the cabin. They passed close to the body of Kateri. "How peacefully that young woman sleeps!" said oneof them. It did not occur to them that she was dead, and they were about to pass on. "But they were very much surprised," writes Cholenec, "when they learned a moment after that it was the body of Catherine, who had just expired. They immediately retraced their steps, and casting themselves on their knees at her feet, recommended themselves to her prayers. They even wished to give a public evidence of the veneration they had for the deceased, by immediately assisting to make the coffin which was to enclose those holy relics."

Thus it happened that Kateri's body, instead of being borne to the grave, according to the Indian custom, on an open bier of bark, covered only with a blanket, was enclosed in a wooden coffin after the custom of the white men. This made it easier to identify her remains later when they were carried to the new village site farther up the river, to which the Indians of the Sault moved some years later. They took Kateri's bones with them as their most precious treasure, and have kept them at the church ever since.[70]

STREET SCENE AT CAUGHNAWAGA IN CANADA(St. Lawrence River) 1889 (Church of St. François Xavier)

When the two Frenchmen who had come to Caughnawaga for Holy Thursday had finished their self-imposed task, the body of Kateri was lifted from her matinto the coffin, but the lid was not adjusted at once over the face. The Indians continued to gaze upon it, and would not consent to have it covered until she had been lowered into the grave which they had prepared for her. This was on the side of the cemetery nearest to the river, at the foot of the tall cross, where she had loved to pray. There, on the afternoon of Thursday in Holy Week, the Lily of the Mohawks and the "Geneviève of New France" was laid to rest. So great was the fame of her sanctity that her grave soon became a much-frequented spot. Pilgrim after pilgrim has directed his footsteps to that cross and mound. In the long list of these we find the names of governors, bishops, military commanders, and well-known authors.[71]Even after her bones were removed, the place where Kateri had prayed, and where her body rested for a time, was looked upon as sacred ground. From the day of herburial in 1680 to the present time, it has been distinctly and unmistakably marked with a tall wooden cross. Whenever the old one crumbled away, a new one was erected to replace it. John Gilmary Shea gives the following graphic account of what occurred at her grave in 1843:—

"The old cross was mouldering; and a new one, twenty-five feet high, was prepared, in which were encased some relics of the holy virgin of Caughnawaga. On Sunday, the 23d of July, 1843, the Caughnawagas, headed by their missionary and chiefs, repaired to the little river Portage, near which their former church and village had stood, on a bluff between that little stream and the lordly St. Lawrence. The space on the left was soon filled by whites, drawn thither by interest or curiosity, both of French and English origin. The banner of La Prairie and the pennons of the Sault floated above the crowd on either side of the highly adorned cross, at the foot of which was a painting of the Christian heroine. At the signal given by the discharge of artillery on the right and left, the clergy in procession advanced into the centre, chanting the "Vexilla Regis." At another discharge Father Felix Martin, one of the first Jesuits to whom it was given to return to the land enriched by the sweat and blood of his Society, rose to address the assembled throng in French. Then, after a hymn in Iroquois, the Rev. Joseph Marcoux,[72]the pastor of the tribe, pronounced a discourse in the guttural language of his flock, and gave place to the Rev. Hyacinth Hudon, Vicar-General of Montreal, who delivered a third address in English, and then performed the ceremony of blessing thecross. That sign of faith was then slowly raised, amid the chants of the Church, the thunder of the cannon, and the mingled shouts of men of many climes and races who, differing in language, bowed to the symbol of a common faith."

In September, 1884, the author of this volume visited her grave, and found that the cross described above had been blown down in a recent storm. It was lying in broken fragments on the river-bank, near the little enclosure of wooden pickets surrounding the grave. Pious hands were soon at work there, however, and on Sunday, Oct. 5, 1884, another cross was raised. Again a large gathering of Canadians and Indians assembled to assist at the ceremony. Rev. Father Burtin, Oblate missionary, and successor to Father Marcoux, preached both in French and Iroquois. The following words of the preacher (which were translated into English and published in an Albany journal) must have made a profound impression upon his hearers, the Iroquois people of Caughnawaga. "There have been," he said, "in this village, chiefs renowned in war, who had dealings with governors of Canada, and were widely spoken of during their lives. Now that they are dead, their names are mostly forgotten, while the name of Catherine Tekakwitha is well known not only here, but throughout Canada and beyond the ocean."

In the month of June, 1888, the author, having travelled by the ferry-boat from Montreal to La Prairie, and thence driven a few miles westward along the river-bank, was fortunate enough to stand once again by the grave of Tekakwitha.[73]There, in addition to the new cross, which stood firm and erect within the littleenclosure, a large granite monument was to be seen lying close beside it, partially unboxed and ready to be placed upon the grave. It had been sent to Canada from the land of Tekakwitha's birth. It has since been set in place, and protected by a strong canopy and enclosure of wood. The initials of the two donors of this substantial token are carved on a lower corner of the monumental stone. It is a solid piece of Barre granite, in the shape of a sarcophagus,—six feet six inches long, two feet ten inches wide, two feet six inches high. On the top a cross is carved, and the following inscription in the Iroquois language:—

KATERI TEKAKWITHA.

Apr. 17, 1680.

Onkwe Onwe-ke Katsitsiio Teiotsitsianekaron.[74]

The French translation is the exact interpretation given by M. Cuoq, who composed the Iroquois inscription. He says thatOnkwe Onwemeans literally, "The true men;" thus the Indians designate all who belong to their own race.Katsitsiiomeans "beautiful flower," and is here applied to Tekakwitha, the Lily of the Mohawks. This title, given to her by the English, is altogether foreign tothe Iroquois language, as they have no distinctive word forLily(nothing more definite than "white flower"); andMohawksis a name they dislike, because it was first given to them by their enemies; they prefer, therefore, their own term,Caniengas. Tekakwitha was a Canienga and an Iroquois, but she was also, on her mother's side, an Algonquin. Hence it is that the general name which applies to the whole red race is used in the inscription,—Onkwe Onwe! All "true men" are indeed akin to this beautiful flower that bloomed in our Mohawk Valley.

FOOTNOTES:[68]For this incident see Cholenec, in "La Vie de Catherine Tegakouita," Carton O, Jesuit College Library, Montreal.[69]Father Martin, in his account of this scene, says that Kateri, after her last words to Thérèse, covered her crucifix with kisses and tears, and finally cried out three times, "Jesus, I love thee!" Chauchetière himself, in another place, mentions these as her last words. He and Cholenec were both eyewitnesses of her death. Cholenec says, "At three hours after midday, after having pronounced the holy names of Jesus and Mary, a slight spasm came on, when she entirely lost the power of speech."[70]They are now (1889) in a carefully secured chest of polished wood in the sacristy of the church of St François Xavier du Sault at the present village of Caughnawaga, about five miles up the river from their first resting-place. The old wall and priest's house connected with the above-named church date back to 1720, but the church itself is more modern. It was rebuilt in 1845. The desk at which Charlevoix and Lafitau wrote is still used by the missionary who occupies thepresbytère. The exact site of this mission of St François Xavier du Sault at the present time and its four previous sites, also the position of Tekakwitha's grave, with her cross and monument, and its direction from the city of Montreal, are shown on the map in chapter xvii.[71]Among those who have shown special honor to the memory of Kateri Tekakwitha by visiting her grave and spreading her fame by means of their writings, and who have not been already quoted in this work, we find the following persons of note: the Marquis Denonville, Governor of Canada; Monseigneur de Saint-Valier, second Bishop of Quebec; Capt. J. du Luth, commander of Fort Frontenac in 1696; De la Potherie, Commissioner of the King, and author of the "Histoire de l'Amérique Septentrionale," and of verses in honor of Tekakwitha, written in 1722; Chateaubriand,—see "Les Natchez," livre iv., as follows: "Les vertus de Catherine (dit-il) resplendirait après sa mort. Dieu couvrit son tombeau de miracles riches et éclatants en proportion de la pauvreté et de l'obscurité de la Sainte ici-bas, et cette vierge ne cesse de veiller du salut de la Nouvelle France, et de s'intéresser aux habitants du désert." Poems on Kateri Tekakwitha have been written by the Abbé Rouquette, of New Orleans, and by Rev. C. A. Walworth, of Albany; and to crown all these efforts to do her honor, the touch of a gifted artist of New York State, Mr. Charles M. Lang, has been brought to bear on this ever-growing theme.[72]Author of a very complete Iroquois-French dictionary, preserved and still in use in manuscript form at thepresbytère, or priest's house, at Caughnawaga in Canada.[73]Tekakwitha's cross and grave may also be reached by a drive of about five miles across the reservation from Caughnawaga, which is now a railroad station on the new Canadian Pacific road, and is connected by a steam-ferry with Lachme, where the steamers touch before going over the Great Rapid, and where trains arrive many times a day from Montreal.[74]English translation,—"The fairest flower that ever bloomed among the redmen." French translation,—"C'est une belle fleur qui s'est épanouie parmi les Indiens."

[68]For this incident see Cholenec, in "La Vie de Catherine Tegakouita," Carton O, Jesuit College Library, Montreal.

[69]Father Martin, in his account of this scene, says that Kateri, after her last words to Thérèse, covered her crucifix with kisses and tears, and finally cried out three times, "Jesus, I love thee!" Chauchetière himself, in another place, mentions these as her last words. He and Cholenec were both eyewitnesses of her death. Cholenec says, "At three hours after midday, after having pronounced the holy names of Jesus and Mary, a slight spasm came on, when she entirely lost the power of speech."

[70]They are now (1889) in a carefully secured chest of polished wood in the sacristy of the church of St François Xavier du Sault at the present village of Caughnawaga, about five miles up the river from their first resting-place. The old wall and priest's house connected with the above-named church date back to 1720, but the church itself is more modern. It was rebuilt in 1845. The desk at which Charlevoix and Lafitau wrote is still used by the missionary who occupies thepresbytère. The exact site of this mission of St François Xavier du Sault at the present time and its four previous sites, also the position of Tekakwitha's grave, with her cross and monument, and its direction from the city of Montreal, are shown on the map in chapter xvii.

[71]Among those who have shown special honor to the memory of Kateri Tekakwitha by visiting her grave and spreading her fame by means of their writings, and who have not been already quoted in this work, we find the following persons of note: the Marquis Denonville, Governor of Canada; Monseigneur de Saint-Valier, second Bishop of Quebec; Capt. J. du Luth, commander of Fort Frontenac in 1696; De la Potherie, Commissioner of the King, and author of the "Histoire de l'Amérique Septentrionale," and of verses in honor of Tekakwitha, written in 1722; Chateaubriand,—see "Les Natchez," livre iv., as follows: "Les vertus de Catherine (dit-il) resplendirait après sa mort. Dieu couvrit son tombeau de miracles riches et éclatants en proportion de la pauvreté et de l'obscurité de la Sainte ici-bas, et cette vierge ne cesse de veiller du salut de la Nouvelle France, et de s'intéresser aux habitants du désert." Poems on Kateri Tekakwitha have been written by the Abbé Rouquette, of New Orleans, and by Rev. C. A. Walworth, of Albany; and to crown all these efforts to do her honor, the touch of a gifted artist of New York State, Mr. Charles M. Lang, has been brought to bear on this ever-growing theme.

[72]Author of a very complete Iroquois-French dictionary, preserved and still in use in manuscript form at thepresbytère, or priest's house, at Caughnawaga in Canada.

[73]Tekakwitha's cross and grave may also be reached by a drive of about five miles across the reservation from Caughnawaga, which is now a railroad station on the new Canadian Pacific road, and is connected by a steam-ferry with Lachme, where the steamers touch before going over the Great Rapid, and where trains arrive many times a day from Montreal.

[74]English translation,—"The fairest flower that ever bloomed among the redmen." French translation,—"C'est une belle fleur qui s'est épanouie parmi les Indiens."

THE MEMORY AND INFLUENCE OF KATERI TEKAKWITHA AFTER HER DEATH.—MODERN CAUGHNAWAGA.

IT has been seen how the waning yet ever-brightening spark of a saintly life went out among the Indians of the Sault, and the reader has learned where Kateri Tekakwitha was laid to rest; but her memory is still alive at the places where she lived and died, and even far away among the Indians of the North and West; and wherever she is known her influence is still a power for good. The Rev. P. Fouquet, a missionary who labors among the aborigines of British Columbia, in a letter addressed to the Rev. V. Burtin, Curé of Caughnawaga, P. Q., under date of July 22, 1888, says:—

"I have spoken to hundreds of Indian villages of your admirableSauvagesse[thus he calls Tekakwitha].... Nothing is so useful to our Indians; her example is a great encouragement to them in the practice of Christian virtues."

The Flathead (Kalispel) Mission in Montana, with its large Indian school and thriving settlement of industrious Christians, owes its origin in great part to the zeal of a few adventurous Iroquois who migrated to that region from Caughnawaga in Canada. Among these was a certain chief called Ignatiusthe Iroquois. He had grown up under the shadow of Tekakwitha's cross, andafter living for a time among his new friends the Kalispel people, who gained from him and his comrades a favorable opinion of Christianity, he did not hesitate to undertake a dangerous journey across the great plains of the United States in order to obtain for them a missionary. It was in paving the way for Father De Smet, the Apostle of the Rocky Mountains, that the brave Iroquois lost his life. When that Father succeeded after many difficulties in accomplishing the long journey from St. Louis in the Mississippi Valley, to the Kalispels in Montana, he reaped a most unexpected harvest of Indian converts. This was because they still cherished the memory of Ignatius the Iroquois, who from his youth had reverenced that of Kateri Tekakwitha. May we not then justly claim for her a share in the success of that Kalispel mission? Was it not her strong, sweet influence for good that had spanned the continent at last, and raised the cross aloft among the redmen of the Rocky Mountains?

Not alone among the Indians of the West, but far away to the East, and beyond the Atlantic Ocean, the name of Kateri Tekakwitha is often spoken. In April, 1888, the people of Caughnawaga joined with their missionary, Père V. Burtin, in celebrating the diamond wedding of his aged parents, who live at Metz, in Lorraine. The name the Caughnawagas have given to their beloved pastor is Takaronhianckon, which means "Two Skies Together," because he belongs to two countries,—the land of his adoption, and his fatherland over the sea. Père Burtin delights in praising the virtues of Kateri Tekakwitha, and often mentions her in his letters. Her name has become a household word in themissionary's old home on the banks of the Moselle, which he has not seen for more than thirty years. This double celebration of a diamond wedding on both sides of the Atlantic proves not only the strength of true domestic affection that neither time nor distance has been able to obliterate, but also the love and gratitude of the Indians to the man who forsook house and kindred so many years ago for their sake.

Pictures of Kateri were painted by Chauchetière shortly after her death, and were distributed in many directions. They were first engraved and sent to Europe by order of Madame de Champigny in the year 1695. One or more of these reached the French Court, which was then at its most brilliant period under Louis XIV. The powdered and befrilled ladies of that time looked with wonder on the rough cut sent to them of a little squaw in blanket and moccasins, holding in her hand a cross, and worthy, they were told, to be held up as a model for the Christians of Europe. She had indeed lived as a light in the wilderness, and was looked upon by all who knew her as a lily of purity and star of faith.

There is a very old, full-length portrait of Kateri Tekakwitha still hanging in the sacristy at Caughnawaga, P. Q. Others are to be seen at St. Mary's Church, Albany, and in the possession of the Jesuits at Troy, New York. An ideal portrait of her by Mr. Lang, completed in the early part of the year 1889, is by far the best representation of her now in existence. The same artist has also painted her, in a landscape of great beauty, as just moving away from her favorite place of prayer near the mission cross on the St. Lawrence. ASister in the Hôtel Dieu at Montreal has a quaint colored print, representing her very much as she appears in the rude, uncolored engraving which accompanies the account given of her in "L'Amérique Septentrionale" by De la Potherie. The illustration in Chauchetière's life of her, published in quaint style by John Gilmary Shea, in 1887, is not unlike these two.

What served far more than any pictorial representation ever made, to keep her saintly memory before the people of her own village, was the formation of Kateri's Band, or Les Sœurs de Catherine, as they were called. These were young Indian girls whom Thérèse Tegaiaguenta banded together after Kateri's death, and incited to imitate the virtues of her friend, who, as she firmly believed, was still loving her and helping her in heaven, according to her promise. It has already been said that Thérèse received by common consent the name of the one who while on earth had been her inseparable companion. Hence it is easy to account for the fact that in a "Life of Marguerite Bourgeois," published in 1852, the author should have confused the identity of these two young Indians of the Sault, and given an account of the Lily of the Mohawks under the name ofThérèse Tegakouita. Their souls were locked together in life; their names in death.

While Thérèse lived, the Caughnawagas gave her the name and a part of the love and reverence they had shown to Kateri herself. When once she had formed the band known as Kateri's Sisters, and had passed from among men, then indeed there was nothing left on earth of the Lily of the Mohawks save lifeless relics and what the old writers are pleased to call "an odor ofsanctity."Onkwe Onwe-ke Katsitsiio Teiotsitsianekaron.These words, as we have already seen, may be read on the monument at the foot of Tekakwitha's Cross, but her bones do not rest there. They were carried to the modern village of Caughnawaga, and some fragments of them even still farther from her grave;[75]for at the time of the French and Indian War the Jesuits resolved to divide the Caughnawaga mission, and remove some of their flock farther away from the dangers of Montreal. The Tarbells—who as children had been captured at Groton, Connecticut, in Queen Anne's War, and afterwards became too thoroughly identified with the Caughnawagas to return to their Puritan relatives when the opportunity offered—headed this party sent westward from the Sault to form a new settlement. Choosing Aquasasne,—"the place where the partridge drums,"—a plain east of a slight hill, at one of the few spots where the rapid-vexed river glides calmly by, —they began the mission of St. Francis Regis, and threw up a log-cabin for the Jesuit Father Mark Anthony Gordon, who accompanied them,bearing as a precious treasure part of the remains of Catherine Tehgahkwitha.[76]

This portion of her remains was lost in a fire which destroyed the log chapel and its contents shortly before the treaty of peace was signed between England and France, in 1763. A new wooden church soon replaced the rude chapel, and in 1791 this in turn gave way to the present massive stone church of that mission. The St. Regis settlement was found to be on the New York boundary line; so the village is now part British andpart American. Methodist and Episcopal missions have been started there at different times, but most of the Indians of the place still adhere to the faith of Jogues and Tekakwitha.

The Catholic Iroquois,—many of them famous as warriors,—naturally enough, sided with the French during the long period of our intercolonial wars;[77]but when the Revolution broke out they refused to take up arms against the people of the English Colonies at the instigation of their British oppressors, as did the Mohawk followers of Brant. Though urged and threatened by Sir Guy Carleton to do so, they maintained their neutrality. Some actually joined the American army of patriots. One of these, Atiatonharonkwen, or Louis Cook, rose to the rank of captain. During the stirring times of 1812 the settlement at Aquasasne was disturbed by incursions of both American and British troops; but since that war came to an end the missions of Caughnawaga and St. Regis have enjoyed peace and quiet. Their people have shared in the general prosperity and progress of this country and Canada. They support themselves by means of agriculture and the manufacture of baskets, sleds, moccasins, snow-shoes, and other articles ornamented with beads in the Indian fashion. The Caughnawagas, moreover, are noted for being especially brave and skilful in the use of every kind of river-craft. As raftsmen and pilots they are unequalled. The patriarchal figure of the famous Caughnawaga Indian, JeanBaptiste, with his swarthy face and bright-red shirt, seen year after year at the pilot-wheel of nearly every excursion-steamer that shot the Great Rapid of the St. Lawrence on its way to Montreal, will not soon be forgotten by the many travellers whom he steered safely to their destination. Others as skilful still dwell at the same Indian village, ready at any time to board the steamers as they pass along.

When the Gordon expedition was being fitted out for Egypt in 1884, an urgent invitation was extended to the Caughnawaga raftsmen to join it. About one hundred of them did so, and dexterously carried the British troops through the rapids of the Upper Nile. On their return they were received in England with marked consideration, and were thanked by Queen Victoria in person for their services to the realm. They then recrossed the ocean to Caughnawaga, well pleased with their venture into foreign lands.

Among these same people of the Sault are lineal descendants of those proud Mohawks with whom the fathers of Albany maintained so long the close alliance formed at Tawasentha, when the foundations of the city were first laid on land belonging to the most warlike of the Five Nations. Accordingly, when the Albanians, in 1886, prepared to celebrate the bi-centennial of their charter, a deputation of these Mohawks was formally invited from Caughnawaga by the Mayor of Albany. On their arrival they were publicly received at the City Hall as honored guests, the freedom of the city was extended to them, and they took a prominent part in the ceremonies accompanying the celebration. They were present in full Indian costume, both at the opening ofthe city gates, and at the grand military high mass celebrated on bi-centennial Sunday at St. Mary's, the oldest Catholic Church of the city. Their presence on that occasion recalled with touching interest the memory of their first apostle of Christianity, Isaac Jogues, who was sheltered from the cruelty of his captors by the kind-hearted burghers of Albany. The sacrifice of his life, which he offered for them when he returned to the Mohawk Valley, had brought these Indians to the Christian faith; and the example of Kateri—their "Little Sister," as they still call her—had helped to hold them to it through the vicissitudes of two centuries.

The fervor of these Indian people of the Great Rapid, whose ancestors were converted from paganism in the valleys of New York State, has not abated since the days of Kateri, nor has the work of the Jesuit missionaries among them been fruitless in lasting results, notwithstanding the assertion of Kip to the contrary, in his introduction to "Early Jesuit Missions." The large congregation of Christian Iroquois still dwelling at the Sault is in itself a living proof of the success and continuance of the old mission work. No one could attend the religious observances there without being impressed by their sincere and heartfelt devotion to the Christian faith. The Corpus Christi procession, as witnessed by the author, in 1888, at the village of Caughnawaga, was picturesque and edifying beyond description.

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