CHAPTER XXIV.
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 had never 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. Kateri had 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. The Confiteor was 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! But after 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 her lest 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 eulogy was 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 her burial. 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 one of 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 mat into 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 her burial 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 the cross. 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 little enclosure, 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 that Onkwe Onwe means literally, "The true men;" thus the Indians designate all who belong to their own race. Katsitsiio means "beautiful flower," and is here applied to Tekakwitha, the Lily of the Mohawks. This title, given to her by the English, is altogether foreign to the Iroquois language, as they have no distinctive word for Lily (nothing more definite than "white flower"); and Mohawks is 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 the presbytère. 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 the presbytère, 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."