The Life and Times of Kateri Tekakwitha Part 14

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 t.i.tles. To prove herself a devoted follower of this virgin of all virgins, 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 Chauchetiere,--an atmosphere of purity and sanct.i.ty that almost amounted to a visible halo. Even her directors sometimes wondered at the impression of personal sanct.i.ty 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 pa.s.sed 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, Therese.

At last Kateri was seized with a dangerous illness. A violent fever came on, and she lay at the point of death. Therese, 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 a.s.sented. The blackgown concealed his astonishment at what he heard from Therese, 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 G.o.d, her fort.i.tude 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, she accompanied Therese 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.

Therese, 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 Pa.s.sion of our Lord. She was gathering wood.

Near at hand, she saw a great th.o.r.n.y 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 f.a.gots, then lifts the scraggy ma.s.s 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 th.o.r.n.y brier from the f.a.gots, covers it quickly with a large mat, and then proceeds to stow the wood in its proper place. 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 G.o.d, 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 th.o.r.n.y 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 Therese 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 Therese 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 Therese, suspecting the truth, will not be put off. She espies the thorns, and Kateri confesses all. A pang went to the heart of Therese, 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 Therese was one of concern for the life of her friend. She spoke quickly and vehemently to Kateri, declaring that she would certainly offend G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 pa.s.sed 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 of her 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 pa.s.sed! Kateri thanked the blackgown, and begged him to come again with his cla.s.s 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 ma.n.u.script ent.i.tled "La Vie de Catherine Tegakouita, Premiere Vierge Irokoise." He adds: "Pere Chauchetiere wanted her put in the church; but I put her in the place she had indicated, without knowing it till long afterwards."

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 Pa.s.sion 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 a.s.sociation 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 G.o.d. 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 Therese 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 Ma.s.s and Benediction. Whenever Therese 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: "G.o.d pity Therese, and give her the strength she needs!"

On Monday in Holy Week, she asked for permission to fast, in honor of our Saviour's pa.s.sion. She wished to pa.s.s 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 Viatic.u.m,--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 pa.s.sed out of the church, following the shortest road to Anastasia's cabin. All who were then in the village a.s.sembled to accompany him, and knelt about the door of the lodge, leaving a pa.s.sage 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 Therese, 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. Therese, 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 Viatic.u.m, 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 G.o.d. She recalled the graces bestowed upon her, and especially such as had enabled her to preserve her chast.i.ty 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 pa.s.sing 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 Chauchetiere, "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 a.s.surance to Therese, 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 G.o.d.

During the evening of Tuesday Therese 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 Therese 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 G.o.d, and I will help you more when I am with Him." The eyes of Therese 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 Therese 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, Therese; 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 G.o.d not to let you die while we are away." Kateri again a.s.sured them that there was time enough. "On your return you will find me still living," she said. They went away satisfied, and G.o.d blessed their confidence.

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

"Marie Therese 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sing, 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 Chauchetiere, 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. Therese, whose loving task it was to bring the necessary garments, now a.s.sisted 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sisting 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]

[Ill.u.s.tration: STREET SCENE AT CAUGHNAWAGA IN CANADA

(_St. Lawrence River_) 1889 (_Church of St. Francois 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 "Genevieve of New France" was laid to rest. So great was the fame of her sanct.i.ty 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 s.p.a.ce 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 a.s.sembled throng in French. Then, after a hymn in Iroquois, the Rev. Joseph Marcoux,[72] the pastor of the tribe, p.r.o.nounced 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 a.s.sembled to a.s.sist 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 t.i.tle, 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: