SERIOUS CROSSES
God's saints have never been spared the cross of contradiction, and
Mother Duchesne was no exception to the rule. Mother Barat heard from
various persons that she was too austere, too narrow, too unwilling to
adapt herself to the requirements of the times; and this, it was said,
was why the houses in Missouri were not progressing. By these critics,
their backwardness was contrasted with the flourishing condition of the
Southern houses. There were numerous reasons for this difference.
Louisiana had been colonized a century earlier; its people were wealthy
and prosperous; nearly all spoke the French language, and as yet there
was little or no competition; whereas entirely opposite conditions
prevailed in Missouri. Mother Barat, however, heard these charges so
often that she began to fear they were true, and to consider that it was
time to place the government of the St. Louis house, at least, in the
hands of a younger superior, who would have a clearer understanding of
the needs of the times. But before taking a step which was very much
against her inclination, she consulted Bishop Rosati, in 1832. His
answer was that the removal of Mother Duchesne from her office would
result in the collapse of the houses in Missouri, as there was no one
else capable of bearing the burden of governing them; that the slowness
of success for which she was blamed, was due to difficulties inherent in
the situation, while her recognized sanctity gave her an influence for
good that no one else would wield. This was not Mother Duchesne's
opinion of herself. On the contrary, she thought herself an encumbrance
and a drawback upon God's work; and again and again, ever since she had
been in America, she had begged to be replaced by some one who would
possess the virtues and abilities in which she thought herself entirely
lacking. Bishop Rosati's reply was a great relief to the heart of Mother
Barat, and Mother Duchesne remained in office for the time being.
The years immediately following brought the holy Mother many crosses, of
which we can only name the most notable. Mother Regis Hamilton, the
dearest of her American daughters, had to undergo a severe operation,
according to the rude surgical methods of the time. The ravages of the
cholera in France filled her with anxiety for the fate of the French
houses, as also for that of her own relatives and friends, and letters
were long in coming.
The cholera broke out with great violence in St. Michael's, where it
carried away five of the community, and finally it reached St. Louis.
One morning, after her brief rest, she arose to find every one in the
community ill except herself. Happily the disease had appeared among
them in a milder form, known as cholerine. No one died, but during three
months all the sick suffered from continual relapses. The devoted Mother
seemed to multiply herself to be able to attend to them all, and at the
same time to look after the house. Often she was up the whole night with
those who were the more seriously affected. Fortunately, the orphans
were spared, and so were the houses of Florissant and St. Charles, but
Mother Duchesne heard, with great desolation of heart, that besides the
five religious already mentioned, the pestilence had carried off her old
friends, the Abbe Martial, Mgr. de Neckere, first Bishop of New Orleans
after the division of the diocese, and twenty priests--an immense loss
to the Church and to souls.
She had been compelled to dismiss all her pupils except the orphans, and
was consequently obliged to borrow from the bank to meet ordinary
expenses. Under the pressure of so many sorrows and trials, Mother
Duchesne determined to appeal to Heaven by a day of fasting and penance,
ending with an expiatory procession. She and the older orphans made it
barefoot and with a rope around their necks, in the old medieval
fashion. A few days later all the sick were well, and the following week
she was able to reopen the school. Another great sorrow was the intense
sufferings of Mother Octavie Berthold, one of her first companions, whom
a cruel malady was now hurrying to the grave, and who died a holy death
in November of that same year. During these years, likewise, she heard
of the closing of her beloved convent of Sainte Marie d'en Haut, in
Grenoble, while at the same time there was question of closing those of
Florissant and St. Charles. Under the weight of these crosses and many
others, her affliction was indescribable. In a letter to Mother Barat
she gives vent to the anguish of her soul, and with touching humility
expresses the fear that her sins are the cause of so many calamities.
But Mother Duchesne was too heroic a soul ever to be discouraged. She
set herself to work anew with unflinching fortitude, and went on with
the building of an addition to her house. The next year, 1834, had
opened prosperously with thirty-two boarders, when the cholera broke out
afresh, and the bankruptcy of several business houses in St. Louis
reduced their number to one-third. Just at this time Mother Aude was
called to France, and received orders to visit all the houses before
leaving, that of St. Louis included. A few months later Mother Duchesne
was removed to Florissant, while Mother Thieffry took her place at St.
Louis. We may mention here that the new Superior did not find a way of
overcoming the difficulties of the situation, and several years more
went by before the St. Louis house entered upon an era of prosperity.
Mother Duchesne resumed her old life at Florissant--a life of prayer,
toil and self-immolation. She could be seen engaged in the hardest labor
of the house, the stables and the grounds, cooking, washing the dishes,
scouring the kitchen utensils, chopping wood, working in the garden with
hoe and spade, like an industrious field laborer, sweeping and cleaning
in the house, and, in fact, taking upon herself, according to her
invariable custom, all that was hardest and most repulsive to nature.
She took care of the sick herself, and would let no one else sit up with
them at night, on the plea that the others needed their rest more than
she did. She took entire charge of the sacristy, which, like the care of
the sick, was for her a labor of love. She made the morning call and
night visit, directed the different schools, and took a share in the
teaching. Her correspondence was usually done at night, and it was also
at that time she made up her accounts and prepared the church for great
feasts. During the night, likewise, she spent long hours in prayer, in
her usual motionless attitude before the Tabernacle. Her thoughts were
all upon God, and her prayer was unceasing. When returning from Holy
Communion a nimbus of light was sometimes seen around her head. The mere
sight of her recalled the presence of God; her intercessory power was
universally recognized, and her words had a wonderful efficacy for
strengthening, consoling and enlightening souls.
Her hands were rough and hard, like those of an old farm laborer, and in
winter time they were swollen, cracked and bleeding with chilblains. To
avoid offending the eyes of the children, she used to wear, during the
cold season, mittens which she made of scraps of calico or other stuff,
sewed together so as to cover them only on the backs, and thus leave
them free for work. She wore the same clothes in winter as in summer;
her habit was so patched with different shades of black, that the
original material could not be distinguished; her shoes were made of
pieces of old carpet, and everything that she made use of for herself
bore the stamp of her love of poverty, and gave evidence of her contempt
for all that the world loves and seeks after. In fact, she presented an
appearance which, in others, would have seemed grotesque, but which in
her inspired veneration and awe. The pupils wondered and looked upon her
as a supernatural being. They were very fond of her, and when they
caught sight of her during their recreation hours, they flew to meet her
like a flock of birds, and were delighted when they could offer her the
least service.
For her scanty meals she gathered up the scraps and leavings from the
children's refectory; and wherever she lived at any time, she would have
no other cell than the closet under the stairs. Her mattress was barely
two inches thick, and she was never known to have any other covering for
her bed but an old funeral pall. She ruled the children with a firm
hand, but with the affectionate solicitude of a loving and prudent
mother. She trained them to be strong Christians and lovers of duty.
Those of her pupils who were called to move in the higher ranks of
society, were noted, not only for their prudence and Christian reserve,
but also for their refinement and distinction of manners and language.
The poorer children came in for an equal share of her kindness and care,
and her motherly solicitude followed them after they had gone forth into
the world. She had warm friends among the most notable families of St.
Louis, but Mother Duchesne was no respecter of persons, and the poor
were equally welcome, even more so, perhaps, to her time, her counsels,
her prayers, her sympathy, and her services.