Saint Rose Philippine Duchesne, Frontier Missionary of the Sacred Heart

By Sr. Jeanne Marie, M.I.C.M., Tert. 

Inscribed on the Pioneer Roll of Fame at Missouri's Jeffer­son Memorial Building in St. Louis, are the words: "Some names must not wither." First among those etched on the bronze tablet is "Philippine Duchesne." Worthy tribute. But she was much more than a pioneer.

The famed Father Pierre DeSmet said he had never seen a soul more ardent in its love of Our Lord. He compared Rose in sanctity to Saint Teresa of Avila, in poverty to Saint Francis of Assisi, and in zeal for the salvation of souls to Saint Francis Xavier. Father DeSmet predicted she one day would be raised to the altars. And indeed, Holy Mother Church has insured that her name will not wither. On July 3, 1988, Rose Philippine Duchesne was en­rolled in a memorial much greater than any of mere stone or bronze, when she was canonized as Amer­ica's newest saint.

 

Early Years

In Southeastern France lay the rugged, beautiful province of Damphiny. Here in the late eighteenth century, the character of the peo­ple matched the terrain, as they were known for their strength, courage, and independence. This was particularly true of the Duchesnes. The generosity and self-assertion of this bloodline typically manifested a bedrock of faith in the women, but could lead to a liberal and revolutionary spirit in its men.

Pierre-Francois Duchesne and his wife, Rose-Euphrosine, shared the home of her parents in Grenoble with her brother, Claude Perier, and his wife - the two young cou­ples living on separate floors. Char­acteristically, Pierre-Francois, a lawyer, and Claude Perier, a fin­ancier and industrialist, would be­come prominent in French politics. The wives were hardy in body and soul. Twenty babies between them produced a bustling, cheerful dou­ble-household.

    The Duchesnes' second girl was born on August 29, 1769. On Our Lady's birthday, September 8, at the Church of St. Louis of France, she was baptized Rose Philippine, in honor of Saint Rose of Lima, first saint of the Americas, and of Saint Philip the Apostle.

Though her features were slightly disfigured by smallpox, Philippine was a pretty girl whose natural generosity, together with the religious piety instilled by her mother, moderated the iron will of the Duchesne temperament. She was also strong and robust. All these unpampered Duchesne chil­dren had to be so, having, for example, to crawl out of bed in the dark mornings of winter and break the ice in their pitchers before they could wash. Philippine's light­hearted gaiety was balanced by a sense of responsibility acquired from daily chores and the caring for the younger children who had been assigned to her. Giving alms was one of her greatest joys. And she loved reading lives of the saints, particularly the martyrs.

During the time of the American struggle for independence, when the French were settling in the Lou­isiana and Missouri territory, mis­sionaries were returning to France telling of their work in the Ameri­can wilderness. One of these, a Jes­uit, inspired young Philippine with a zeal befitting her naturally ap­ostolic heart.

 

Saint-Marie-d'en-Haut

High on the mountainside next to Grenoble, backed by snow-capped Alps and removed from the world, stood a monastery of the Visitation nuns known as Sainte-Marie-d'en-Haut (St. Mary's on the Heights). It bore above its entrance this in­scription: "St. Francis de Sales chose this place for the foundation of the fourth monastery of his Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. The first stone was laid in his presence on October 6, 1619." In 1781, Phil­ippine and her cousin, Josephine, became boarding pupils at this "ea­gle's nest" in preparation for Holy Communion.

"Ste. Marie," the holy woman would later reminisce, "was the home of our childhood, the cradle of our faith and the intimacy that united us." Here, where the sancti­ty of her character was molded, she so loved the prayer-life of the nuns that she was granted permission to recite the Office with them. She also was allowed a special time for adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, a practice for which she was noted in later years.

A century earlier, Saint Mar­garet Mary Alacoque had given the Order devotion to the Sacred Heart. Now, "the Heart that has so loved men" became the center of Philip­pine's life and love. And her yearn­ing to spread that love was nur­tured by a Jesuit confessor at the school, who inflamed her zeal to bring Indians to the Faith.

When the girls received their First Holy Communion on Pente­cost Sunday, 1782, Philippine of­fered herself entirely to God and placed her vocation under Our La­dy's protection, reciting the Memorare many times daily for this in­tention. Her spiritual growth so manifested itself in her outward be­havior, that the family soon discov­ered the child's vocation. Her father, now thoroughly a Voltairian who was active in planting revolu­tionary seeds in Grenoble, with­drew Philippine from the convent school. In response to this crushing disappointment, which she bore resolutely, she increased her pray­ers for her father, whom she dearly loved.

Back home, studies were contin­ued with her cousins under a priest-tutor. Yet, while she enjoyed worldly delights in the ensuing years, she never neglected devo­tions and penances. When her par­ents, therefore, spoke of marriage to their pretty eighteen-year-old daughter she not only refused, but gave herself over to an even stricter prayer-life.

At least her aunt sympathized; and Philippine one day talked the good woman into a visit to Ste. Marie. Once there, the young saint was simply overwhelmed by a de­sire to stay. And so she did, leaving her poor aunt to go home alone to break the news.

With characteristic fervor, young Philippine assimilated the Order's spirit of prayer, recollection, char­ity, and self-renunciation. Too, so determined was she to practice perfect obe­dience that the saint would relate, "The day I en­tered at Ste. Marie I took a reso­lution never to fail on a single point of the rule, and indeed I do not re­call ever infringing on a single one."

As the Community was animated by the Jesuits, from whose consti­tution the Order's Rule had been drawn, its library was well stocked with Jesuit writings. Philippine de­voured a great many of them, es­pecially drawing sustenance for her apostolic spirit from missionary ac­counts, such as those on the Eight North American Martyrs. But the "saint of her heart" was Francis Xavier. Touched by his pleas in the sixteenth century for more mis­sionaries from Europe to help with his apostolic labors, she answered in spirit, "Great saint, why do you not call me? I should obey."

The thought of poor infidels, whom she knew could not be saved without the Catholic Faith, fired her yearning to convert them. She memorized, and recited every day for the rest of her life, Xavier's prayer which says in part:

Eternal God, Creator of all things, remember that the souls of unbelievers have been created by Thee and formed to Thine own image and likeness. Behold, O Lord, how to Thy dishonor hell is being filled with these very souls . . .

Our missionary-in-the-making also developed a devotion to Saint John Francis Regis, whose care of the poor she hoped to imitate. She often prayed before his relic, pre­served at the monastery, asking that he obtain for her the grace to be led to a missionary apostolate like that of Saint Francis Xavier. Not only would the prayers be an­swered, but the intercession of the sainted Regis was to show itself again and again in Philippine's life.

 

The Revolution

Philippine should have made her religious profession in 1789. But her father forbade it, due to the po­litical unrest at the onset of the French Revolution - in which, un­fortunately, he and his relatives had played no small part. "This is the severest trial God could have sent me," she confided to a priest.

The latter consoled her, counsel­ing, "Adore God, my child. He has His designs in what He allows to happen. Later on, you will under­stand." So the novice persevered at Ste. Marie as even more disturbing news made its way up the hill.

The storming of the Bastille, on July 14, 1789, was symbolic of the mob uprising against legitimate au­thority. After the Royal Family was imprisoned in October of that year, the revolutionary government be­gan confiscating Church property. The following year, it passed the no­torious Civil Constitution of the Clergy, which overturned the Church in France, drafting new di­ocesan boundaries and stipulating that bishops and priests were to be elected by the people - with even Protestants and Jews having a vote. To take the mandated oath of the Civil Constitution was to reject the authority of the Pope and the Church. Most of France's priests and religious, therefore, refused to do so and were exiled, forced into hiding, or put to death.

For the crime of "making com­mon cause with refractionary priests," religious orders, beginning with contemplatives, considered useless by the State, were sup­pressed. Two of Saint Rose Philip­pine's aunts, also Visitation nuns, were sent home from their convent at Romans. She herself was hoping the situation would improve before the suppression reached Grenoble, but matters only worsened.

The Reign of Terror was un­leashed upon the Catholic popu­lace. Churches were closed, and the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was forbidden. Anyone suspected of not supporting the Revolution faced ex­ecution by the guillotine. Having drawn wrath upon himself by show­ing respect for the king, Philip­pine's father withdrew from public life and moved the family to their country home in Grane.

In August, 1792, a mob stormed the Tuileries where members of the Royal Family were imprisoned. They barely escaped to the Assem­bly, safe at least from the mob. But all who had defended them, includ­ing 600 Swiss Guards, were slaugh­tered in one of the most repulsive outrages of history, with even women and children participating in the diabolical butchery. Then came the infamous September Mas­sacre in Paris. Over 400 priests and religious, 1,000 Catholic nobles, and 8,000 citizens went to their deaths. Trials and executions at the Car­melite monastery, where priests and monks were held prisoner, were limited to two or three min­utes for maximum efficiency in ad­ministering mass-production ‘jus­tice." Having chosen death rather than to deny the authority of the Church by the oath, 191 of these victims known as the Blessed Mar­tyrs of Carmes have been beatified.

The French Revolution was the most cruel and bloody atrocity the world had seen thus far. Its pur­pose, despite revisionist claims to the contrary, was the eradication of all things Catholic and the over­throw of the Christian Order. France was but the first victim in a plan of world revolution directed by a conspiracy tracing its roots back at least to the sixteenth cen­tury. Since the 1782 Congress of Wilhelmsbad, in which arch-con­spirator Adam Weishaupt amal­gamated his Illuminati into Free­masonry, the goal of Illuminized Freemasonry has been the estab­lishment of a Novus Ordo Seclorum (New World Order) - that is, an absolute world government ruling all mankind, and a new universal religion of atheistic secular human­ism. Always pre-eminent amongst the conspiracy's many deadly de­signs for erecting this New Order has been the utter destruction of the Mystical Body of Christ, the Holy Catholic Church.

"Let us crush the wretch! Crush the wretch!" cried Voltaire, the per­verse Freemason who paved the way for the Revolution. "The Chris­tian religion is an infamous reli­gion. It must be destroyed by a hundred invisible hands."

Masonic philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau planted more seeds for the Revolution. His demonic contempt for the Catholic Faith is especially revealing when he proclaims, in his Social Con­tract, "But anyone who dares to say ‘Outside the Church there is no salvation' should be expelled from the State." No doubt, because it is such an "intolerant" doctrine for so "tol­erant" a free-thinking Mason!

Further proof that the annihila­tion of the one true Church of Jesus Christ was the real motive be­hind the French Revolution is seen by the revolutionary government's audacious attempt to erase all traces of even the Christian era! By decree years were no longer to be dated from the birth of the Incar­nate God-man, but instead from the beginning of the Revolution. The seven-day week, instituted by God in the very foundation of the world, was to be changed arbitrarily to ten days, with Sundays totally abol­ished. Names of months were changed, and of course Holy Days were no longer to be celebrated.

Throughout Christian history God has per­mitted evil to triumph at times, usually as a chastisement for sin, but always out of such calamities He raises up great saints. And such was the case in France, for, despite its destruction, the Revolution did pro­duce waves of saints.

Rose Philippine Duchesne was one of these. For nine years, she carried on a charitable apostolate among victims of the Revolution. She formed a little association called the Ladies of Mercy whose members, after the Terror reached Grenoble in 1794, visited priests and religious held prisoner at Ste. Marie. In addition, Philippine her­self cared for the sick and dying all over the city and often sought out priests in hiding, leading them to those in need of the Sacraments. And she befriended wayward boys so as to teach them catechism. Be­cause her many spiritual and cor­poral works of mercy were per­formed at the risk of life, her worried family pleaded that she show more concern for her own wel­fare. To this she simply replied: "It is my happiness and glory to serve my Divine Savior in the person of the unfortunate poor."

By 1800, some semblance of peace had returned to France, and Philippine made a pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint John Francis Regis. Disappointing, to be sure, was the fact that no Mass was celebrated at the shrine. One altar had been smashed by revolutionary desecra­tors; the other was covered with dust. Nonetheless, she came away more devoted to the saint and, in imitation of him, to instructing the poor. What is more, she was deter­mined to reclaim the now aban­doned Ste. Marie with his help.

What joy our saint felt when she and a companion, having gotten possession of the monastery, reen­tered it one rainy December day in 1801! It was without lock and key and in great need of repair. Missing doors and windows let in the snow and cold. But in two weeks, Mass would again be offered there.

Philippine had hoped that, with Ste. Marie recovered, its former in­habitants would quickly return and convent life would resume. But bit­ter disappointment followed. Though a few of the nuns and the Superior did return temporarily, the austere living conditions proved too much for them in their ad­vanced years.

Saint Rose Philippine dutifully stayed on, joined by three others, and spent the next three years living the Visitation Rule as best she could. Yet she was delighted when she and her companions were in­vited to enter a new religious order just formed in Amiens.

 

Society of the Sacred Heart

Under the guidance of the Fath­ers of the Faith (a group of priests modeled after the Jesuits), the So­ciety of the Sacred Heart was devoted to Our Lady, founded on prayer and sacrifice, and given over to the education of children. Its foundress was Mother Madeleine Sophie Barat, a peasant from Bur­gundy who would also be canon­ized. Her brother Louis, a pious priest, had been a professor at the seminary in their native town of Joigny and had given Madeleine an education far surpassing the norm for girls in those days. He had also introduced her to Father Varin, who was so impressed with Made­leine's holiness that he guided her to found a religious order of women completely devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and having the glory of His Heart as the sole pur­pose of their lives.

It was Father Varin who encour­aged Mother Barat to visit Ste. Marie for the purpose of establish­ing a second foundation: "You will find there companions who will help you, especially one - and if there were only that one, she would be worth seeking at the other end of the world!"

The meeting of the two saints, on December 13, 1804, was most touching. As Mother Barat entered the dimly lit corridor of Ste. Marie, Rose Philippine Duchesne fell pros­trate at her feet, repeating after the Psalmist: "How lovely on the moun­tain are the feet of those who bring the gospel of peace!"

Mother Barat would later re­mark, "I let her do it through pure stupefaction. I was utterly dumbfounded at the sight of such faith and humility, and I did not know what to say or do."

The twenty-five-year-old foun­dress herself served as Superior of the new foundation in which Philippine, at age thirty-five, was again a novice. The holiness and wisdom of Mother Barat shone, as she guided the souls in her care and de­veloped in them the spirit and vir­tues characteristic of her Society. She exhorted, "We have a double purpose in our efforts: our own per­fection and the salvation of souls. We must be saints."

On November 21, 1805, Philip­pine made her vows. Shortly after­wards, Mother Barat returned to Amiens. Thus began a lifelong com­munication between the two saints by way of correspondence. Many of their letters have been preserved and give insight into the charming personality and sanctity of both heroines of the Faith.

Philippine also maintained con­tact with her family. In this way she was able to bring her father back to the Faith before his death. The saint's youngest sister had become a Visitation nun, and two of her nieces attended the school opened at Ste. Marie, where they were taught by their pious aunt. Both would eventually enter the Society of the Sacred Heart, one of them leading so exemplary a life that Mother Barat would say of her, "Such was my dream for all of them."

The apostle from Grenoble was anxious to carry knowledge and love of the Sacred Heart to the ut­termost ends of the world. Waiting had always been one of her most persistent crosses; and it would still be another decade before her mis­sionary dreams were fulfilled. But these were years of the most in­tense spiritual preparation for our saint, preparation that would en­able her to endure the rigors of fron­tier life. Mother Barat, speaking of this period, remarked of "Good Mother Duchesne" (for such be­came her title) that she "teaches in the school all day, sits up at night with the sick children, has the whole exterior management of the house, but she never shows distress and scarcely seems to be over­worked. What a valiant woman!" Philippine's greatest joy was to spend the night on her knees before the Blessed Sacrament where, wrapt in prayer, she seemed to oth­ers like an angel in adoration.

 

To the St. Louis Country

Few periods in French history were less favorable to developing religious orders than the Napo­leonic era. "My main purpose is to hinder the re-establishment of the Jesuits in France . . . I want noth­ing that resembles an organized re­ligious group," the Freemason Napoleon declared. Yet the Society of the Sacred Heart, with a saint at the helm and at least one more in its ranks, grew to six houses, with many new postulants and prospects of more foundation, particularly in America.

    Philippine be­came the Supe­rior of a new house in Paris. Here she met Bishop Du­Bourg, who had arrived from America seeking recruits. It had been three hundred years since Columbus had carried Catholicism to the New World.

    Missionaries had watered the soil with their blood, and it had borne fruit. It was now twenty-six years since George Washington (later to become a Catholic) was inaugu­rated first President of the United States and John Carroll was con­secrated as the country's first bishop. In the intervening years, Monseignor Flaget, saintly Bishop of Bardstown, Kentucky, had done tremendous work increasing Amer­ica's Catholic flock. And the French had made great inroads in Canada as well as the Louisiana and Missouri territory, for which Bishop DuBourg was now seeking nuns.

As the good Bishop was discuss­ing this need one day with Mother Barat, Philippine suddenly ap­peared, fell on her knees before the Superior General, and with clasped hands pleaded: "Your consent, Rev­erend Mother, do give your con­sent!" Touched by this persever­ance, Saint Madeleine Sophie's consent was given for her elder spiritual daughter to go to Ameri­ca's frontier, and the preparations were begun.

Mother Du­chesne was to have four com­panions: Mother Octavie Berthold, a convert from Calvinism and daughter of Voltaire's secre­tary; Mother Eugenie Aude, whose vocation was realized when, while at the court of Na­poleon, she was taking an admiring glance in a mirror and saw there not her own fair face, but the blood­stained countenance of Jesus; Sis­ter Catherine Lamarre, nine years a professed religious, with ample experience in teaching poor chil­dren; and Sister Marguerite Man­teau, whose solid virtue won her a place in this first community of the Society of the Sacred Heart to go to America.

Saint Rose Philippine was forty-eight when, in 1818, she left behind her the family members she loved so dearly, exhorting them to re­member "the one thing necessary- the salvation of their souls. The seventy-day trans-Atlantic voyage was one of hardship and suffering: intense heat, stagnant water, spoiled food. Seasickness and little privacy made religious life difficult, Mass impossible. Horrible storms, reminding Mother Duchesne of Judgment Day, struck terror in all; while at other times the wind was becalmed, leaving the sailing vessel to drift aimlessly for days. What was worse for Philippine, she suf­fered a bout of spiritual dryness, a condition by which God often tries pious souls. Still, all five of the nuns endured the hardships so patiently that they made a deep impression on passengers and crew. Their daily singing of Ave Maris Stella brought peace to all.

It was May 29, 1818 - providen­tially, the Feast of the Sacred Heart- when the nuns set foot, with deepest emotion, in America. Mother Duchesne's face was ra­diant with joy as she immediately knelt and kissed the ground. "No one is looking," she said to the others. "You kiss it too!"

For two months, they stayed in New Orleans with Ursuline nuns, whose charity toward them could not have been greater. The Ursulines begged the guests to establish a foundation there in New Orleans, but Saint Rose Philippine and her little band, their hearts set on St. Louis, left in July on a forty-day journey up river.

As on their ocean voyage, the nuns marveled at the glory of God reflected in the scenic beauty that surrounded them. Dark forest walls of moss-covered cypress, oak, and cottonwood rose majestically beside the glimmering water. And the sun­rises were beyond description.

Finally, after having arrived in St. Louis, Philippine personally was disappointed by the absence of any expected "savages" she had come to convert. Nevertheless, she and her religious enjoyed the hos­pitality of General Pratte's family, in whose home they spent a delight­ful three weeks. The five little Pratte girls were so taken with the sisters that they continually pes­tered their parents for permission to attend the school that the nuns intended to open.

When the good bishop of Bardstown cordially received them, how­ever, they met with another dis­appointment, as he informed them that their foundation was not to be in St. Louis as thought, but in St. Charles.

 

Sanctity On The Frontier 

On a bluff overlooking the Mis­souri River stood the small, rented dwelling that would be the first convent-school of the Sacred Heart in America. In its chapel, dedicated to Saint John Francis Regis, the new foundation's first Mass was cel­ebrated on Our Lady's birthday, September 8. A few days later, Mother Duchesne opened the first free school west of the Mississippi, and two of the Pratte girls, joined by a cousin, became the first board­ing pupils.

Education was modeled as closely as possible after that of the houses in France. But books and supplies were far from adequate; and for Philippine there was a lan­guage problem, as she was never quite able to master English. Al­ways nearly destitute, the nuns and children alike suffered for lack of food and water. The cold easily pen­etrated the thin walls, to the extent that water froze even when kept by the small fire - for which they had no means of obtaining wood.

But hardship only brought all -children and nuns - closer to­gether, while love of the Sacred Heart of Jesus sustained them. Nor did Providence abandon these souls. Boxes of provisions from France and New Orleans would arrive at opportune times and were appreciated enormously.

Word of all events at the foun­dation - including a chapel fire in which the Sacred Host was found unharmed in a charred pall and cor­poral - was faithfully sent on by Philippine to Mother Barat. As postage could not be afforded, how­ever, letters often had to be dis­patched via travelers, under the trusted protection of Saint An­thony. So esteemed were letters from Mother Barat, in return, that the elder saint always read them on her knees.

For lack of enough students to support its school, this first foun­dation failed. Mother Duchesne, in her humility, blamed herself: "If a saint had been in charge, all would have gone well. That thought makes the burden of my office all the heavier. Every day I see more clearly that I do not possess the qualities necessary in a superior."

The other nuns disagreed. And across the ocean Mother Barat knew she had the best she could give in this holy daughter. Bishop DuBourg, in a letter to the vener­able foundress, expressed admira­tion for "the rare virtues and re­markable gifts of the religious whom you have sent me. I cannot tell you how excellent an impres­sion they have made in this part of the world. Mother Duchesne is a saint."

In September, 1819, after only one year in St. Charles, the nuns moved to Florissant. Following a temporary stay in the bishop's farmhouse, the little community moved into its new convent. School enrollment here was improved, and even a novitiate could be opened. Yet the nearly eight years spent at Florissant were typical of Philip­pine's frontier life and suffering. Utter poverty; cramped living con­ditions; dangers of fire, flood, and epidemic; financial anxieties -nearly every hardship imaginable was borne by this holy pioneer without complaint. Yet, while con­tinually praising the exemplary lives of the other nuns, she considered herself useless.

Of course, it was her own exam­ple of serving God in word and deed that elevated the others. She slept in a closet under the stairway. She was always the first to rise and the last to retire, for which reason the children often awoke to find their clothes mended and shoes patched by the saintly Superior. Her nights were often spent in adoration be­fore the Blessed Sacrament, her mornings in fasting, with hopes that a priest would arrive to pro­vide Mass and Holy Communion. In fact, her whole livelong day was a fast, as she served the good food to others while allowing herself only scraps left on the children's plates.

Saint Rose Philippine took on all manner of work, reserving the hardest tasks for herself. Indeed, her frequent ejaculations and vocal prayers sanctified both work and leisure. She was the delight of re­creation, during which her joyful spirit and lively stories cheered everyone. And her patience and kind­ness conquered even the most dif­ficult children. She was the comfort of the sick, the consolation of the lonely and distressed. In a word, she was all things to all.

In 1821, a new foundation was opened at Grand Coteau, in Loui­siana, whence Mother Duchesne sent her most valued nuns. Later, having visited the flourishing new convent, she endured a prolonged martyrdom on the journey home. Yellow fever swept through the ship. Men were dying like animals, with no spiritual help save that of this poor nun, who managed to baptize at least one victim before he died. Stricken herself, she and her young student companion were put off the ship. Deathly ill, the only refuge offered her was at the home of a man who had just lost his wife to the contagion. Upon making some recovery, Philippine and her companion recommenced the trip upstream. It was then that they dis­covered God's guiding hand in this episode. They gazed with horror as they passed the crumpled wreckage of the ship from which they earlier had been made to disembark.

One of the greatest joys of the saint's frontier days was the arrival in Florissant of the Jesuits, whose novitiate was transferred from Maryland in 1823. The little group included some of the most distin­guished names in the Missouri mission field. Most notable was Pierre Jean DeSmet, the apostle of Kan­sas, Oregon, and the Rocky Moun­tains. He called himself the spirit­ual son of Mother Duchesne and kept up correspondence with her until her death. They even made a pact that whichever should die first would grant the other a favor. After Philippine's death, Father DeSmet received the promised favor.

The sisters esteemed these Jesuit priests; and it was Philippine's de­light to lavish motherly care on them, somehow providing for their needs despite the community's own poverty. For, as the saint remarked before departing from France, "Even if I could do nothing but cook for the missionaries, I should be perfectly satisfied."

About this time, a serious illness for Mother Octavie led not only to a remarkable recovery, but also to the conversion of her Protestant doctor, who was won over by the spirit and peace he witnessed at the convent.

Finally, the first Catholic school for Indians in the United States was opened. Though it was des­tined to be short-lived, Saint Rose Philippine delighted in caring for her little "savages" during its brief existence.

After nine years in America, Mother Duchesne was able to es­tablish a long-desired foundation in St. Louis, where she served as Superior of the city's first Catholic -and free - school. Added to the cus­tomary deprivations here was the infrequency of Masses, due to a lack of priests. But she continued to give of herself without reserve, as a let­ter from a younger sister to Mother Barat attests: "I am now in St. Louis with my dear Mother Du­chesne. I cannot tell you how hard she works or how she deprives her­self in order that we may have more. One can truly say she is like a victim continually immolating herself in the interest of our dear Society."

Due to those efforts, the Society of the Sacred Heart made remark­able progress in this country. After only twelve years, it had six houses- at Grand Coteau, St. Michael's, and La Fourche in Louisiana; Flor­issant, St. Louis, and St. Charles (re-opened) in Missouri. There were 64 nuns - 14 from France and 50 Americans. And more than 350 children were enrolled in the schools.

But, with the sweetness of this hard-earned success was mixed the bitter gall of many personal sor­rows for Saint Rose Philippine. Among these was the death of Mother Octavie Berthold. Also, a cholera epidemic struck hard in Louisiana, carrying off many of the saint's beloved sisters.

Alas, the demanding work at St. Louis was becoming too difficult for Philippine, now old and frail. And so, at Mother Barat's bidding, she exchanged places with the Superior at Florissant, where six more years of her model religious life edified all who came in contact with her. A touching account is given of the young nun who unex­pectedly came upon Mother Du­chesne resting from her work in the garden. The holy old nun was clutching her rosary in one hand while brushing tears from her cheeks with the other. It was a pic­ture of unspeakable suffering pa­tiently borne. But, although much had been done by this gallant woman for the Faith in America, she had much more yet to do.

In 1840, a new Superior General came to America. Mother Elizabeth Galitzin was a convert from the Russian schismatic church, and her overbearing, autocratic nature had not been tempered by the sorrows and sufferings of a Mother Du­chesne. She pressed for changes and introduced new rules into the American foundations - actions that she would later regret, and for which she would heroically im­molate herself. Mother Galitzin re­lieved Philippine of her position and sent her back to St. Louis.

 

The Indians At Sugar Creek

"How blessed we shall be if at the price of even great sacrifice we shall have made God known and loved by one more soul!" Philippine had once written to her cousin. Great sacri­fices had our saint made, and many, many souls had she influenced. Yet, still her dream of converting Indi­ans had not been fulfilled. What joyful anxiety seized her, therefore, when, at Father DeSmet's persua­sion, it was decided that four nuns were to be sent amongst the Indi­ans near Sugar Creek, Kansas. But could she hope to be one of those sent? After all, she was now sev­enty-two, weak and sickly - a most unlikely candidate for the demand­ing mission. It would take a mira­cle, Mother Duchesne realized, and so she poured out her soul to the Heart she loved so much.

Only three nuns were presented to Father Verhaegen, the Jesuit in charge of this mission. He had, of course, expected four. Turning, he saw Mother Duchesne praying si­lently, tears falling on the worn hands that held her beads. "But she must come too," he said, for the aged saint was the person he wanted above all. "She may not be able to do much work, but she will assure success to the mission by praying for us. Her very presence will draw down all manner of heav­enly favors on the work." So it was decided.

Appropriately on the feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul, the little expedition struck out from St. Louis in 1841. Four days on the Missouri River and eight days of travel by ox-cart brought the mis­sionaries to the Potawatomi settle­ment. So eager were the Indians to receive the apostolic group that they came out in bands to greet it in their most festive dress, riding plumed horses. Seven hundred natives filed by to bid them welcome.

The Indians appreciated Mother Duchesne from the start. Her age and venerable countenance aroused such admiration that they brought her gifts - their finest food and clean straw for her pallet.

Philippine, unable to master the difficult ten-syllable language of the Indians, could not teach the children as had long been her ambition. But what she could do, she did. She devoted four hours in the morning and another four in the afternoon to prayer before the tab­ernacle. The Indians would silently steal into the chapel to gaze at her in wonderment, or to kiss her worn habit, as she knelt so long motion­less. They called her Quah-Kah-Ka­num-ad, meaning "Woman who prays always."

Thus, as Father Verhaegan had predicted, the saint drew the bless­ings of success on the mission while, for Philippine personally, it was the happiest time of her life. She would have wished to stay here until she died, but it was not to be. After only a year among the Indians she was ordered to return to St. Charles, where she was to spend the last ten years of her life. Her response to this painful sacrifice was simply: "God knows the reason of this recall, and that is enough."

 

Last Years

Even in her advanced years, Saint Rose Philippine was never idle, nor did she allow herself any comforts. Fasts were still strictly observed. Her room was small and simple: two or three pictures, a cot, a chair, a few devotional books, and a box containing her treasures -letters from Mother Barat and in­struments of penance.

Her physical sufferings increased. The cold aggravated her rheumatism; walking became more difficult. Poor eyesight hindered her sewing and reading.

For nearly two years, there were no letters from Mother Barat. Thinking she might have caused the displeasure of her dearest friend on earth, Philippine's sorrow knew no bounds. Yet, across the ocean Mother Barat, for unex­plained reasons, also had stopped receiving letters and grew very con­cerned about her saintly spiritual daughter in America. The latter's niece, Mother Amelie Jouve, had been assigned to the Society's new­est foundation in Canada. Thus, Saint Madeleine bid her to make a special trip to Missouri.

Mother Barat's emissary was re­ceived by Philippine as an angel from heaven. "So our Mother Gen­eral still thinks of me, still loves me?" the saint responded, radiant with joy. For two weeks niece and aunt enjoyed to the fullest one an­other's loving company.

Visits from others also relieved Mother Duchesne's loneliness. Father DeSmet was one of these: "Never did I leave her without feel­ing that I was conversing with a saint. I have always regarded this Mother as the great protector of the Missions. For several years she of­fered two Communions a week and daily prayers for the conversion of the Indians, whom she dearly loved."

Likewise, all her sisters in reli­gion reverenced the sanctity of Philippine, now failing noticeably. A close companion, Mother Hamilton, nursed the saint with the same tender care that Mother Duchesne had given her as a novice. Every day she was practically carried to her place at Mass near the sanc­tuary railing. Receiving Our Lord in Holy Communion so transfi­gured her that often a glow ra­diated from her face as she left the chapel. The children, who waited to give the venerable old religious a curtsy, would whisper, "Mother Du­chesne is still praying!" The rest of the day was spent in her room in silent communion with God.

Toward the end of her eighty-sec­ond year, Mother Duchesne's health was so poor that the Last Rites were administered. She did recover enough to be carried to Mass to make a thanksgiving.

On November 16, Mother Anna du Rousier, who was en route to South America from France, stopped to visit Philippine, and to give her Mother Barat's last bless­ing. The following day, she was de­cidedly weaker. Towards midnight, Mother Hamilton offered her a soothing drink, which the pious woman accepted only after being assured that it would not break her Eucharistic fast.

When a little fire was kindled in her room, Mother Duchesne re­proached the gesture: "You think only of material things. It would be better to say a Pater and an Ave for my soul." When informed that the whole community was praying for her in an adjacent room, she ex­claimed, "Oh, how fortunate I am to die in a house where charity reigns!"

It was now November 18, 1852. Father Verhaegen heard Philip­pine's last confession and gave her holy Viaticum. When she heard the invocation, "Jesus, Mary and Jo­seph," she answered, "I give you my heart, my soul, and my life - oh yes, my life, generously!" As the noonday Angelus bell ceased its ringing, that heroic life came to an end. The soul of Mother Duchesne was borne by angels to the Sacred Heart she had adored and served to her last breath.

 

Saint Rose Philippine Duchesne,

Pray for us.