Girard0277

2 November 1843 - Father Jean-Baptiste Petit-Jean to Father Jean-Claude Colin, Auckland

Summary

Suggests some changes in the way mission money is sent from Europe. Suggests that allocations from Propagation of the Faith be dispensed in London to lower bank charges, and every three months, to minimise loss in case of bank failure. Business in both Australia and NZ in a bad way at present. Seems to think the English are victims of success – praises the French love of simplicity.

Mentions in passing the Wairau affray, but seems to know little of it.

A Catholic family, Hennessy by name, provides much of his little food.

He writes at some length about relations between Protestants and Catholics in NZ – relations improving he thinks.

Translated by Merv Duffy, February 2025.

Text of the Letter

[Address]

(France)

To Monsieur

Monsieur Colin

Montée Saint-Barthélemy No. 4

Lyon

[In Poupinel’s handwriting]

New Zealand – Kororāreka, November 2, 1843

Father Petit-Jean

[Page 1]

To the Very Reverend Father Superior,

New Zealand, Auckland – Commemoration of the Faithful Departed

November 2, 1843

My Very Reverend Father,

[1]

The dispatches from France, which included one of your letters (February 28, 1843), one from Father Lagnier, another from the two councils of the Propagation, etc., were delivered to me in Auckland. They arrived, I believe, via Nelson. Nothing was missing; everything corresponded exactly to the instructions given in the letters. Since His Lordship was at the Bay of Islands, I had to forward everything to him.

Today, there is an opportunity for a ship heading to that port. However, the dispatch will be sent in two parts. When sending the bills of exchange, I will be careful to include my name where necessary. As for the letter of credit, I do not think it will be necessary to make a journey or to issue a power of attorney to be paid; presenting the letter along with a formal and authentic order from me should suffice.

[Note in the margin, in Forest’s handwriting]

If Lyon follows the procedure indicated here by Father Petit-Jean and it does not succeed, His Lordship could be greatly distressed. Would it not be more appropriate to follow the method that His Lordship himself has indicated?

To avoid the enormous costs of banks and their always alarming discount rates, I would like the funds allocated to His Lordship to be deposited in London in the bank of his choosing. These deposits should be made quarterly, for example, so that a large sum of money does not remain idle there for too long, to prevent any risk of bankruptcy. However, an agreement should be made to leave these partial sums in place for a certain period, allowing the interest earned to offset the costs of the drafts.

At the same time, His Lordship would withdraw his money from the bank in New Zealand at regular intervals. There would be a mutual trust agreement between the two parties. Furthermore, His Lordship could leave certain sums in the bank in New Zealand for a specified period and make some small profits—solely to cover transportation costs.

[2]

These banks, which are chartered by the English government, hardly ever fail. All the clergy in Sydney deposit their money in this way. The essential thing is to choose the safest place, the company that offers the most guarantees. Man is limited and cannot see, with both eyes at once, what is happening in both hemispheres.

Some time ago, I read an unpleasant article in a Sydney newspaper about the Bank of Australia. I presume that this is the same bank responsible for the sums recently received by His Lordship. Now, I believe that this Bank of Australia in Sydney is going to be dissolved. It is not thriving. Nevertheless, I am convinced that it is making its payments and is winding up its affairs honourably.

In any case, the fall of the Bank of Australia should not, I think, bring down the Wellington company with it—two branches, no doubt independent, even though they seemed to have been linked.

[3]

Three lines above, I used the word “thriving.” Nothing thrives in these colonies. Confidence is almost destroyed; it is entirely gone. Sydney, which had grown so rapidly, now has only the appearance of life because of its port, its beautiful buildings, and a representative government that has been given to them, etc. That is the outward show.

The fact is that, in business, people here are more dead than alive. At the opening of the chambers, the governor called the present time “a period of monetary confusion.” One of the members of their legislative council recently said, in full assembly, that no one knew who was solvent or insolvent. The bankruptcies here are dreadful.

The mayor himself—the first mayor of Sydney—has gone bankrupt and has been forced to leave his civic office. In New Zealand, it is the same, but on a smaller scale. In Auckland, I see the government's first secretary imprisoned for debt; I see the collector and treasurer of customs going bankrupt—even against the government itself—for a very large sum.

This last one was intolerant—may God forgive him. Today, they want to seize his silverware, etc., etc.

[4]

My Very Reverend Father, it is luxury that is ruining them. They strive to shine here all the more eagerly because, elsewhere, they would not be noticed. They need wine for their company, jewellery for their wives, etc. … These are lessons that Divine Providence, through these poor victims of the world, wants to instil even in missionaries, even in religious men.

Let us allow simplicity to reign—it is good for all times, it adapts to all circumstances, it does not change, it is always the same.

I see that it would be easy to adopt habits of luxury from the English; they have no sense of economy, little foresight for the future. They aim only for great fortunes. Where four Frenchmen would live comfortably, two Englishmen would die of hunger.

England seems to me like an overloaded ship, whose weight of gold and treasures is about to make it sink unless some of it is quickly thrown overboard.

But, my God, forgive me—does what I am saying here befit the mouth of a missionary? Is it appropriate for those to whom I write? Hardly. Nevertheless, I am not sorry to share the state of public affairs here; they have a natural connection with the affairs of our mission.

[5]

The ocean does not press upon New Zealand any more tightly than this country is now pressed, constrained, and strangled by distress. I recently had the opportunity to travel by water ten leagues from here to fetch one or two Māori families, and I saw poor workers reduced to satisfying their hunger with rather bad oysters, while their young children feasted on ground corn.

I visited one of those people commonly called a gentleman in England, and well—he was a gentleman without salt, almost without flour, etc. … I won’t even mention wine. It flowed in times of abundance. Outside the cities, people search among the wild grasses of the land for a supplement to their tea, which is half the life of an Englishman.

The Englishman—his religion has taught him to seek comfort; he speaks of nothing else. “Are you comfortable?”—that is the first question, and even the dead are placed comfortably in the bosom of the earth. Precious fabrics wrap the body; the coffin is like a small, well-painted dwelling, often covered with sheets of a precious metal.

Oh, country! Oh, customs! Long live France, where at least, in the supreme dwelling place of the dead, in their immediate enclosure, one does not ordinarily distinguish the rich from the poor. Capernaum, how long will you exalt yourself to the heavens?

It is not against England that I rail, but against the world in general—against myself, if ever I were to stray from the spirit of simplicity that I have embraced.

In short, to speak more plainly, some good has come from this excessive luxury suddenly collapsing. Labor and materials are now cheap. Money has become scarce because many names have been erased from commerce—names that today no longer hold credit. Many signatures have not withstood the test of the critical circumstances in which commerce has been placed.

[6]

Now I will give you, in no particular order, a few pieces of news that may interest you, just as my memory provides them. This hardly even deserves the name of “news.” Everything in New Zealand is monotonous; everything is sad. Those who can leave are abandoning it.

The time of great speculations is far behind us, except for some attempts to exploit a few mines. Almost no money remains. Undoubtedly, the climate is good, and the soil is moderately fertile, but this land cannot provide for the luxuries of its new inhabitants—it does not produce rum, tea, sugar, etc., etc.

[7]

I wrote a letter to Mr. Jackson, an English professor (in Lyon), in which I described or announced a massacre of whites by the Aboriginal people, who had been recklessly provoked. The scene took place near Claudy Bay. It seems to me that I wrote that several nobilities instead of notabilities had lost their lives. A minor detail, but I would like to be accurate. Nobilities are rare here.

[8]

We are expecting the new governor any day now. A new law in favour of religions will be drafted and sent to Europe for approval by the English government. The regulations established by the late Governor Captain Hobson and his council on this matter, as on many others, have not pleased the mother country.

[9]

In Auckland and its surroundings, I count nearly 400 white Catholics. Our chapel is almost too small. This year, there have been about 60 Easter communions, 11 children for their first communion, and 3 extreme unctions. Since January, 34 baptisms and 11 marriages, among which there were several mixed unions between Catholics and Protestants—unions that sometimes produce infidels. This record is in the hands of His Lordship.

As far as I can judge, the majority of the native population around Auckland is Protestant. Our school continues to bring us consolation. Many poor children attend, barefoot. Barefoot children in the capital of New Zealand! An English colony! And one sees much more than that—what would you say to the sight of many hungry stomachs?

The Catholics here can support their priests, and they do so, more or less. God wills that our subsistence depends on a weekly collection. I must provide for myself and my family—by which I mean the schoolmaster’s family. The school does not pay him. The government turns a deaf ear to our prayers; it either does not want to or cannot help.

Thus, I share my bread with an honest and pure family, like that of Lazarus. In any case, this is less a gift than a reward—I am entirely dependent on these good people. I do not even have a brother with me at the moment. That good brother, incidentally, despite all his other qualities, lacked prudence and discretion. That could not work in a school with 60 to 80 children sometimes attending Saint Patrick’s. His Lordship therefore deemed it best to remove him.

Since then, these good people who live near me prepare my meals, and a young man brings them to me. A young man, and no one else. I do everything else myself. I maintain my independence. You understand that these are English-style meals. However, they do everything they can for me—I have even taught them how to make soup and an omelet.

Truly, God had sent this devout family ahead of me. Their name is Henessy. They are perhaps the only family that could suit me. That’s settled. I now speak only English, except that, from time to time, I visit a Parisian lady—an honest woman who somehow found herself transplanted here. I do not know how; she simply had to follow her husband.

[10]

No doubt, it would take quite a bit of bloodletting to rid me of my French spirit and heart. Nevertheless, I am astonished to see myself becoming so English. In truth, I bear my isolation with philosophy. I would like to bear it better in Jesus and Mary.

Monsieur, or if you prefer, the Reverend Father is now accustomed to the habits of the city. However, his house is poorly sealed against the wind, and his clothes are worn out with age (since the arrival of Father Garin, I have received nothing from France). His hat, at the very least, is in dire need of a cleaner's hand.

[11]

Recently, I set out on a journey. For some time, I walked barefoot in the water over the stones. Nothing less than this journey could have pulled me out of this stay in Capua; but I was also running in search of four little lambs that I wished to bring into the fold of the sovereign shepherd.

Four little ones—what am I saying?—six (two white) baptized children, three communions among the whites, were the reward of my efforts. That is my entire harvest this year among the Māori. Truly, to borrow the language of the world, I have not had much luck. Ah, miserable wretch, I can clearly see what prevents me from having such luck—it is my sins, etc., etc.…

Nevertheless, to encourage my confrères in whatever task obedience assigns them, I will say that it seems to me I am ready to do whatever is asked of me. In truth, I do not know what I am good for—good for everything, and good for nothing. Give me as companions, fellow citizens, and tablemates the English, the Russians, the French—I am content. Truly, I feel no reluctance to do anything, even when it comes to kitchen service, etc.…

[12]

Although isolated in Auckland, I am, in a way, at the centre of communication. On one side, I reach out to the Bay of Islands, and on the other, by leaning just a little, I can almost embrace my confrères in the south. I receive the Sydney newspapers (gratis). I share with my dear friends the great news from the other world.

Oh, how we wept with joy and love while reading the newspaper extracts about Jesus crucified revealing Himself, as it were, to all of China with such splendour. Considering all the circumstances of the account, I have little doubt that it is perfectly true. If that is the case, we will have a great jubilee, I hope.

What can I say of the solicitude of good Father Forest, who, not content with having come to visit me, also writes to me from time to time? It has not been eight days since he sent me honey—yes, honey! First, the honey of spiritual consolations, and then the honey of bees. The small beehive I brought from Sydney last year is already the mother of four others; one swarm was lost, but the remaining four, along with the mother, are working admirably.

Please tell the new missionaries to come taste the honey of New Zealand—to hurry, otherwise, we will eat it all!

Oh! I blush at such verbosity; my letter will not even be worth the postage. In any case, please pass it along to my dear brother-in-law, Auguste Paillasson. He will learn and see that his friend and brother is still at the antipodes, happy and content.

[13]

Now, to speak of more serious matters, the Protestants, our erring brethren, do not give themselves any rest. Fortunately, the difficulties of the circumstances somewhat restrain their zeal. It is churches and yet more churches or chapels that are being planned and almost begun; it is newspapers in which pure Protestantism—of the established Church of England (I mean the church established by Elizabeth, the virgin queen, fifteen centuries after Jesus Christ)—hides itself and, from time to time, reveals itself, as if peeking out from behind a curtain.

Be that as it may, these kinds of newspapers, representing a particular opinion, have not yet managed to take root. One such newspaper has already failed. A little of the liberal spirit of the age, combined with the pressing necessity of a coalition of common interests in a young colony, has suppressed many divergent sentiments and smoothed over many divisions.

As for me, I would be quite wrong to complain. There is, in general, a great deal of respect for the ministry of the Catholic Church—Catholic in the true sense. I had to come to the ends of the earth to hear that the little Church of England, this tiny minority that counts barely six million members in the mother country, dares to challenge the Roman Church for the claim of catholicity. Some fathers and mothers instil these "truths" into their little children, and I have seen some of these little ones come to me and say: "You, you are a Roman Catholic; I am a Protestant Catholic."

From a purely human perspective, the natives must have great difficulty in recognizing and discerning the true Church, especially when they have been nurtured, raised, and sustained in errors—let us say more plainly, in hatred against the Catholic Church.

Here, I would challenge Protestantism. Let a traveller, a foreigner, go to a Protestant Māori, ask him about his religion and other matters, and he will quickly see that the disciples, the pupils of Protestantism, are a hundred times better instructed on the supposed cruelties of the Roman Church than on the first and fundamental truths that lead to salvation.

Recently, I spoke with a Māori who wanted explanations about the Roman Church. To all my arguments, he would reply: "Yes, but to which church does Victoria belong?"—Victoria was, for him, the ultimate criterion of truth. And further, he said to me, "There is a bishop in Jerusalem, and that bishop is English or Anglican, and Jerusalem comes before Rome. Jerusalem is the land of Jesus Christ..."

It is from heaven that the holy light must come. Oh, my Reverend Father, whom I have somewhat lost sight of in the course of this letter—how much these poor peoples are in need of it! We await their conversion from the mercy of God. It will be one of the noblest works of His grace.

I write these things not out of passion against my erring brethren—no, I could say, God is my witness, that I would shed abundant tears over their fate and would do more than that. But I say it to show the difficulty from a human perspective. I say it, guided only by love for the truth, by love for the peoples cut off from the life-giving tree of faith or who have not yet been grafted onto it.

It was love of truth that guided that Protestant (Captain Clayton is his name; he lived in New Zealand for a long time) who wrote from Fiji. Speaking of the island of Tahiti and other islands, he said: "The Protestant missionaries are only pioneers for the Catholic faith" (pardon the expression; it is word-for-word from the original English text, ‘pioneers’). "Everything turns toward the Roman religion. The Catholic missionaries know the art of doing good for a people and do not follow a stupid mechanical system." (This too is word-for-word from the English: "A humdrum mechanic system." See Southern Cross, a New Zealand Gazette, September 1843.)

[14]

My Reverend Father, I am beginning to bore you with my lengthy writings. I would never finish, especially if I were to recall all my dear confrères in Jesus and Mary—the dear Father Pupinel, to whom I almost owe a letter, Father Dubreul, but above all, the Most Reverend Father Girard.

My God, grant me the grace to be able to fulfil all my obligations. I find consolation in knowing that prayers are offered for me; without them, not only would I be powerless to support others, but I myself would fall a thousand times.

[15]

With profound respect,

My Most Reverend Father,

Your very humble and very obedient son in Jesus and Mary,

Jean-Baptiste Petit-Jean,

Marist Priest, Apostolic Missionary

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