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January 22 - February 2, 1843— Brother Claude-Marie (Jean-Claude Bertrand) to Jean-Claude Colin, Hokianga

According to the copy sent APM Z 208. Three sheets, "Weynen" paper, forming twelve pages, eleven of which are written, the twelfth bearing only the address and Poupinel's annotation. This letter was probably begun on January 22 and completed on February 2, 1843 (cf. § 1 and 20).

[p. 12] [Address]

To the Very Reverend Father Colin, ¤ Superior General of the Society of Mary, ¤ at the Pilata House, Montée St. Barthélemi ¤ Nº 4. in Lyon ¤ Rhône ¤ France

[In Poupinel's handwriting]

New Zealand ¤ February 2, 1843 ¤ Brother Claude Marie

[p. 1]: A(d) m(ajorem) D(ei) g(loriam) Very dear and Reverend Father Superior General,

[1]

For some time, I have been wishing to find a free moment to write to you and inform you of my spiritual and physical hardships; but I have been so pressed and overwhelmed with work until now that I could not do so sooner, and even now I take the time to fulfill this duty on the evening of the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany;^[1] otherwise, it would not be permitted to do so on a workday. About six months ago, I addressed a letter to dear Brother François,^[2] informing him of our situation in this country, but in a somewhat subdued manner because I feared causing him distress and that he might decide not to send any more brothers. But today, I have resolved to give you a clearer account as much as I am able so that you can see how we are being treated.

[2]

Yes, dear Father, I have no doubt that your heart will be moved, for I know too well how much you love us. I saw proof of this in a letter you kindly addressed to the fathers of the mission, in which you strongly and touchingly recommended us. However, it seems that some found reasons to dismiss this kind letter and took it as a license to harass us at every opportunity. I will not say, though, that all the fathers behave this way towards their brothers; no, fortunately, there are those who get along very well with their brothers, who do not disdain eating with them, and who, when they see their brothers somewhat burdened with work, kindly join their hands with those of the brothers and help them. Certainly, the brothers who are with such good fathers are to be envied, and their establishment is like an earthly paradise!

[3]

I have hardly known such happiness. In the early days when I was in Hokianga, I lived for three months with the good Father Baty alone; I got along very well with him, but he was replaced by Father Petit, who no longer treated me with the same consideration his predecessor had. From then on, I had to take up the spade and the hoe, dedicating all the time not spent in the kitchen to farming. This was very difficult for me, as I had no experience in this type of work. Six or seven months later, Father Servant succeeded him; I might have had a bit more respite under him, but since there was already some cleared land, he wanted it maintained, so my situation hardly improved. Nevertheless, as I wrote to you last year,^[3] we followed the rules to the letter, and everything was so well-ordered that one might have thought they were in one of our establishments in France. This was a great consolation to me, and on top of that, Father Servant was a gentle man who knew how to sympathize with human weakness but unfortunately, this time did not last long enough. Father Servant was sent to the tropics, to the island of Futuna, and Father Petit returned for the second time during Holy Week of 1842 to lead the mission at Hokianga, where he remains to this day.

[4]

My good father, how many hardships I have had to endure since then, up to this very day! How often have my tears flowed when I thought of the past and the sad but extremely difficult state in which I found myself, and in which I still remain! Hearing those severe reprimands, the fists pounded on the table, seeing that angry face expressing nothing but indignation, and all of this simply because I had not done some task exactly as he wished, because I served the potatoes a little cold, or the soup a little too salty, or some other small thing I missed without intending to. The slightest thing was enough to receive a scolding, and if, unfortunately, I tried to say something to justify myself, he would fly into a rage that made me tremble. One day, when I had served the potatoes a little cold, he reprimanded me in front of Father Grange in a way that I do not remember ever being reprimanded before in my life; he went so far as to say that I was disobedient, that I should be careful, that I would be damned, and that on Judgment Day, he would condemn me, etc. Oh, how deeply this response affected me; how many tears I shed thinking about that terrible threat. Another time, some local people asked me for permission to gather a few ears of corn in a field where the sheaves had already been taken away. I allowed them, and they gleaned a basket of ears, hoping to plant them for the next year. A few days later, Father Petit saw this corn in their possession and, after asking them who had given them permission to glean, he came up to the house and told me that I was stealing from the mission, that it was not my place to grant such permissions. In short, my dear father, I would never finish if I tried to enumerate, even briefly, all the unfortunate incidents I have had to endure almost daily with him, and besides, this narrative would become tedious. I do not think a brother could be treated more harshly than I have been; several times, when recounting my story to the dear brothers and even to the fathers, they were astonished and said to me: you must have an immense amount of patience; as for us, we could not bear so much. They merely express their sympathy for me.

[5]

About five months ago, at the urging of Fathers Grange and Rouleau, and Brother Augustin, I finally stopped sleeping in the kitchen, where the drafts from the chimney and the gaps in the planks could harm me and I moved, while Father Petit was away, into an unoccupied room where I was quite comfortable. But on All Saints' Day, Father became angry and ordered me to remove my bed from the room and return to sleep in the kitchen. I tried, as gently as possible, to explain that in the kitchen, I was like the natives, that there were too many fleas due to the natives, the dogs, the cats, and the heat from the fire, which caused them, that the drafts could harm me, and besides, no one else was occupying the room, so it shouldn't matter much if I slept there. He refused to listen to any reason and sent me back, saying that I was lounging in the room like a little master.

[6]

Another thing he forbade me that day, which caused me great distress, was this: Since I have been in New Zealand, I have not had a moment to learn the languages. I learned a little of the Māori language, that is, the language of the natives, by speaking with them as best I could, but I am far from mastering it. As for English, a language so necessary in this country, I do not know a word. I had begun to study it on my own, taking time in the evening after finishing my daily work. (Father Garin had permitted this.) And I was beginning to notice that I was making some progress when Father Petit, upon noticing this, forbade me to continue, saying that my only work should be cooking and farming. I was all the more mortified by this prohibition because, with a little more study, I could have avoided the ridicule of our English neighbours, who say to me: "When will you speak English with us? Always this Māori, always this Māori. Can't you see that it doesn't suit?" Mr. Poynton^[4] told me: "Are you lacking books? Come to my house, and I will lend you some, but learn English." A lady asked me how many years it would take me to speak her language. You can see how ashamed I am of not being able to speak to them. How much I would desire an order from you recommending that the fathers give the brothers some opportunities to learn a language without which one can do nothing in a country like this, where the English are swarming everywhere. I have often found myself alone in the house, with the fathers out on mission, and when Englishmen came for some business, they had to leave without being able to make themselves understood. Isn't it unpleasant?

[7]

If it were only bodily suffering that I had to endure, the pain would be half as great, but the soul also has its miseries, be sure of that. How many times have I been deprived of the joy of receiving Communion as a penance for my supposed faults! How many times have I approached the holy tribunal with fear and apprehension! Or I have delayed my confessions as long as possible, just as I am doing now; I only go every fifteen days, and I am almost resolved, as long as I remain with him, not to go at all, so much do I fear it. Often, I would like to receive the bread of the strong, but I do not dare, fearing afterward to be scolded.

[8]

No doubt, my most reverend father, you are horrified to see such laxity on one side and such harshness on the other. You might say to me: why do you not reveal all this to the provincial father who could remedy it? That is not my fault; I have not hidden anything from him. He was kind enough to respond to me, but I do not know how he managed things with Father Petit, for he is almost always the same toward me. I have done more; for fourteen months, I have been pleading for a transfer with the strongest and most touching terms to convey my sad situation, but unfortunately, my letters have always been fruitless, and no one listens to my supplications.

[9]

However, it is true that in August 1842, I received orders to leave for the Bay of Islands and then proceed to the establishment in Auckland, a place that seemed suitable for my health because there was not much to do: serving one father and tending a very small garden—this was all the work there was. (I had been assigned there by the Reverend Father Épalle before his departure for France.) But the morning I arrived at the Bay of Islands, another brother had already left to take my place. I therefore stayed for three weeks in the procurator’s house, quite happy to have escaped my labyrinth and enjoying the sweetness of religious life with the dear fathers and brothers, all united as one body and soul, edifying one another. But just as I was promising myself long days in this earthly paradise, I received one morning after breakfast the heart-wrenching news that I was to return to Hokianga because dear Brother Marie-Augustin, who was supposed to replace me, had just been appointed to the establishment in Wallis Island in the tropics. At this unexpected news, I was deeply troubled, to say the least. I began to recount to the Reverend Father Garin all my sufferings, both spiritual and physical, mixing a great abundance of tears with my words. I couldn't gain anything from it, and he replied that he didn’t know who could replace me, but that in the next dispatch, I would be replaced. I left with this assurance, but it has yet to happen.

[10]

Since then, I have written at least three letters to Father Garin, always informing him of my miseries and renewing my requests.^[5] I also had brothers speak to him on my behalf, and I received only the reply to be patient and submit to the will of Providence. In one letter, I received words that seemed somewhat sharp; he said that the time I spent in the Bay of Islands had only been a period of rest and that there were also tasks there that were not insignificant. Yes, I believe we are here to work, and it is necessary that, since it is so, we must work, but I want to say that at least the work should be proportioned: to the strong, more arduous tasks, and to the weak, something lighter. Furthermore, I do not wish to limit myself to the establishment in the Bay of Islands, since strong and robust brothers are needed there to endure hard and difficult labour, but I would prefer to be placed in a location where a brother, without being strong, can do his small tasks in peace; and the mission has no shortage of such establishments, especially in the tropical islands, where the neophytes do all the work, and the brother only needs to put a bit of order in the father’s affairs, and that is about it. I had asked His Grace during my stay at the Bay to go there, for I greatly desired it, but he paid little heed.

[11]

Shall I tell you plainly, my good father, and in two words: we are seen here in New Zealand as servants and even treated with more rigor than those who are hired in France. For if a master were to say something too harsh to his servant, the servant could reply: since you are not satisfied with me, I am sorry; but please find someone else who serves you better than I do; as for me, I leave you. But we, who are religious and bound by vows, cannot do that. Therefore, we must endure all that a father can tell you without even attempting to open your mouth to justify yourself. Otherwise, they ask you which school you attended.

[12]

The natives, who often witness these scenes, have a low opinion of us and call us by unflattering names like "taurekareka," "pononga," "kuki," etc.—slave, insignificant, cook. Those who stay at the house do not want to obey the brother or do so while hurling insults. We are not much better regarded by the white Europeans. When we bring the fathers to a white man's home, the father enters the house, and they give him the honours due to his dignity, but the poor brother, exhausted after rowing for four or five hours in the boat, often soaking wet either from sweat or rain, is forced to stay on the shore, without even a poor shelter to protect himself from the bad weather. The father is well-treated, while the brother is given only a few potatoes and a bit of pork or fish, insufficient to sustain himself.

[13]

I have encountered the Bishop on different occasions; he loves us, but the good Bishop listens to what the fathers tell him, and if a brother says something to him, he will turn the conversation into an exhortation to patience and the love we should have for the cross, and he will not be believed. (The reason of the strongest is always the best.)

[14]

I have written two letters to Reverend Father Forest, sharing some of my internal and external concerns with him, always hoping to see him so that I could discuss them in person, and I have received no response. I don't know why.

[15]

What can I say now about the spiritual? I almost don't know, my very reverend superior, where I stand. Trouble and distress have almost replaced the calm and peace that should reign in the heart of a child of Mary. Alas! Prayer, meditation, and the holy Mass are done with extreme lukewarmness; the particular examination and the Angelus, most often while walking; the same goes for my rosary and office, as best as I can; prayer, the meditation subject, and spiritual reading in the evening. Often, I am so exhausted from the day's work that I skip my office when I haven't had time to say it during the day; I say my evening prayer while working, and as soon as my work is finished, I go to bed; because here, the work of cultivation is so great that the whole day is occupied plus the necessary time to prepare meals. Even though I do what I can, I always see many things deteriorating due to a lack of time. I don't even have time to launder clothes as I am so pressured with the cultivation work. We have about six or seven acres of land surrounded by hedges. Well! Father Petit’s ambition is still not satisfied; he is planning to enclose a large expanse of land that would require four good workers to cultivate fully. But he needs to restrain himself. As for me, I am tired of so many grand projects; I tell you frankly, the more he undertakes, the less I will do because the sight of so much work, far from motivating me, discourages me. Let the father be angry, let him threaten to write to you, as I believe he has done by saying that I am disobedient, rebellious, etc., I will let him be, and after what I have told you in this letter, you will think what your wisdom inspires you to think.

[16]

I confess to you, my good father, that almost every day I feel great pains in my head and stomach caused by fatigue, no doubt about it, and this is what makes me so negligent in all my duties of piety. As I mentioned above, I confess every fifteen days; when another father is here or when I am transferred, I will confess every eight days. I receive communion twice a week. We do not follow a fixed rule; we perform all the exercises according to the time and circumstances.

[17]

That is quite enough, my dear father, I think. Oh yes! Your tender heart will undoubtedly be very saddened to learn of the great disunity that reigns between the fathers and brothers. That is what makes me say what a father once told me about the situation of the brothers, that some are treated like dogs are with cats. Forgive me for this expression. It is truly a deplorable thing. We hear with pleasure of the zeal of the dear brothers and their ardent desire to come on mission. If most of them knew what was happening here, I have no doubt they would not be so eager; for my part, if I had been able to foresee the fate that awaited me in New Zealand, I would have thought twice. ...

[18]

I beg you, very reverend father superior, to remedy these evils as best and as quickly as possible. Let the fathers attend to the spiritual plants; they will be much more pleasing to God. It pains me to see them somewhat neglected in favour of cultivating the physical ones. — Let the brothers cook, serve the fathers, since it is not deemed appropriate to have them teach catechism, as it has even been forbidden for me to say anything to the natives about religion. I would like to tend a small garden to help sustain the establishment, but to continually toil on the land every day without rest, without even having time to carry out spiritual exercises, is something I am sure you cannot approve. Among us, there are those who are strong and love cultivation; let them take care of the land. But do not force the weaker ones to the point of making them ill.

[19]

Alas! You see the sad state I am in, my dearly beloved father. O you, who have been so kind to me, you who think so often of us poor, neglected brothers in New Zealand, think of me in regard to my bodily needs, health, etc., but most of all, I implore you, oh! think of me in what concerns the welfare of my soul. See how much it [written in the margin and across] needs help. Tender father, do not forget it, recommend it to the prayers of the holy Society of Mary, but especially, during the holy sacrifices, kindly commend it to the One whom you have the sweet happiness of holding in your hands, and to good Mary.

Your poor brother in Jesus and Mary,

Brother Claude-Marie.

[20]

[written across] Hokianga, February 2, 1843.