Girard0306

17 January, 24 February, 4 and 10 March, 12 and 24 July 1844 - Father Joseph-André Chevron to his mother, brothers, and sisters, Tonga

Based on the dispatched copy, APM, Chevron file.

Four sheets of “Bath” paper, sewn with white thread, forming sixteen pages, fifteen of which are written; the sixteenth bears only the address.

[Address:] Monsieur A. Chevron - Nantua (Ain)

Jesus, Mary, Joseph

Tonga Island, 17 January 1844

My dear mother, my dear brothers and sisters,

[1]

Last November, through the Bishop of Amata, I received the letters you had entrusted to him. Without even having time to open a single one, I gave the French corvette Bucéphale a very short letter for you, merely to send you my greetings and tell you that I was still in this world. You all tell me of the pleasure and happiness Bishop Douarre's visit gave you. I can tell you that it gave me no less pleasure. The good bishop told me about his visit to Nantua and then to Bellegarde. It seemed to me that I was again present at your conversations, and so his passage here seemed like a dream. He remained here for only three days. With our dear confrères accompanying him and the commander of the corvette, we visited the island's principal chiefs. We attended one of the non-believers' great festivals, the club-fighting contest. On Sunday, 26 November, they departed for Wallis.

[2]

On the very day the corvette departed, an epidemic disease broke out on the island. It was a fever accompanied by violent coughing and headaches. What you told me in your letters about typhoid fever in France led me to believe that the illness had been brought by the ship. That became the public rumour here. We tried to suppress it, although we ourselves remained convinced of it. We cared for our patients as well as possible. With a restricted diet and a cauldron of orange-leaf infusion every day, we had only one death in our stronghold. In a neighbouring stronghold there were twenty-two. Everyone who followed our advice benefited. You see that we are becoming doctors here. I would almost say that, for the moment, we practise more medicine than missionary work. Without wishing to detract from their merits, the Wesleyan missionaries would be better at striking a fire, making a shoe, or letting out a sail than at evangelising peoples. They have, in the fullest sense of the expression, made these poor local people drunk with religion. Today they feel nothing but hatred for anyone who wishes to speak to them about religion. It was said long ago: est modus in rebus - there is moderation in all things. Ah, forgive me for speaking Latin, but Chevron and Alphonse will translate it for you.

[3]

By means of our remedies, which are always very harmless, we make some progress. When a favourable opportunity arises, we say a few words to them about religion. The restraint imposed upon us by circumstances is truly discouraging. Nevertheless, we are convinced that if we spoke frequently about religion, we would make the local people suspicious of us and lose our remaining hope that times will improve. Through our obliging conduct toward them and our patience - which, without wishing to flatter ourselves, will be carried as far as possible - we try to win their confidence. I believe that, in general, we have won as much of it as a white person can. But there is still a long way from that to conversion. Heresy on one side; on the other, the passions and disorders to which the young men in particular are accustomed; then the people's fear of the chiefs and a kind of human respect among the chiefs that is truly inconceivable here: everything combines to keep them in unbelief.

[4]

We are besieged by visitors from morning until evening whenever we are not making visits ourselves. The first kava begins after Mass, which is said at sunrise. This is the kava of the religious chiefs. It is repeated two, three, or four times, each kava taking half an hour. Then some sick person arrives carrying his root in his hand, or someone comes for a consultation, requiring one or two more rounds, and then another person arrives. Sometimes it is ten or eleven o'clock before we have been able to slip away and eat a few pieces of yam. We are fortunate if further visits or consultations do not delay us until noon. After a little recitation of the Office and study, often interrupted by visits or questions, we eat another piece of yam or banana at about one or two o'clock. We then go to visit sick people or chiefs. There we never fail to drink kava at least once or twice, unless we have already managed to avoid some kava at home. We then return to recite our Office, which is again often delayed by kava. After sunset there are prayers, and the local people ordinarily leave immediately. We do our spiritual reading and prayers and eat our small supper. We then attend the singing of hymns in some house, which once again never fails to be accompanied by kava. That is how an ordinary day passes when we are at home. On Sunday, Mass and instruction take place half an hour after sunrise, followed by a very long kava. At one o'clock there is the rosary, followed by kava at home or elsewhere. Among the religious chiefs, the kava is often accompanied by conversations and questions about religion. At sunset there are prayers and instruction. The rest proceeds as usual.

[5]

17 February. To tell you about our journeys, I regret that I cannot send you an accurate map of the island. I have one prepared by a French warship. The outline is fairly accurate, but the interior is unrecognisable. Pea, our stronghold, stands beside a large lagoon. It is situated in the middle of the island, though slightly toward the west, an hour and a half from the sea to the north and three-quarters of an hour from the sea to the south. To give you an idea of our journeys, I shall describe the one we made the day before yesterday to a Protestant stronghold, Hihifo, situated in the northwest of the island. This stronghold was converted by musket fire; the fear that caused its inhabitants to change sides still keeps them there. An English missionary lives there, whom we went to see on our first visit. During that first visit, we were received eagerly by all the people, who had not been forewarned, since the missionary had not imagined that we would have the courage to travel so far. On our second visit, we were poorly received and obliged to sleep in an abandoned hut upon a handful of grass we gathered there. This, I believe, was our fifth or sixth journey.

[6]

The day before yesterday, Thursday, Father Grange and I departed at eight in the morning, accompanied by two of our catechumens. Having suffered a kind of indigestion the previous night after eating small shellfish, I ate almost nothing. After an hour's walking we drank several coconuts, and half an hour later we were detained to drink kava in a house in the interior. I continued to drag myself along because I was weak, and after four hours' walking we reached the village. It is only three leagues away, but we were limping along beneath an almost vertical sun. A first and then a second visit earned me three cups of kava, which made me feel sick. God be praised, however, it went down all the same. I was exhausted. We visited the house of the relatives of one of our two catechumens, but they had gone to work far away. I had hoped to find something there, since it is where we ordinarily stay. This deprivation had to be added to the others. We visited four sick people who had come to Pea for remedies. There was kava, but nothing to eat. The wooden drum called the nafa then sounded, announcing the missionary's instruction, or rather the diatribe he continues to deliver against us. Meanwhile, we went to speak with a white man living near the stronghold. Several local people were at his house. He entered into a discussion about religion, and I spoke there for an hour. Thanks be to God, I reduced him to silence three times, amid loud laughter from the local people. Nevertheless, we parted as good friends. The sun was close to setting. We went to the seashore to recite Vespers, then visited a chief, where we drank another cup, still on an empty stomach. It appears that the missionary had recommended silence to him, and he observed it fairly well. It was night when we went briefly to speak with an American who had been brought by the French corvette and had been in the stronghold for several days. He spoke French and told us of his fasts and hardships. Then a young chief arrived with whom I had already had several discussions about religion. I believe many young men who have completed philosophy studies in France would be greatly embarrassed if they had to face him. He reasons well, knows the text of the Bible astonishingly well, and has read, or heard read, every foolish thing the Protestants say about the Catholic religion. That day he was somewhat calmer, but I still spoke for at least an hour. Everyone then withdrew, and we set out for the hut belonging to our usual hosts. It was nearly ten o'clock, and we had eaten absolutely nothing. A young man from Pea who had been in the stronghold for several days invited us to speak for a moment with his relatives. We accepted, hoping to find at least a few bananas. Seeing that we had eaten nothing, they roasted some bananas and grilled, or rather charred, a poor piece of pork obtained from I know not where. One banana about the size of an ordinary potato and a piece of this greasy pork charcoal constituted my breakfast and dinner. At last we withdrew to our hosts' house. They had learned of our arrival and had come to wait for us with food, but I was too tired to do it justice. I contented myself with drinking a coconut, eating a very small piece of yam, and a little shark. After talking for quite a long time, we said a short prayer and stretched out upon a mat in the middle of the hut, our heads tenderly resting upon pieces of wood. It was midnight. Fortunately, the mosquitoes were not numerous, and sleep prevented us from feeling them.

[7]

Yesterday morning, Friday, we set out again at daybreak. The grass along the paths was wet from rain during the night. Our breakfast was a coconut that we drank in the woods and whose flesh we ate. After two hard hours of walking, we reached a non-believing stronghold, Houma. We found the chiefs assembled for kava. It was repeated three times, and we found three mouthfuls of yam there. One of our religious chiefs whom we had gone to see was absent, so we resumed our journey. We were nevertheless obliged to drink another cup of kava at the house of an old sorceress, a priestess of the devil, whom I sometimes opposed. As was her custom, she received us very affectionately. She gave our two catechumens some pork, shark, and pieces of yam. None of it was appetising; it was what remained of the previous evening's supper. Nevertheless, we went and ate it an hour farther on beneath a coconut palm. We finally regained our stronghold with difficulty, arriving at noon beneath a burning sun and in a temperature of at least 25 degrees.

[8]

Saturday, 24 February. You can see from this date that my letter is not the work of a single day. This is at least the third time I have resumed it. I have my two journeys from this week to describe. They will give you a nearly complete understanding of our missionary life.

[9]

Eight days ago, the king of Ha'apai and Vava'u arrived on this island. These are two groups of islands to the north that form part of this archipelago. He is the pillar of Protestantism here. He planted it with his spear, watered it - unfortunately, not with his sweat - and maintained it and continues to maintain it through the terror of his name. I do not believe there has ever been a man in Europe who made a people tremble as this man makes the archipelago tremble. He has nothing to do on this island, but, having been called to assist the Wesleyan mission, he declared himself its protector. It is in that capacity, and also under the title of great missionary bestowed upon him by the Wesleyans, that he came to restore order among his flock, which generally does not share the missionaries' opinions. Everyone here thought his presence would intimidate us and that fear would keep us confined within our stronghold. They are now disillusioned. Everywhere people ask us in astonishment how we dared to speak to such a terrible man. We believed that a visit was necessary for the mission, and this is how it took place.

[10]

On Monday morning, Father Grange and I, accompanied by two catechumens, went to Nukuʻalofa, the principal Wesleyan residence. The chief of that stronghold was with the king of Ha'apai at the missionary's residence. We had our visit announced to them. They doubtless received their instructions before leaving. The king of Ha'apai withdrew to his own stronghold adjoining the one where we were. He had built it and left his catechists and some warriors there, doubtless to guard the trust committed to him by the Wesleyans. We spoke with the chief as usual and quite cheerfully. I challenged him a little about the rumours of war by France that the Wesleyans had circulated. We drank kava three times. Then, instead of visiting other chiefs in that stronghold as was our custom, we went directly to see our celebrated adversary. When we entered his stronghold, everyone was overcome with surprise. A crowd followed us to the chief's house. I saw a number of people armed with muskets, clubs, and axes. They were doubtless afraid of us, since we are continually called murderers, slave-makers, and so forth. The chief sat in his house surrounded by his devout followers. They withdrew to make way for us and pointed out the chief. I went to shake his hand and sit beside him. Our catechumen placed our kava root before him. He gave thanks and remained silent. Following the custom of the country, I thanked him for coming to the island. He murmured two words of thanks that I could scarcely understand. The missionary had doubtless recommended silence to him, and he remained faithful to the instruction. He also had his kava root brought to us and gave orders for it to be chewed. Everyone took his place. Everything was done in silence, but profound astonishment could be read on every face. At different times I addressed several questions to him, and he replied yes or no. We were drinking the second kava, and I could tell from his expression that it would be the last. I wished, however, to speak a little about religion. Through my questions, I finally forced him to leave his defensive position and ask questions himself. “Good,” I said to Father Grange, “the contest has begun.” He asked about my crucifix and whether it was not written, “You shall not carve images.” “That is true,” I told him. Turning to his people with a self-satisfied laugh, he said, “You see.” The immense circle that had formed outside the house for the kava then drew closer, everyone pressing forward to hear. It was not difficult for me to reduce him to silence three or four times. He is educated for a local man but remains far behind some Protestant catechists in Tonga. The discussion lasted a full hour. I slipped in several useful warnings and good lessons. After exchanging greetings once more, we departed. We limited our visits to that and returned to Pea.

[11]

Everyone there was surprised and almost afraid. Since that day, the most absurd rumours of war circulated among the local people to frighten them have only increased. At one moment, Ha'apai and Vava'u are supposedly coming to the aid of the Protestants here and massacring our stronghold. At another, four thousand French warships are supposedly coming to massacre the Protestants, convert the non-believers, carry them into slavery, and bring French settlers here. At still another, England is supposedly coming to drive us away. There are a thousand rumours, each more absurd than the last, yet they still arouse the hatred of some of the more credulous local people.

[12]

On Tuesday I rested a little. I had spoken for an hour and a half with our formidable adversary, then had been obliged to relate every detail of our journey to our catechumens and once again justify the sound of it. I was exhausted. I therefore rested while celebrating Shrove Tuesday - God knows how.

[13]

On Wednesday, I set out again with a catechumen for a journey through the eastern part of the island. After walking for an hour and a half, we - only the catechumen and I, since Father Grange is not yet strong enough to accompany me everywhere - reached a small non-believing stronghold, Folaha. We drank kava twice, ate a little, and resumed our journey beneath a burning sun. It was noon. The wind and the shade of the woods we encountered relieved us from time to time. After another hour's walking, we reached another small non-believing stronghold, Vaini. I visited the chief and then two sick people. After several cups of kava, we continued toward a small hamlet, Holonga, where we have about thirty catechumens. It was another hard hour's journey, but we no longer had the heat to complain of, and we arrived at half past five. As usual, we were eagerly received, but the warm welcome was not enough. Since morning, we had eaten only two poor bananas served with the kava at a sick person's house. When people gather for kava, the circle is always numerous. When the food or bananas that often accompany the kava root have been divided, each person's share is very small. I was dying from hunger and exhaustion. To console and encourage me, the chief began a long apology. He asked me to forgive them, saying they were suffering from famine and had absolutely nothing to cook; that they were subjected daily to the depredations of the neighbouring stronghold, which they obeyed - here, as formerly, the first to receive the Gospel are the poor - and that they no longer had the courage to work, and so forth. Fatigue prevented me from reflecting. I took his speech literally and submitted to the will of God, while mentally measuring the length of the evening, the night, and the following morning. Nevertheless, I said wholeheartedly, fiat, fiat - let it be done - hoping that several cups of kava would dull my hunger.

[14]

Let me tell you about this kava, which was prepared in a manner that fortunately is not encountered every day. At Wallis, apart from the chewing of the kava root, everything is done cleanly. Only those whose mouths and bodies are healthy are allowed to chew it. They never fail to rinse their mouths before chewing and wash their hands before mixing the chewed pulp with water. Here they are less than particular. It is often enough to turn one's stomach, but God be praised.

[15]

Among those chewing our kava was an epileptic who suffers a seizure about once a month, and sometimes, it is said, more frequently. It was he who mixed and prepared it, without washing his fingers, of course. They had not even taken the trouble to remove the soil from the roots; everything had been chewed together. Imagine a small, round wooden trough containing water that was neither exactly grey, yellow, nor black, as thick as though it had been used to scrub old furniture, with a layer of greasy saliva floating on top, the whole worked by hands that made one recoil, and you will have an idea of a bowl of kava. A child still occupied with picking at the wound of an enormous scrofulous sore covering his neck was summoned to serve as Ganymede. He took the cup from the hands of a two-year-old child who had covered his face with it, doubtless to conceal from me a repulsive disease that made his face hideous. It was in this cup that the kava was served to me and, to complete the misfortune, it had been made with seawater. The kava was repeated two or three times. We were about to say prayers when a catechumen arrived with a basket of food. I blessed Providence for it. We then said prayers, followed by an instruction. The evening passed as usual with kava, hymn singing, and questions about religion. We were about to retire when our host sent for the food he had ordered cooked upon our arrival. His apologies had been merely the customary formalities, but fatigue, hunger, and fear had caused me to take them as true statements.

[16]

The following day, after prayers and instruction, we drank kava as usual and departed for the neighbouring stronghold, Muʻa, one of the most populous. Our first visit was to the chief, a young man who ordinarily received us reasonably well. He was rather discourteous that day. Busy working on the roof of the house we had entered, he did not even come down to receive us. We spoke for several minutes with a local man and then departed. I suppressed the pain I felt deep within my soul without giving any outward sign, fearing that my words might cause trouble for the catechumens with whom I had spent the night, and also fearing that I might create a new obstacle to religion among a people who would damn themselves twenty times over rather than displease a chief.

[17]

Sunday, 25 February. We searched in vain for another chief who is called the king of the archipelago, before whom everyone appears to bow, but who, I believe, possesses little real power. We then visited three other chiefs. We escaped with only one cup of kava and departed at about noon, still fasting.

[18]

We walked for an hour and a half to reach the dwelling of an English sailor at Haʻangongo, hoping to find something there. Unfortunately, he had just left. Nevertheless, kava was prepared. We said that we were dying of hunger, and they immediately began preparing a small meal for us while awaiting the white man's return. The cooking did not take long. Several bananas were thrown upon hot coals. A child killed, plucked, and gutted an old rooster, held it over the fire, and left it there just long enough to blacken its skin. The meal was ready as soon as the kava; the entire process had taken no more than a quarter of an hour. The food was distributed. My share of the rooster was its still-bloody belly, barely warmed beyond its natural body heat, which it had not had time to lose. That portion and one banana were my dinner. On an ordinary journey, thus provisioned, we would have returned to our stronghold of Pea, which was still more than two hard leagues away. But I had promised our catechumens that I would rejoin them that evening to give them an instruction on baptism, for which several were preparing. They had prepared food for our arrival. We slept there and, the following day, returned to Pea after a fourth instruction and the kava.

[19]

Those are approximately our usual journeys, with their ordinary circumstances. There is a fourth journey that I make somewhat less frequently, about once every six or seven weeks. We travel there without stopping. I say nothing about the kava we may drink at two strongholds along our route to the easternmost part of the island. We have a little over five good hours of walking. We have several catechumens there, though few in number. When they are assembled, we say prayers and then speak with non-believers from the surrounding area, who never fail to visit us. The next day, we return along the seashore, visiting various Protestant and non-believing villages, including the stronghold of Muʻa, where I told you we were so poorly received by a young chief. We have four hours of walking over sand there, with several cups of kava to refresh us. After making several visits in the large stronghold, we return to sleep and give instruction among our catechumens, who always take care to have the epileptic chew the kava.

[Author's marginal note:] See on the map the place marked with a cross, X. These are scattered huts.

You can see that our journeys are not always the most cheerful part of our work, but they provide a diversion from the monotonous life at our residence. Encounters along the road with local people, with whom we begin conversations beneath a coconut palm, and the small discussions with heretics and non-believers, when we can have them, provide some distraction.

[20]

Were it not for the goodness of God, which can transform the sharpest thorns into roses, I believe our life would truly be unbearable. But He who so visibly cares for our bodies cares no less for our souls. The only sorrow to which the good God leaves us sensitive is seeing so many souls perish despite all the help brought to them from so far away. I confess that this sorrow is painful. There are moments when one cannot help experiencing the Apostle's feeling and saying that life is truly burdensome.

[21]

Tuesday, 4 March. Since completing the line above, I have made two journeys: always kava, always suffocating heat. For two days the Réaumur thermometer stood at 26 or 27 degrees. It truly seems as though one's body is going to dissolve into water; one is continually drenched in sweat. Our discussion with the king of Ha'apai appears to have produced a good effect. He departed eight days ago, but yesterday his people received us better than usual. May the good God bring them back soon, for ours is a sad task: always discussing and arguing with people who are often incapable of following a sustained line of reasoning. It is truly distasteful, but it is God's will for us. May it always and everywhere be accomplished.

[22]

Sunday, 10 March. At last I can breathe for a moment. I shall continue this letter until a visitor or some matter arrives in a moment. We have had a very difficult but very consoling week. Last Thursday we held a baptism, both adults and children, forty people in all. In passing, to answer one of your questions, I shall tell you that our chapel was beautiful. It was decorated with the best things we possessed. I believe that at least half the repositories used in France on Holy Thursday are less well decorated than our altar on major feast days. I hope there will always be good souls who send us fabrics and draperies so that we may continue decorating it so well. The church was full, and a crowd pressed outside to watch. The ceremony lasted nearly two hours. It was followed by Mass and the marriage of ten of the newly baptized. Then came the public breakfast. We had thought it necessary to recommend that they hold no feast that day and limit themselves to what was necessary. Even so, twenty-seven roasted pigs were spread out upon the mats. Our own share was three large roasted pigs, without counting the chickens. Do not be scandalised by such a breakfast during Lent. Humanly speaking, I do not believe that those who observe fasting and abstinence most rigorously in Europe would exchange their single meal for ours. We have not yet been able to speak to them about Lent; their life is a perpetual and rigorous fast. In the evening we held a very attractive Benediction, at least for this country. Lanterns had been erected with at least sixty lights. On other occasions we have had as many as eighty. After the instruction, I gave Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.

[23]

I am now continuing daily instructions in preparation for the First Communion, which will take place next Sunday. All these ceremonies, which we take care to explain to our catechumens, affect them deeply. They also make a great impression upon the non-believers. It would be desirable for us always to be able to make them splendid. For the local people, this is more moving preaching than the finest sermons, which we are unable to deliver to them. At Wallis and Futuna, I was obliged to remain silent for a long time because I was not yet capable of following a conversation. Today I am making up for it abundantly. It must be admitted, however, that such frequent instructions, added to unceasing conversations, become tiring. But God be praised: eternity is long enough for rest. May each of my words earn merit.

[24]

I have often told you of the great difficulties we experience on every side and of the small number of our catechumens. But I must also say that consolations are not lacking, especially when the non-believers are compared with those who have received baptism from us. God grant that their number may increase each day and that the entire island may one day profess Catholicism. Until now, our catechumens have remained good and fervent Christians. Some scarcely allow a month to pass without approaching the sacraments, and none fail to do so on a major feast. If I listened to them, they would approach every Sunday. But in this, as in everything, oportet sapere ad sobrietatem - one must exercise sober judgment. I greatly regret that I cannot yet establish schools and place books in their hands. In this, as in everything else, may God's will be done. Their great devotion to the Blessed Virgin gives us hope that she who crushed the serpent's head will drive Protestantism from these islands and win this archipelago for the Catholic faith.

[25]

12 July. It has been a very long time since I was able to add a few words to this letter. We have been very busy because of the arrival of two ships. Their arrival occasioned the circulation of a thousand rumours among the local people, each more false and absurd than the last. This manoeuvre by the heretics obliged us to make more frequent journeys to counteract the bad impressions these lies had produced. In announcing the French occupation of the Marquesas Islands and Tahiti, the English missionaries proclaimed the imminent arrival first of five, then fifty, and finally five hundred French warships. These were supposedly coming to do here what had been done in Tahiti: drive away the missionaries, make Catholics of the heretics and non-believers, kill some, carry the others into slavery, and employ those who remained in fattening pigs and planting yams to be taken to France. Doubtless to lend greater credibility to these rumours, public fasts and prayers were ordered, imploring God to keep the French fleet away from these shores, and so forth. Through repeated explanations and visits, we finally succeeded in correcting, at least in part, the chiefs' mistaken beliefs.

[26]

Recently I attempted something that succeeded beyond my expectations: training several of our young catechumens to sing a hymn in two parts. The first we performed was a translation of a hymn for the Elevation or Benediction beginning with the words, “Honour, honour, honour to the divine Redeemer,” using the melody sung in France. This hymn, sung during Benediction, made a great impression upon the non-believers. You know that I am not a great musician. Nevertheless, if a Father who knew music were to arrive one day, I believe he could form a choir capable of enchanting the local people and even astonishing the Europeans who visit us. I think you will read this hymn with pleasure, since it will give you some idea of our language. Remember that every letter is pronounced as in Latin; u is pronounced “oo”; h is aspirated as strongly as possible; and g, which is always hard and very nasal, is pronounced like “gu” before e. You can produce this g only by imagining that it is always preceded by n - ng. The letter s is pronounced ts.

[27]

1. Ofa, ofa, ofa ki hetui Sesu,

he ene afio mooni, isii eukalisia

ke tau kalaga oki: ofa ki hetui Sesu etc.

2. Malo! malo, malo, isiono ofa

Ko ene fakapuli heni ene afio, mafimafi

Ke tau moui ai; malo isiono ofa, etc.

3. Sesu, Sesu, Sesu alo ofa mai

ki he haunaga masiva

oku tagi i sio ao

fakamole ene hia, Sesu, alo ofa mai.

4. Ofa, ofa, ofa, keu vave atu

o mamata tonu i selo, kihoo kololia lahi

oku fakapuli heni, ofa keu vave atu.

[28]

Here is the translation:

1. Love, love, love for King Jesus, whose majesty truly resides in the Eucharist. Let us therefore sing: love for King Jesus.

2. Let us thank Him - three times - for His love. He conceals His almighty majesty here only so that we may live. Let us thank Him for His love.

3. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, have pity upon the poor servant who pleads here in Your presence. Forgive his sins. Jesus, have pity upon me.

4. God grant - three times - that I may soon go to You, to behold unveiled in heaven Your very great glory, which You conceal here. God grant that I may soon go to You.

[29]

24 July. At last I must finish this letter, begun so long ago. Bishop Bataillon has been here for several days. He arrived on the eleventh with three Fathers, but until now I have been so busy that I could not find a single minute. Last Saturday we held a baptism involving twenty-six people. I received the flowers sent to the Bishop of Amata. Please thank Madame Brachet and the other people who were kind enough to send them. Also thank everyone who contributed the various objects contained in the two packages received by the same route. Do not forget to thank those who kindly joined the association of prayer that I mentioned in my first letters. I believe they will understand the value of this good work only on the day they receive its reward. Besides Wednesday's Mass, which is offered entirely for them, I cannot forget them for a single day at the Holy Sacrifice. Remember me particularly to the good Sisters of Saint Clare. My mind is so filled with the thousand and one matters that occupied me during these past few days that I truly do not know what I am telling you. The obstacles hell raises against us each day have doubled again recently. Nevertheless, last Sunday we had the consolation of enrolling forty-six people among the catechumens.

[30]

You urged me so strongly to conceal nothing from you concerning my health that I do not believe I can remain silent about an illness I experienced last month, but from which, thanks be to God, I have completely recovered. For three weeks I was in a condition similar to that in which I found myself in France at the time of my serious illness, except for the pain. I did not suffer, but I was so weak that I could scarcely walk. Everyone believed I was lost. They did not even conceal it from me, and I believed it myself. I had already put my few affairs in order, and my sacrifice had been made. Nevertheless, it pleased God to restore my little measure of health once more. Today I am as strong as ever, despite the journeys, instructions, and occupations that have overwhelmed me since His Lordship's arrival.

[31]

If charitable people offer you anything further for our missions, please accept it, thank them, and send it here.

[32]

Please give me detailed news of each of you. If you could send me a small book - I believe you will find it among those I left behind - entitled Airs des cantiques de Saint-Sulpice, set to music for several voices, it would give me pleasure. The flowers make a very fine impression here. If some skilful hand were charitable enough to devote a few moments to work so useful for decorating our chapels and, through that, for the salvation of souls, assure those concerned of their reward in heaven.

[33]

I cannot address a word to each of you, but please believe that I forget no one and that every one of you is present by name in my thoughts each day, and several times a day. Proof that I scarcely know what I am doing is that I have not even followed the pagination of this sheet. I am obliged to finish here. Please convey my respect and affection first to all members of the family, then to all my oldest friends: Monsieur and Madame Brachet, Monsieur Debelay, Monsieur Berrod, Monsieur Bourlot, the parish priests of Châtillon and Arlod, and so forth; the inhabitants of Montanges, not forgetting Marie, my wet nurse, Aimé Baroudel, and the others; Madame Vaudel and her family; Messrs Humbert and Ducret, and so forth.

[34]

I am sincerely very sorry that I cannot write a letter to each of you. I should like to receive news of every nephew and niece.

[35]

I shall spend the night returning to this letter if I can find another moment. I embrace you all while impatiently awaiting the moment that will unite us all in heaven. Entirely yours,

Joseph Chevron