Black Robe

“We’re not colonizing the Savages. They’re colonizing us.” 

The interplay between the two vastly different cultures is an important theme in the book. Though the French are wealthier, more powerful, and more technologically advanced, they are not sure of their position. As two bureaucrats drink and sneer at the local people, they are fearful that this way of life is corrupting the French people who come. Though the French are evidently the colonizing force, there is a worry that they are surrendering a part of themselves to “the Savages” simply by being in this part of the world. 

“In the past two years, living in the residence at Québec, every waking moment had been a preparation for this day […] beseeching Saint Joseph and the Virgin to intercede on his behalf and grant him the honor of some greater danger in a lonely place.” 

Laforgue’s motivations are beginning to become clear. He is not just a priest; his mother has told him that he is destined for great things. Thus, he travels into the unknown willingly, hoping that he will be able to preach the word of God and—perhaps—be martyred in the cause. It suggests that his belief in God is resolute and that he does not fear dying, knowing that his actions will lead to him being remembered and possibly beatified. 

“A dream is more real than death or battle.” 

The cultural differences between the French colonizers and the local peoples have been stark thus far, but there are more similarities than might seem apparent. Laforgue’s mother, for instance, has a vision that her son will be a figure to rank alongside Joan of Arc. Though the Europeans might see themselves as more civilized than those they meet in the New World, they are just as beholden to their dreams and visions. The vision of Laforgue’s mother and the dream of Neehatin are given equal weight; the cultures—though different—treat these dreams and visions with similar reverence. 

“He moved his head a little, peering in, not wanting to miss the next thrust of the boy’s loins.” 

Waking in the night, Laforgue comes across Daniel and one of the local women having sex in the forest. He knows he should be disgusted and disapproving but he cannot bring himself to look away. Despite the religion he preaches and the books he has studied, Laforgue finds himself confronted with a scene of lust and cannot look away. This moment embodies the hypocrisy of Laforgue’s faith: He is fascinated by what he knows to be wrong, forced to reconcile his friendship with Daniel and the realities of his mission with the teachings of his religion.

“Methodically, as though he used a flail on wheat, he scourged his back, lash after lash, as blood spilt into the folds of his lowered robe, until his flayed back was purpled as the sky above.” 

Laforgue has succumb to a shameful act and the only way he knows of seeking penance is to punish himself. Amid the Frenchman’s descriptions of the brutal customs of “the Savages,” this act of bloody self-flagellation is the most violent image thus far in the book. The shame felt by the priest, who has relented to his sexual desire, would not be understood by the Algonkin. Indeed, they might view the priest whipping himself until he bleeds to be a savage and senseless act. Again, the contrast between the two cultures is highlighted, the text illustrating that the traditional notions of savage and civilized might not be as accurate as previously thought. 

“They are cunning and prey on the people’s ignorance.” 

These words—written by Father Brabant to warn Laforgue—ring with a certain irony. The description of the sorcerer does not seem entirely different from the description of a priest. Both perform similar roles in their respective societies, providing spiritual guidance for those in distress. Due to the unfamiliarity with the Algonkin culture, it is the sorcerers who appear strange and demonic to Laforgue, who seems unaware that his own customs and beliefs are considered strange and demonic by the people that he meets in the New World. 

“And as he did, his laughter changed to tears.” 

After being lost out in the woods, Laforgue comes to understand the extent of his utter helplessness. Without the help of the Algonkin, he is not even able to walk a few minutes in the woods without endangering his own life. Rather than praying or turning to God, he became desperate and, in his desperation, called out for the help of the Savages. As he laughs and then cries, the fragility of Laforgue’s existence is beginning to become apparent to him. The true scale of the task ahead is becoming clear. 

“All around him were smiling faces and a noise of shouting, laughter, foul banter.”

The more time Laforgue spends with the Algonkin, the more he is able to discern the moral framework of their existence. When he first met them, he thought them little more than chaotic, godless savages. Now, he is beginning to see the social structures that exist in their society. The way they celebrate a successful hunt, for example, is authentically joyous and not dissimilar to festivities he knows from Europe. Likewise, his time without a proper meal has taught him to appreciate the half-cooked meat exactly as the Algonkin do. The more time Laforgue spends in their company, they less he thinks of them as uncivilized heathens. 

“A sick man on a sled is heavy baggage.” 

Neehatin tells the feverish Laforgue that, if the priest is too sick to travel, he will be killed. Laforgue is beginning to see everything he knows or valued slipping away. His health is failing him, Daniel is succumbing to the Algonkin way of life, and the promise that he made to travel along the river might never be realized. In this godless land, his faith is being put to the test. When Neehatin informs Laforgue that he will be killed if he falls sick, it is the first vocalization of the Laforgue’s private worries: This land is killing him, and he is in way over his head. 

“‘This is shit,’ Neehatin said, and laughed to show that he was not angry.” 

Little moments such as this demonstrate the cultural differences found among the Algonkin people. Though the people insult and mock one another ceaselessly, there is rarely any depth to their comments. Instead, these actions help to fortify social bonds and are an example of socialization. Neehatin takes care to show that he is not angry; his cavalier approach to leadership is expected and appreciated by those around him, though it would seem strange to the Europeans. Moments such as this demonstrate the differences between the cultures but help to indicate that neither is necessarily right. 

“And it was then that she knew she could not give him up.” 

The more time Annuka spends with Daniel, the more she falls in love. Even after the Algonkin have tried to abandon the priests at the foot of the rapids, she feels herself drawn to Daniel as he chases after her. Though her father forbids it, though she knows that the relationship is seemingly doomed, she still envisages a future where she and Daniel are together. She tries to rationalize this, explaining that Daniel’s musket skills make him a good hunter and a sensible choice. In truth, she is simply enamored in such a way that the romance seems set to end in tragedy. 

“And then, to his horror, Laforgue saw the child hacked to pieces with hatchets, its bloodied limbs thrown in to a cooking kettle.” 

After spending so much time with the Algonkin and learning more of their culture, Laforgue had slowly begun to shift in his opinion that the local people were little more than godless savages. However, when captured by the Iroquois, he finds that his worst expectations are confirmed. They are torturers and cannibals, slitting the throat of Chomina’s son and placing his flesh in their cooking kettles. This reveals the depth of difference between the various peoples of the New World; while some are moral and friendly, like the Algonkin, others are more savage, like the Iroquois. Laforgue must stop viewing all of the local peoples as the same and learn that this new world is far more complex and complicated than he might have expected. 

“Why would I want to go to a paradise where there are none of my people?” 

This admission by Chomina is deceptively complex. When Laforgue offers to baptize his fellow prisoners, he is doing so because he believes that it is their only opportunity to enter paradise. Laforgue believes that the Algonkin afterlife is a lie. However, Chomina is willing to accept the priest’s beliefs as being true, he just does not believe that they are mutually exclusive. Chomina seems to believe various religious afterlives can exist simultaneously, and the reason why he does not subscribe to the Christian version is because his fellow Algonkin will not be there. Whereas the monotheistic Jesuits are not open to new ideas, the Algonkin are far more accepting of new and strange beliefs. This is a key difference between the cultures, one that reveals an added depth to the locals’ beliefs that is not available to the Europeans. 

“They have secret ceremonies in which they eat little pieces of this fucking corpse.” 

In another example of two cultures misunderstanding each other, the Iroquois provide their own explanation of the communion and transubstantiation. In a literal sense, what they say is true as it pertains to Catholic doctrine: The communion transforms into the body of Christ when placed into a person’s mouth. However, devoid of context and ceremony, it sounds as much like cannibalism as what the Iroquois themselves practice. 

“You are not as stupid as you look, Nicanis.” 

After escaping the Iroquois, Chomina has developed a begrudging respect for Laforgue. The priest has used cunning, deceiving Chomina in an unexpected fashion and even threatening the man with a hatchet. This kind of behavior is understandable to the Algonkin man; it is not sorcery or religion, but pure survival instinct. The two are forming a cross-cultural bond that defies their different backgrounds. 

“What has happened to me? Why do I no longer pray?”

As Chomina and Laforgue discuss the merits of their respective afterlives, Laforgue notices that he has been changed by his journey. Shorn of all his religious paraphernalia, of all the items that priests use to practice religion, Laforgue is left with only his raw, unfettered belief. As he sits next to the dying Chomina, he begins to realize that he no longer prays. While he still believes, the journey has altered his actions and his mannerisms. Religion, from this point on, will mean something different to Laforgue. 

“Daniel looked at Laforgue and said, in French, ‘Tell her yes.’” 

As the relationship between Laforgue, Daniel, and Annuka becomes increasingly perilous, the switch between languages represents how the characters manipulate trust. Daniel pleads with Laforgue to tell Annuka that she will be able to life as his wife, even if Laforgue does not believe it to be true. He asks in French because he does not want Annuka to know that Laforgue may be lying. In this moment, this hides information from Annuka and compels Laforgue to break his moral code, lying to the unsuspecting girl. By switching between languages, the characters can disguise their true thoughts and compel others to compromise their morals. 

“‘Shit,’ Casson said to himself. He was a Huguenot.” 

When they meet the fur traders, Casson’s aggressive attitude to a person of a different form of Christianity mirrors the Iroquois aggression toward the Algonkin. To the local people, a Huguenot and a Jesuit might as well be the same; their beliefs as so similar as to be practically alike. To the Huguenot and the Jesuit, however, they could not be more different. The same is true for the Christians’ appraisal of the local customs and beliefs; the Europeans are unable to differentiate between the beliefs of the Algonkin, the Iroquois, and the Allumette. 

“The dead. There are many here. There has been a sickness.” 

Though the three travelers have nearly reached their destination, Annuka reveals a final threat right when they are within touching distance of their goal. They have heard talk of the sickness, but the extent of the death and suffering is not apparent. As they spend the night in the ghost camp, only Annuka is attuned to the problem: They are heading into a land of the dead and are not likely to survive. 

“On either side of Laforgue the dwellings seemed deserted, but wisps of smoke from the openings in the roofs of the habitations warned him that he was being watched.” 

As Laforgue walks into the Huron town, he fulfils Neehatin’s vision. However, the interpretation of the dream did not provide the full context and understanding of what was happening; the dream did not talk about a sickness or the Huron watching from their homes or Annuka and Daniel following Laforgue on foot. Much like the problem in examining a culture without a full understanding, Neehatin was only able to understand a small part of the dream, which functions as a metaphor for many of the book’s most prevalent themes. 

“But somehow no words of thanks came to his mind, no prayer of gratitude passed his lips.” 

A miraculous eclipse has saved the priests. Though it might have truly been chance or happenstance, Jerome is able to seize on the sudden darkening of the sky as evidence that the Jesuits’ God is the one true God. While the Huron seem (at least temporarily) convinced, Laforgue is not. His crisis of faith is preventing him from interpreting the act as anything else than an “accident of nature” (149). The journey along the river has ended with him beginning to question his faith and his entire motivation for undertaking the mission. 

“God did not choose me to be a martyr. He knows that I am unworthy of that fate.” 

For most of his life, Laforgue has been raised with the dream of becoming a martyr of the Christian church. His mother compared him to Joan of Arc and Laforgue was motivated to come to the New World by the prospect of dying in the act of converting the Savages in the unknown lands. Now that he has arrived and has an audience of potential converts, he sees the reality of the situation. His crisis of faith makes him an unworthy martyr; the entire reason for his being is gone and his journey has been in vain. 

“If we do these things and if we give up our belief in the dream, then the Huron life, the way we have always known, will end for us.” 

In the final chapter, the old Huron man sums up why the prospect of conversion is not appealing for the people of the New World. To them, Christianity is an existential threat. As much as the sickness, the new religion demands so great a change that the people will be unrecognizable. The Huron will be exterminated; the people themselves may live on, but the culture and the way of life will die. This is as much a tragedy as the death of the people themselves.