"Jesous Ahatonhia": Brébeuf's Wendat Nativity as a Lesson in Cross-Cultural Storytelling

I don't know about you, but I find it easy to take for granted just how widespread Christmas is as a holiday. There are websites and infographics devoted entirely to how it is celebrated all over the world: the music, the food, the specific person who brings presents to the good children or punishment to the bad. Even places and cultures that were not historically Christian - nor subject to widespread European colonization - seem to have gotten in on the action by now.

And nowhere is that clearer, I think, than in global versions of the Nativity. Every year, for instance, the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. puts together a curated display of just some of its hundreds of crèches - figurines depicting the Nativity scene - from all around the world. And while many of these sets have the conventional figures and features many of us will have come to expect, others offer a more culturally-specific rendition, with subtle changes to the characters' faces, dress, or belongings (such as the gifts from the Magi) in order to reflect the norms of the people who made and used them.

It all looks incredibly fascinating, especially for someone living in a multicultural city and country like me. However, in this day and age, when global mass media and the Internet make cultural exchange and linguistic translation as simple as a click on a browser or a scan with a phone app, it's hard to remember that, for many years, it wasn't so easy.

For instance, how would you tell the story of the Nativity to someone from a different culture?

Nowadays, it might seem like an easy task: every language and culture everywhere appears to have the words and images to tell the story of the Nativity. But that's simply not true. In fact, many cultures come from an entirely different context - not just social, but geographical - than the "Old World" one from which Christianity originated. In other words: this is not just a case of a different language, or a different set of religious and/or spiritual beliefs - although those are true as well. This is also about parts of the world where many of the key details of the nativity - the angels; the shepherds; the stable with its manger; the gold, frankincense and myrrh - simply do not exist.

That was exactly the challenge faced by the 17th century French Jesuit missionaries who came to what is now southern Ontario and Québec. Their task - to convert the First Nations peoples they encountered to Christianity as part of a broader colonization project - will doubtless leave a bad taste in most Canadians' mouths now; I see no reason to shy away from that. However, that being said, the second of my personal adages when looking at history (I already discussed the first in this earlier post) is that "Context matters." In other words: we need to look at the actions of people from the past through the lens of their original social, cultural and moral/ethical codes rather than our own.

And if I do that with the approach that those Jesuits took - particularly one Jean de Brébeuf's Christmas carol, "Jesous Ahatonhia" - I think that there are valuable lessons here for our modern globalized world.

"Jesous Ahatonhia" - Not the "Huron Carol"

Illustration from An Aboriginal Carol (c) Moses Beaver (Oji-Cree artist)

Perhaps, some of you will have already heard of the "Huron Carol" (a.k.a. "Twas in the Moon of Wintertime"). It's a classic Canadian Christmas carol, with roots said to go back to a piece composed by Brébeuf during his years working as a Jesuit missionary among the Wendat people (called the "Huron" by the French - hence the name - and now known as the Huron Wendat) in the first half of the 17th century. And, in the traditional English lyrics, composed by Jesse Edgar Middleton in 1927, we do, in fact, find a version of the Nativity story told within an Eastern Woodlands First Nation context (performed in the video below by The Five Fifths):

'Twas in the moon of winter time,

When all the birds had fled,

That mighty Gitchi Manitou

Sent angel choirs instead;

Before their light the stars grew dim,

And wond'ring hunters heard the hymn:

[Refrain]: Jesus your king is born!

Jesus is born: "In excelsis gloria!"

Within a lodge of broken bark

The tender babe was found,

A raged robe of rabbit skin

Enrapped his beauty 'round;

And as the hunter braves drew nigh,

The angel song rang loud and high:

[Refrain]

The earliest moon of winter time

Is not so round and fair

As was the ring of glory on

The helpless infant there.

The chiefs from far before him knelt

With gifts of fox and beaver pelt:

[Refrain]

O children of the forest free,

O sons of Manitou;

The holy child of earth and heaven

Is born today for you.

Come kneel before the radiant Boy,

Who brings you beauty, peace, and joy:

[Refrain]

Illustration from The Huron Carol (c) Ian Wallace

At face value, it all seems like a quite straightforward transfer of the Nativity story from one cultural context to another: hunters for shepherds; "a lodge of broken bark" for the stable; "gifts of fox and beaver pelt" for the gold, frankincense and myrrh. So, given that, it's natural that many people who hear the "Huron Carol" probably assume that it's a direct translation of Brébeuf's Wendat-language text.

Except it isn't.

Honestly, there are going to be others out there who are far more knowledgeable about this than me, but what I can say is that most of the cultural allusions in Middleton's lyrics don't match what is known of the Wendat culture of the time. Instead, he seems to draw more off a combination of the "Noble Savage" stereotype and images that, from my own admittedly museum-based (rather than firsthand) experience, seem more reminiscent of Anishinaabeg cultures: the reference to Gitchi Manitou as a name for God; the presence of hunters as opposed to farmers (which is what the Wendat predominantly were); a small bark-covered shelter evoking a wigwam more than a longhouse; and the coat made of woven strips of rabbit or hare skin (see image right for an adult-sized version from the Royal Ontario Museum).

This is not to say the the "Huron Carol" doesn't bear cultural significance in its own right; after all, the argument that it is a distinctly Canadian Christmas carol still holds true. However, to say that this piece holds the version of the Nativity story that Brébeuf developed would be a mistake. That, it turns out, is a very different tale - and the one I want to focus on.

"Jesous Ahatonhia": The Wendat Nativity

Given the massive discrepancy in the lyrics, it's worth examining whether Middleton's "Huron Carol" actually is Brébeuf's composition at all. 

The short answer? Yes and no.

Yes, because ultimately, the melody shows us that we are speaking of the same piece. "Jesous Ahatonhia", Brébeuf's original composition, used a variation of a pre-existing French song, "Une Jeune Fillette" (a.k.a "Une Jeune Pucelle" - see video below for a snippet from the French film Tous les matins du monde). And even if the notes are different, you can hopefully hear some of the similarities in the general melodic arc and the chord progression.

However, that being said, there is reasonable argument that we are still dealing with two different songs because the lyrics - and, by extension, the message behind them - are vastly different. For one thing, Middleton simply sought to write a set of English lyrics that could match the melody; it was never, in fact, intended to be a translation of Brébeuf's original Wendat version (a romanization of the first verse below). 

Estennialon de tsonwe

Jesous ahatonhia

Onnawatewa d' oki

n' onwandaskwaentak

Ennonchien skwatrihotat

n' onwandilonrachatha

Jesous ahatonhia, Jesous ahatonhia.

In other words, we cannot find Brébeuf's message in Middleton's version of all. Instead, for that, we can look to a literal translation put together by John Steckley Teondecheron, a Canadian scholar who speaks the Wendat language (explainers where relevant in brackets):

Have courage, you who are humans; Jesus, he is born

Behold, the spirit, who had us as prisoners, has fled

Do not listen to it, as it corrupts the spirits of our minds

Jesus, he is born

They are spirits, sky people, coming with a message for us

They are coming to say, "Be on top of life [Rejoice]"

Marie, she has just given birth. Rejoice"

Jesus, he is born  

Three have left for such, those who are elders  

Tichion, a star that has just appeared on the horizon leads them there  

He will seize the path, he who leads them there  

Jesus, he is born

As they arrived there, where he was born, Jesus

the star was at the point of stopping, not far past it

Having found someone for them, he says, "Come here!"

Jesus, he is born

Behold, they have arrived there and have seen Jesus,

They made a name [praised him] many times, saying "Hurray, he is good in nature"

They greased his scalp many times [greeted him with reverence], saying 'Hurray'

Jesus, he is born

"We will give to him praise for his name,

Let us show reverence for him as he comes to be compassionate to us.

It is providential that you love us and wish, 'I should adopt them.'"

Jesus, he is born.

Consequently, for performance purposes, some artists, such as Canadian singer Heather Dale (see video below, featuring ASL interpretation by Lisa Mahabir), now prefer Father H. Kieran's "singable" English translation of Brébeuf's lyrics to Middleton's separate version:

Let Christian men take heart today

The devil's rule is done;

Let no man heed the devil more,

For Jesus Christ is come

But hear ye all what angels sing:

How Mary Maid bare Jesus King.

[Refrain]: Jesous ahatonhia.

Jesus is born. Jesous ahatonhia.

Three chieftains saw before Noel

A star as bright as day,

"So fair a sign," the chieftains said,

"Shall lead us where it may."

For Jesu told the chieftains three:

"The star will bring you here to me."

[Refrain]

The chieftains gave him gold and all,

When Jesu they did see;

And told Him tales of near and far

With joy and courtesie,

Now, come ye all, sing Jesukin,

Who hears the prayers of holy men.

[Refrain]

To be fair, Kieran's version is not a strict translation; if you compare his lyrics with Brébeuf's (i.e. the Steckley translation), there are discrepancies here as well. For instance, Kieran retains the reference to a gift of gold from the original Biblical account, despite that making little sense in the Wendat context. This suggests that his lyrics are, whilst admittedly more culturally accurate than Middleton's, still a hybrid of European and Indigenous concepts.

But what about Brébeuf's "Jesous Ahatonhia"? 

Model of an Iroquoian (Haudenosaunee or Wendat) village;
located in the Château Ramezay, Montréal

To the best of my knowledge, Brébeuf's carol does, in fact, reflect the fact that he was someone who had familiarized himself with the Wendat language and culture over a period of more than twenty years. Although the lyrics were clearly written by a non-native speaker, as evidenced by some unnatural wording and phrasing, they at least allude to a Wendat custom for celebrating a child's birth: greasing the newborn's scalp and bestowing a name upon them. Brébeuf also features "elders", rather than the more stereotypical "chieftains", as the community members who welcome the infant Jesus and pronounce his birth to be a good omen: sign that he had a clearer understanding of Indigenous social hierarchies and political structures than many of his contemporaries back in Europe.

Thus, rather than a "Huron carol" per se, I would prefer to think of "Jesous Ahatonhia" as a version of the Nativity story created to fit a specifically Wendat context: a Wendat Nativity, if you will.

Translating the Sacred: Domestication and Foreignization in a Colonial Context

"Presentation at Lorette of the Newly Elected
Huron Chief at the Huron Tribal Council" (1840)
by Henri Daniel thielcke; located in the Château Ramezay, Montréal

These observations about Brébeuf's "Jesous Ahatonhia", however, beg yet another question: what does it mean for a missionary to modify the Nativity story to create a culturally hybrid, syncretized version?

At first, it can seem quite straightforward: of course, for the sake of bringing in converts, a series of tweaks in the symbolism here and there would be acceptable, right? However, to assume that there was no conflict at all would also be to negate the fact that the Nativity, like many other Biblical stories, was and is held sacred by many Christians. And if there's one thing I have learned from my own childhood experiences growing up in an Evangelical church, it is that one does not mess with the sacred.

For me, I think the answer lies in the core nature of "Jesous Ahatonhia" as not just a retelling of the Nativity, but a translation: the need for Brébeuf to make his message as clear to the Wendat as possible in their language, regardless of his intent in doing so.

Two crucifixes featuring "trade silver" (i.e. metal

goods traded to Indigenous peoples by Europeans in exchange

for furs); located in the Château Ramezay, Montréal

To understand this, we will need a bit of technical background. Within translation as a field, there are a few key approaches to choose from. And for our purposes, I will focus on two key aspects, each of which exists on a spectrum: Free vs. Literal; and Domestication vs. Foreignization.

Free and Literal translation refers to the extent to which the source text (i.e. the Nativity story as Brébeuf knew it as a French Jesuit) will be translated precisely into the target language (i.e. Wendat). In this case, it is clear that Brébeuf opted for a Free translation: one that aimed to communicate the core meaning/message of the source text rather than its exact wording. Just by geographical and cultural context alone, this choice would have been made for him: hard to translate an image from the source text into the target language when the exact word for it does not exist in the latter.

Where things get interesting, though, is in the use of Domestication and Foreignization, for this is the axis that deals with the part of "Jesous Ahatonhia" that fascinates me the most: the complex dynamic between the two cultures involved.

In essence, a Domesticating translation is one where the source text has been entirely reworked into the target language, as though the final text were written in the target language all along. Meanwhile, a Foreignizing translation is one where the final text either retains some words or phrases from the source language (e.g. names, culturally-specific items, idioms, or expressions) or veers occasionally into literal translation to make it clear to the target audience that they are reading a text that was originally from another culture. 

For example, if I were to translate into English a French story where a character says "Quand on parle du loup" when the person he was talking about just happens to walk in, I can write out that line of dialogue in several different ways, here listed from most foreignizing to most domesticating:

1. Quand on parle du loup. (Using the original French)
2. When you speak of the wolf. (Literal translation)
3. Speak of the wolf. (Free translation, but with a single foreignizing reference to the original)
4. Speak of the Devil. (Free translation into the English equivalent)

Similarly, we can look back to Steckley's English translation of Brébeuf's "Jesous Ahatonhia" for examples of both foreignization and domestication. Here, in the second-last stanza, the translation "They greased his scalp many times" would be foreignizing: although it is in English, it is a literal translation that reflects a Wendat custom that will likely be unfamiliar to Euro-Canadian audiences. Conversely, the alternate translation, "They greeted him with reverence," would be domesticating: it uses an expression that communicates the symbolic meaning of the original Wendat gesture in a way that a Euro-Canadian would understand.

I do say "Euro-Canadian" deliberately here. As I pointed out earlier, this foreignization-domestication spectrum shows plainly that translation is not, in fact, an act involving two completely equal languages. More often than not, a translation is necessitated either because of a top-down (e.g. an imperial power relaying information to colonial subjects) or bottom-up (e.g. a text in a less prestigious language being made more widely accessible) power dynamic between cultures or nations. Even in cases where you have two broadly recognized languages, like English and French, there will be a slight power differential depending on the specific reason behind the translation.

Where this gets interesting, though, is when there is a significant gap in power between the cultures involved. And that definitely was the case with Brébeuf, his fellow French Jesuits, and the Wendat. 

Depending on the specific dynamic, the translation approach that better emphasizes or caters to the more powerful of the two cultures can vary. However, to put it simply, in a colonial situation like what we are dealing with, the language of the colonizer (in this case, French) will be the dominant one. Therefore, from this standpoint, when translating from French to Wendat, a foreignizing translation will be the one that promotes the French, whereas a domesticating translation will imply a slightly more equal relationship between the two parties.

Reconstruction featuring French, French-Canadian and
Indigenous representatives; located in the
Château Ramezay, Montréal

As previously discussed on this blog, there is argument that the actual dynamic between the French colonizers and Canada's Indigenous peoples was better than most. If nothing else, there was an actual trade and military alliance in play that lasted almost entirely throughout the time of French colonization. However, much of that can be cast into doubt once we include religion. 

Especially once we consider European colonizers' obsession with using Christianity as a "civilizing" tool.

By rights, something like a Biblical event - particularly one so pivotal to the faith as the Nativity - would have to remain intact as much as possible. It was simply not something that could be adjusted or changed. If nothing else, this seems to have been the logic behind the approach adopted by many colonizers, including some French ones, in their dealings with Indigenous peoples: learn "our" languages; learn "our" faith; learn to be like "us" if you wish to be saved. 

So, with all of that, I find it both fascinating and ironic that back in the 17th century, Brébeuf went in the opposite direction. Not only did he translate the Nativity into the Wendat language, but he did so in a domesticating manner. In all honesty, this was most likely just a pragmatic choice - it certainly does not negate the fact that the missionary act itself was part of a top-down colonialist policy. However, with "Jesous Ahatonhia", I do think that Brébeuf's translation - his Wendat Nativity - reflects the slightly more level playing field that developed between the French and the Indigenous peoples in comparison with other similar colonial projects. 

Just a little.

Spreading English while Respecting Cultures: A Lesson from "Jesous Ahatonhia"

Precious Moments dolls in international "traditional" costumes;
located in the World Showcase, Epcot, DisneyWorld

So, here's the question: what does all this have to do with us? I did say at the start of this blog post that Brébeuf's "Jesous Ahatonhia" contains a lesson worth thinking about in today's globalized world. So, what is it?

Well, complex questions about religion and colonialism aside, I think we also need to consider the fact that, just like the one 400 years ago, our 21st century world is one where languages and cultures are still not equal.

More importantly, I need to think carefully about this as I am someone who not only speaks the current dominant language, but teaches it.

See, in real life, outside of this blog, I am an English teacher: more specifically, I am an EFL [English as a Foreign Language] teacher to Chinese students online. This is in contrast to what, here in Canada, is called ESL [English as a Second Language], which is when English is taught to immigrants and newcomers to Canada to help them find jobs, go to school, or obtain citizenship. Instead, my Chinese students learn English as an additional language to deal with foreign clients at work or improve their grades at school, but most of them don't actually intend to study or live abroad.

Yet, the majority of English-language materials were created in, by and for cultural contexts where English is the dominant language (e.g. Canada, the UK, the USA, Australia, New Zealand, etc.) and the usual target audience is ESL students. Therefore, oftentimes, they assume experiences and teach knowledge that my Chinese EFL students simply won't find relevant to their everyday lives. 

One common predicament I run into, for instance, is materials that teach students how to make a credit card or cash purchase in English - yet almost every single one of my students has already stopped using either of those ages ago in favour of phone apps like WeChat Pay or Alipay. Or, the vocabulary list may teach foods like "spaghetti" or "hamburgers" only for my students, when I ask them their favourite foods, to fumble for an answer because they want to talk about foods like jiaozi or huoguo instead.

I am not the first EFL teacher who has felt frustrated by the gap between the curriculum and textbooks provided to schools and the students' lived experiences - nor, to be honest, will I be the last. But now that I think about it, perhaps, in my own teaching practice, I have been drawing inspiration from Brébeuf's "Jesous Ahatonhia" in how I handle those situations.

Iroquoian cradleboard (used to carry infants and small children);
located in the Château Ramezay, Montréal

More specifically, although I am still speaking English, I see no problem in allowing students to adjust their comments to include some Chinese words and phrases where English ones do not exist. Of course, I can teach students "dumplings" - and I do - but if they choose to say, "I like to eat jiaozi" instead, what's the problem with that? So long as the grammar is correct, teaching my students a new language should be about letting them share their world with me, not the other way around. That, I think, will help to put non-English speakers on the more level playing field.

After all, people have already been doing that with the Nativity - not to mention other Christmas symbols - for centuries. Something like food shouldn't hurt.

"French Canadian" Santa Claus figures; located

in the Fairmont Château Frontenac, Québec City

The above blog post is part of the ongoing series, The Stories We Tell, which focuses on my attempts to reflect on myths, legends, fairy tales and other classic narratives to see what we might be able to learn from them. To access a master list for this and other series, click here.

Image Credits

All images, unless otherwise noted in captions, (c) Kitty Na

Note: I do not have photographs from either the Wendat's historical lands near Lake Huron, Ontario, nor the Huron Wendat's current location in Wendake, Québec. Therefore, most of the images shown here are from various locations in Canada and the USA and are meant to be thematic links rather than direct representations. Also, the museum artefacts I did include were often simply labelled as "Iroquoian", which can refer to several different peoples (e.g. the Haudenosaunee) and not just the Wendat. Therefore, if there is any error or misattribution in my captions, please forgive me and let me know in the comments so I can be better informed.

Further Reading and Resources

I hyperlinked a number of these pages already where relevant throughout this blog post, but these are some of the more notable sources that factored into the development of this post.

All lyrics (original and translations) of "Jesous Ahatonhia" and "Huron Carol" came from here.

"'Huron Carol' Racist?" by Andrea Shalay for Diversity Tree

"The Complex History of the Huron Carol" by Will Pearson for Broadview Magazine

"Foreignization vs. Domestication" by Joshua Binfor for We Translate On Time