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      International Rights: André Vanasse, tel. (514) 525-2170 # 25

       E-mail: [email protected]

       For Dominique, who left Europe by shipto come live in Quebec City,like Champlain.

       Contents

       5 Founder in Quebec City

       6 Warrior on Lake Champlain

       7 A Wife Overseas

       8 A Guest Despite Himself in Huronia

       9 Defender of the Colony on Two Continents

       10 A Frenchman in the Hands of Britain

       11 Samuel de Champlain at the End of his Life

       Chronology of Samuel de Champlain (1570–1635)

      To describe Samuel de Champlain physically as fair or dark, or short or tall, would be simply a matter of conjecture. The few paintings of him that have been conserved were done by painters who made use of their imaginations rather than authentic sources. Counterfeit portraits. Certain people even claim that the portrait most often found in history textbooks depicts one Michel Particelli, a thief who passed himself off as a financial inspector under Louis XIV! Therefore, despite the important role in history played by the father of New France, we know nothing of his features or his stature. At most we may assume that to lead the life of tireless explorer as he did, he must have had both a hardy constitution and formidable energy.

      But the enigmatic nature of this personality does not end there.

      From the start, his time of birth is known only approximately as the records of the town where he was born disappeared in a fire.

      We know very little about his childhood, and reconstruct it by deduction rather than by means of precise references.

      Toward the age of thirty, according to his own writings, he purportedly visited the West Indies and Mexico. But his travel journal contains many improbabilities, casting doubt on the expedition.

      Approximately ten years later, he rapidly wed; the strange union resulted in an unusual marriage.

      In his sixties, he “adopted” children of which history has lost all trace.

      At the very end of his life, a sudden impulse led him to rewrite his will, and rather than provide for his next of kin, he left his possessions “to the Virgin Mary.”

      No one ever knew what became of him in death. His remains merged with the land of New France that he loved to his last breath.

      And finally, did Champlain belong to the nobility of the era? Samuel Champlain or Samuel “de” Champlain? The sacrosanct particle “de” appears and disappears in texts written by him or that speak of him, so much so that our knowledge here remains vague.

      So how can we really know Champlain? Despite the mystery, and luckily for us, he revealed himself mainly through his impressive works, writing in the journal he dutifully kept for approximately thirty years and that was published, notably to convince kings and those with power that the efforts of colonization were worth the trouble and cost. His observations, along with other documents of the era, allow us to describe the man as precisely as possible. Yet, not holding the key to all the secrets, sometimes we had to report those facts that appeared most probable.

      Passages from the journal are reproduced in the pages that follow to give voice to the visionary, impassioned discoverer. In some instances, however, we had to make minor adjustments to the seventeenth-century expressions and turns of phrase, to avoid bogging down the reading of what reaches us some four hundred years later.

      Illustration of a vessel taken from the map of New France made by Champlain in 1612 and published in The Voyages of the Sieur de Champlain of Saintonge, Captain in Ordinary for the King in the Navy.

       I have always felt intensely drawn to the discoveries of New France; increasingly this has led me to wish to cross land to finally gain perfect knowledge of the country, by way of its rivers and lakes, which are numerous, and also to discover the people who live there, with the goal of bringing them to know God. I have worked at this continually for fourteen to fifteen years now, able to progress only slightly in my plans, not having been assisted as would have been necessary in such an undertaking.

      A gloomy, rainy Paris winter. A morning so dark that it seems like evening. Clinging, cold, damp fog enshrouds everything: passersby, stone houses, slippery sidewalks. Greyness. A man hurries his horse along. And yet he is accustomed to the cold! New France appears in his thoughts, luminous beneath the biting January cold. Snow and bright sky. To infinity. This country lives within him constantly, even though they have been separated by an ocean for several months now. How many times, and again today, will he have to describe to the Court of the King the riches of this immense land and the urgent need to provide the necessary amounts to establish a lasting colony?

      He pictures the scene awaiting him in a few moments. He, Samuel de Champlain, pleading his life's cause before His Majesty Louis XIII and his counsellors. His audience listening to him, at times distracted, irritated at still having to discuss France in America.

      It is 1619. Champlain is approaching fifty and has spent half his life navigating. In the past fifteen years, he has gone back and forth between France and Canada, seeking brave men to establish a new country across the Atlantic and financial backing for his plans of colonization. Eleven years earlier, in 1608, he had carefully selected a piece of land and some cliffs jutting out into the St. Lawrence River. There he had founded an establishment that was not a city or even a village. For the moment it remains a starting point whose importance he has to defend constantly.

      Approaching the Louvre Palace, the horseman stops in the rain and hears himself express aloud the profound hope that has motivated him for so long. “Sir, forests as far as the eye can see, fertile land and an abundance of furs await. An enormous river carries its waves right up to you. Now it is up to you to pass it on to God and to France.”

      “Quebec has existed for over ten years, Monsieur de Champlain. Well, when I say existed…”

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