“My King…”
Champlain took a deep breath. He had to convert an unloved colony into a source of national pride.
“Among the powerful of this world, you reign over a kingdom built up by centuries worth of history. As you yourself so aptly point out, Quebec and New France have existed for only a few short years. A country must grow just like a man; New France is in its childhood!”
The navigator insisted that at any cost such a far-reaching ambition had to be given time. Wasn't this about linking France and America?
The King responded to this exuberance by consulting his ledger. To date, the profits had scarcely justified the investments.
So much for that. Barely having seen the light of day and perceived as a rock in the middle of a glacier, the little point on the river had to fill the coffers…
At that time France was fobbing off the colony's expenses to merchants who'd merged to form a company. These people obtained the King's official assurance that they enjoyed a monopoly, the exclusive right to carry out the fur trade in Canada, and almost all profits from the resale of pelts in Europe. Barely one-tenth of the profits went to the King. In exchange for this privilege, the merchants were responsible for the cost of the crossings, providing settlers with food supplies, and recruiting individuals and families who desired to settle over there. But in reality the investors were clearly more interested in turning a profit than in respecting the contract. The amounts they had to pay came late or not at all. During his stays in France, Champlain had to make the same speech time and again to the partners, reiterating that the real profits would come from a solidly anchored colony and not a precarious trading post. But for the merchants, the nature of the undertaking was altogether different: once unloaded from the ships, the beavers of the forest became, among other things, hats. These felt hats in various forms were particularly prized by high society. A flourishing business! Having influence with the King and those close to him, the merchants asked him to reduce their contribution or even abolish the constricting rules of the monopoly to provide unlimited access to the extraordinary hunting territory.
“Considerable progress has been made in very little time,” Champlain added.
“Really?”
The King was doubtful. But his servant had long been accustomed to sceptical reactions. Of course the colony was progressing! Alliances with First Nations ensured better collaboration with the indigenous people, helpful not only for the fur trade, but also for teaching the French how to live in this extreme climate and cover new ground to the west of the continent. The West! The very word opened up a vista of miraculous prospecting: hopes of finding mining deposits, a passage to Asia, gold and spices. Each exploration was bringing them closer. Perhaps.
What else could he add?
“Our Récollet fathers evangelize indigenous families and each day lead new souls to the word of Christ. We are spreading the symbol of the cross and the glory of your Crown far and wide!”
On this passionate note, the interview came to an end.
“Monsieur de Champlain, I have other business awaiting me this morning.”
Champlain wondered if he had managed to convey to the powerful men in this elegant sitting room the harsh strength of life in the forest, the roaring rivers, the wide-open spaces, the enormous expanse that was New France… Did they realize how greatly the future would open up to them if France were to embrace such an undertaking?
A few weeks later, the Duke of Montmorency, in charge of the kingdom's colonial affairs, informed him of the King's support, and the associated merchants finally allowed him to arrange his next sailing for Quebec in May of the following year.
“I am told that this time you intend to bring your wife?” the Duke inquired courteously.
“Madame de Champlain has expressed interest in my journeys.”
Cautious interest. His wife, Hélène Boullé, was a dyed-in-the-wool Parisian. Until now, she had never accompanied her husband on his expeditions. When invited to take part in the crossing, she summed up her feelings in a few words.
“It is not for me, my friend.”
But in those days men decided and women obeyed. While he would build forts, descend rapids in a canoe, or battle the Iroquois, his wife, Champlain told himself, would plant gardens. On May 20th, they set sail from Honfleur, in Normandy. Their ship reached its destination after two months of storms and terror for the passenger.
Finally landing on solid ground, Hélène froze. Behind her still hovered the nightmare possibility of their ship sinking, which had nearly happened more than once. She had barely survived the voyage through the help of prayer. Before her, she did not see the Quebec her husband had described as a velvet green jetty in the gentle summer. Instead, she witnessed a handful of scrawny men, a cloud of flies and a dilapidated structure meant to serve as their home, and nothing else.
Champlain read dismay in the eyes of Hélène.
And in fact, despite the years sunk into this project, lives sacrificed and amount of energy spent, nothing much was in sight to welcome the new arrival. Nothing to confirm to the King that he had been right in allowing the ships to leave and in deploying so many resources to reach there.
Nothing with which to reassure the young woman. But the land held so much promise! responded the founder of Quebec as his wife's tears began to flow.
Great rivers connected with lakes, which are like seas crossing countries, lend great facility to all exploring deep within the land from where one could reach the seas of the West, the East, the North and extending as far as the South.
Champlain's writings lead us to believe that he visited Puerto Rico in 1599. The fauna and flora there inspired him to create numerous drawings, including this one, which appeared in Brief Narrative of the Most Remarkable Things that Samuel Champlain of Brouage observed in the West Indies during the voyage which he made to them, in the years 1599–1601.
Of all arts most useful and excellent, navigating has always seemed to me to take first place: while hazardous and fraught with a thousand perils and shipwrecks, it is also worthier than any other, being completely unsuitable to those lacking courage and assurance.
In Samuel de Champlain's time, an Atlantic crossing from Europe to America could take over two months, subjecting ships to all sorts of dangers and offering the sea its share of victims. Storms, lightning, fog, ice, reefs, pirates, and typhus and cholera epidemics were almost the norm on these trips. Madame de Champlain did not recover quickly. “I'll never climb aboard one of those ships again!” she declared to her husband, thinking she had made up her mind for good. And yet, one day she must have had a change of heart because, four years later, she chose to face the horrors of the ocean once more, and return to Paris rather than endure another solitary winter.
But what kind of stuff was her husband made of, he who took regularly to the sea for several weeks, calmly