Voyages of Samuel De Champlain — Volume 01 — Edition Insights
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PARENTAGE--BIRTH--HOME AT BROUAGE--ITS SITUATION--A MILITARY STATION--ITS SALT WORKS--HIS EDUCATION--EARLY LOVE OF THE SEA--QUARTER-MASTER IN BRITTANY--CATHOLICS AND HUGUENOTS--CATHERINE DE MEDICIS--THE LEAGUE--DUKE DE MERCOEUR--MARSHAL D'AUMONT--DE SAINT LUC--MARSHAL DE BRISSAC--PEACE OF VERVINS
Champlain was descended from an ancestry whose names are not recorded among the renowned families of France. He was the son of Antoine de Champlain, a captain in the marine, and his wife Marguerite LeRoy. They lived in the little village of Brouage, in the ancient province of Saintonge. Of their son Samuel, no contemporaneous record is known to exist indicating either the day or year of his birth. The period at which we find him engaged in active and responsible duties, such as are usually assigned to mature manhood, leads to the conjecture that he was born about the year 1567. Of his youth little is known. The forces that contributed to the formation of his character are mostly to be inferred from the abode of his early years, the occupations of those by whom he was surrounded, and the temper and spirit of the times in which he lived.
Brouage is situated in a low, marshy region, on the southern bank of an inlet or arm of the sea, on the southwestern shores of France, opposite to that part of the Island of Oleron where it is separated from the mainland only by a narrow channel. Although this little town can boast a great antiquity, it never at any time had a large population. It is mentioned by local historians as early as the middle of the eleventh century. It was a seigniory of the family of Pons. The village was founded by Jacques de Pons, after whose proper name it was for a time called Jacopolis, but soon resumed its ancient appellation of Brouage.
An old chronicler of the sixteenth century informs us that in his time it was a port of great importance, and the theatre of a large foreign commerce. Its harbor, capable of receiving large ships, was excellent, regarded, indeed, as the finest in the kingdom of France. [1] It was a favorite idea of Charles VIII. to have at all times several war-ships in this harbor, ready against any sudden invasion of this part of the coast.
At the period of Champlain's boyhood, the village of Brouage had two absorbing interests. First, it had then recently become a military post of importance; and second, it was the centre of a large manufacture of salt. To these two interests, the whole population gave their thoughts, their energy, and their enterprise.
In the reign of Charles IX., a short time before or perhaps a little after the birth of Champlain, the town was fortified, and distinguished Italian engineers were employed to design and execute the work. [2] To prevent a sudden attack, it was surrounded by a capacious moat. At the four angles formed by the moat were elevated structures of earth and wood planted upon piles, with bastions and projecting angles, and the usual devices of military architecture for the attainment of strength and facility of defence. [3]
During the civil wars, stretching over nearly forty years of the last half of the sixteenth century, with only brief and fitful periods of peace, this little fortified town was a post ardently coveted by both of the contending parties. Situated on the same coast, and only a few miles from Rochelle, the stronghold of the Huguenots, it was obviously exceedingly important to them that it should be in their possession, both as the key to the commerce of the surrounding country and from the very great annoyance which an enemy holding it could offer to them in numberless ways. Notwithstanding its strong defences, it was nevertheless taken and retaken several times during the struggles of that period. It was surrendered to the Huguenots in 1570, but was immediately restored on the peace that presently followed. The king of Navarre [4] took it by strategy in 1576, placed a strong garrison in it, repaired and strengthened its fortifications; but the next year it was forced to surrender to the royal army commanded by the duke of Mayenne. [5] In 1585, the Huguenots made another attempt to gain possession of the town. The Prince of Condé encamped with a strong force on the road leading to Marennes, the only avenue to Brouage by land, while the inhabitants of Rochelle co-operated by sending down a fleet which completely blocked up the harbor. [6] While the siege was in successful progress, the prince unwisely drew off a part of his command for the relief of the castle of Angiers; [7] and a month later the siege was abandoned and the Huguenot forces were badly cut to pieces by de Saint Luc, [8] the military governor of Brouage, who pursued them in their retreat.
Champlain's narrative begins not with his own birth but with a preface that immediately signals the work's dual nature: a personal chronicle and a historical document. The translator, Charles Pomeroy Otis, and editor Edmund F. Slafter frame the volume as a recovery of lost details about early exploration, acknowledging that much of Champlain's early life remains unknown. The opening pages establish a tone of scholarly caution, noting that the reader will 'fail to find very much that he might well desire to know.' This sets expectations for a text that is both rich in observation and frustratingly incomplete.
The Opening: A Scholar's Apologia
The preface, written by Slafter, immediately orients the reader to the limitations of the record. He observes that Champlain's 'early years, the processes of his education, his home virtues' are known only imperfectly. This is not a confession of failure but a methodological stance: the volume will present what survives, not what is imagined. The editor's voice is present from the start, warning against expecting a full biography. Instead, the reader is prepared for a text that prioritizes geographical and political detail over personal anecdote. This framing is crucial for a first reading, as it explains why Champlain's own voice often recedes behind descriptions of routes, alliances, and colonial administration.
Middle Excerpts: Alliances and the Texture of Encounter
In the middle portions, Champlain's accounts of meetings with Indigenous groups reveal a careful observer. He records specific terms of trade and alliance, noting that the 'charter accorded to the company the exclusive control of trade' and that settlers were to be 'native-born Frenchmen, exclusively of the Catholic faith.' These details are not merely administrative; they show how colonial policy shaped interactions. Champlain also includes endnotes that question the reliability of certain informants, such as Étienne Brûlé, whose story is 'omitted' in later editions. This self-correcting tendency—where Champlain or his editors revisit earlier claims—adds a layer of critical reflection. A first-time reader should note how the narrative shifts between firsthand observation and later editorial commentary, creating a layered account of exploration.
Later Sections: Colonial Policy and Its Discontents
The later excerpts focus on the formal structures of New France, including the 1627 charter approved by Richelieu. Champlain details the 'exclusive privileges of a semifeudal character' granted to the company, as well as the prohibition against Huguenots. These passages are dense with legal and economic terms, but they also hint at tensions: the 'contraband trade carried on by the unlicensed Rochellers' who supplied firearms to Indigenous groups. Champlain's frustration with these illegal traders is palpable, even in the dry prose of the endnotes. For a first reading, these sections demonstrate how the volume is as much about the politics of colonization as about geographical discovery. The reader should watch for moments where Champlain's personal voice breaks through the official record, as when he notes the 'annoyances' he had to contend with.
Structure and Voice: The Editor's Hand
The volume's structure—preface, main text, extensive endnotes—reflects a deliberate editorial choice. The footnotes from the original have been converted to endnotes, and the text preserves original spelling with only a few exceptions, such as the replacement of tall-s and the expansion of manuscript abbreviations. The editor also notes the use of a special character for Algonquian languages, represented here as '8.' These technical details matter for a first reading: they signal that the text is a scholarly edition, not a modernized version. The reader should expect to encounter archaic spellings and occasional untranslated terms. The presence of the editor's voice, both in the preface and in the endnotes, creates a dialogue between Champlain's era and the 19th-century context of the translation. This layered authorship is a key feature of the volume.
Approach this volume as a document that is as much about the act of recording as about the events recorded. The gaps in Champlain's personal story are as instructive as the detailed descriptions of routes and policies. Pay attention to the endnotes, where the editors question sources and correct earlier claims. This is not a straightforward travelogue but a critical edition that invites the reader to weigh evidence and consider the limits of historical knowledge.
Reading Champlain’s early optimism about New France, then seeing how his later policy reflections darken with weariness, feels like watching a friend slowly revise a cherished plan. It reminded me of another quiet account, the Narrative of Captivity in Abyssinia with Some Account of the Late Emperor the Late Emperor Theodore, His Country and People — Context and Discussion, where initial fascination similarly gives way to a more complicated, sadder understanding.
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