Having grown up a Minnesotan, I feel a lot of affinity towards Canada. After all, Canadians and Minnesotans share a high tolerance for cold; a generally pleasant disposition towards strangers; and a love of ice hockey and maple syrup. Furthermore, after transplanting to Nebraska – the unaccented home of the Gallup corporation – I’ve been told that my accent is very similar to the parodied intonations of our northern neighbors.
That said, I grew up mostly ignorant of the French-Canadian influence on my home state, even though it’s all around. I was born in Hennepin County, took Nicollet Avenue to school, and spent a week each summer paddling around the Boundary Waters, after which my friends and I would head to Grand Marais for pizza at Sven & Ole’s. You really can’t take two steps without running into a Faribault, a Fond du Lac, or a Le Sueur. Yet I never really gave all these strange names a second thought.
One reason, of course, is that it doesn’t seem strange if you’ve been there the whole time. Another reason is that I was a kid at the time, and kids are stupid.
Also, though, I think there’s something to be said about our ignorance of the history of New France and its impact on the United States. The French colonization of Canada is consistently overshadowed by the English settlements that eventually grew into the thirteen original tea-chucking tax-hating colonies. I’d venture most Americans can tell you something about John Smith and Jamestown, or about the pilgrims and Plymouth Rock. There are probably significantly less people who know the history behind Tadoussac, Trois-Rivieres, or Quebec.
To be sure, I’m no expert on the subject. My reading on New France has mostly taken place in the context of the French and Indian War. For instance, I know how France lost Canada to Great Britain. And I can also tell you why: based on repeat viewings of Michael Mann’s The Last of the Mohicans, it seems that Daniel Day Lewis and his flowing locks accomplished this task singlehandedly.
That said, I didn't know a whole lot about why the French were there in the first place. David Hackett Fischer’s Champlain’s Dream has definitely helped in that regard.
Champlain’s Dream is a sprawling biography of Samuel de Champlain, the man who rightly deserved his title of the Father of New France, even if that title doesn’t mean much today. Champlain was a Frenchman of uncertain origin (Fischer devotes an entire appendix trying to track down the date of his birth) who gained prominence as a soldier, mariner, artist, cartographer and explorer. He was also a talented politician in the King’s Court, lobbying ceaselessly for his grand project: the colonization of Canada.
Fischer is certainly the author to take on this ambitious subject. He is a noted historian and a dogged researcher. His prose might not send you into fits of rapture, but he is certainly as easy to read as any other popular historian working today. Moreover, as he did with his Pulitzer Prize-winning Washington’s Crossing, he delivers a complete package. Champlain’s Dream is almost an embarrassment of riches, if we define riches as knowledge, rather than diamonds and rubies (there are no diamonds or rubies).
For one, Champlain’s Dream avoids the annoying tendency of nonfiction books to gather a half-assed collection of photographs, stick them in center, and claim “illustrated” status. Here, the illustrations occur throughout the book, and they are placed to be, you know, illustrative. If Fischer is talking about a historical figure, that person’s portrait will appear on that page. If he’s talking about a battle, he’ll feature a woodcut of that engagement. There are two traditional picture sections, comprised of handsome color plates. There is also a profusion of maps, both historical and modern. The modern maps are clear and uncluttered, which is helpful for someone like myself, with the spatial orientation of a drunk hobo who has just been spun around three times.
If Fischer’s main text is not enough to satiate your voracious appetite for New France trivia, there are sixteen (!) appendices covering a diverse array of topics, such as a description of Champlain’s arquebus, a chronology of Champlain’s voyages, and a discussion of 16th century weights and measurements. But wait, there’s still more, if you care to turn to the abundantly annotated “notes” section. Don’t worry about information overload, though; Fischer helpfully provides a “conclusion” chapter, that neatly summarizes everything.
With all that said, Champlain’s Dream starts a bit slow. The early chapters, detailing the origin and childhood of young Champlain, is hampered by a lack of solid evidence. Unfortunately, many of Champlain’s papers have disappeared. Thus, in the early going, Fischer has to do a lot of detective work, tracing down leads, reasoning by analogy, and making learned assumptions. Fischer is careful and methodical in this task, but frankly, it doesn’t make for an invigorating narrative.
Things get only mildly better as Champlain reaches early adulthood. Here, the story gets a bit confusing, especially for those (such as myself) who are not versed in French history. Champlain gets embroiled in France’s complicated Wars of Religion, which involved a great deal of needless enmity and the toppling of several monarchies. There is so much happening, and Fischer is trying so hard to keep everything straight, that Champlain fades into the background. He doesn’t become a character – a recognizable man – until he starts making his voyages to North America.
Not coincidentally, this is where Champlain’s Dream hits its stride. Fischer is at his best relating Champlain’s explorations in the New World. There are fraught ocean passages, bold expeditions, and more than a few battles with the indigenous peoples (Fischer begins his book with a recounting of Champlain’s defeat of the Iroquois on the shores of Lake Champlain).
While there is a great deal of adventure, Fischer spends much of his time on dual political intrigues. The first of these took place in France, and involved Champlain’s continuing efforts to keep New France alive, even as various kings rose and fell. For some reason, France was never near as serious about colonizing North America as Great Britain. Accordingly, it fell almost solely on Champlain to keep the flame alive, even if there were times when New France was more an ideal than a reality. What makes Champlain’s exploits even more impressive is that he was not a nobleman. In an era that worshiped bloodlines, he carved his niche on merit alone. (Well, merit, and the ability to promote his merit). Though he was never made a governor of New France, all who lived their recognized him as their true leader.
The second political intrigue, far more fascinating than the first, concerned Champlain’s dealings with the Indians. Throughout Champlain’s Dream, Fischer presents Champlain as a conservative humanist. He dealt with the various Indian tribes with honesty, respect, and compassion. Fischer contends this behavior came about from Champlain’s time in New Spain, where Champlain witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the Spaniards towards Indians and African slaves. Make no mistake, Champlain was a killer, but when he took to the woods, arquebus in hand, he did so with a larger strategic goal in mind. He allied with the Montagnais against the Iroquois in an attempt to bring about a wider peace.
Whether or not you approve of Champlain’s methods, it’s clear that New France had far better relationships with the Indian tribes than the English colonies along the Atlantic seaboard. Champlain’s vision – his “dream,” if you will – was almost utopian. What he wanted for New France was integration between French and Indian, in the hope of lasting peace. This is in marked contrast to Great Britain’s colonies, which sparked several genocidal conflicts with the Indians.
Treatment of the indigenous tribes ties into one of Fischer’s overarching themes: the contrast between New France, which faded, and New England, which succeeded. Fischer does not get all starry-eyed about New France. He states very starkly that New France was not a land of liberty and freedom; rather, it was an extension of France itself, with all her hierarchies and strict castes. Despite this, it had humanistic tendencies and a willingness to coexist with Indians. New England, on the other hand, was a refuge for those seeking to escape persecution and oppression; it was a place that valued the then-evolving concept of liberty. Unfortunately, that liberty often entailed using the Indians for short-term gain before discarding them at will.
Much of what was once known about Champlain has been lost. It is a testament to Fischer’s abilities that, by the end of the book, as Champlain lay dying, that I felt for him as a human being, rather than some guy who found a pretty lake. Still, there are so many gaps in Champlain’s life that Champlain’s Dream works better as a history of New France than as a traditional biography.
One of the nagging gaps is Champlain’s enigmatic marriage to Helene Boulle. The book’s overall quality notwithstanding, Fischer’s handling of this couple is either strikingly naïve or needlessly discrete. Champlain was in his forties when he became betrothed to the twelve year-old Helene, an arrangement that isn’t even legal in Arkansas. They lived apart most of their marriage, had no children, and even Fischer concedes they probably never consummated their union. Nevertheless, Fischer believes their marriage had several happy years, during the time Helene lived in New France. Really, though, there is no proof of that. And I can’t be the only one to draw a different conclusion about Champlain based on these facts: that Champlain was a bachelor most of his life; that he never had a child with his wife; that he refused the advances of numerous Indians maidens who threw themselves at his feet; and that he was Catholic. Put those pieces together and it starts to sound like a list. I’m not saying that Champlain was gay, just that it sounds like he was gay (which, for the record, is perfectly fine). In any event, while Fischer extrapolates a lot from scarce evidence, he doesn’t touch this question with a twelve-foot-long halberd.
Overall, though, this is as complete a treatment of Champlain as you will read (barring the discovery of more of Champlain’s papers inside a dusty old French attic). It is insightful, detailed, comprehensible and – a rare enough trait – optimistic without being hagiographic. Fischer is not a historian to shy away from one-time heroes for the sake of political correctness. He embraces Champlain as a world-historical figure without a hint of hand-wringing about the flood-tide of war and disease and displacement that followed in his wake.
I had absolutely no interest in Samuel de Champlain or New France before I picked up this book. I read it on Fischer’s reputation alone (having thoroughly enjoyed Washington’s Crossing). I think it’s a measure of its quality that it created an interest within me where before there has been nothing but warmed-over Canada jokes and a short stack of half-digested pancakes.