Chapter 3
The Usual Stories about Louis Jolliet as a boy
Picard was as good as his word, and he called in a few days with another appointment to see the President in two weeks. He was pleasant on the phone, I was fittingly grateful for the old man’s time, and the appointment was set.
Then odd things started happening. I was invited to parties. In the two weeks before my next appointment with the President, I was invited to three parties, none of them involving the sale of Tupperware. These were three more parties than I had been invited to during my entire first year in Stenchville. All the social life I had experienced so far had been at my expense – or more correctly, at the expense of my father’s business. Now suddenly, I was being invited to homes of the great exalted French elite. Well, they weren’t all that elite, but they were more elite than any French I had met in the past.
It didn’t take me long to understand why I, a lowly American, was suddenly worthy to enter the faux chateaus of petty nobles. I had met with the President. I was a person of interest. They weren’t sure what to do with me or say to me once I had arrived at their parties, but I got a few sentences in about the President’s health, and astonished everyone by the fact that I knew some French. They were happy to have me at their party, I was pleased to get some free food, and the two weeks passed quickly.
Then it was back to the President’s chateau. Once again I was the only car in the drive, and once again Picard walked me back to the President’s grape arbor overlooking the lake. The President seemed in a better mood this time, and we sat quickly, sipped a bit of wine that a servant had poured for us, and got right back to a discussion of Louis. I was about to hear all about the marvels of the greatest explorer in the history of civilization, or so I was convinced he would be portrayed, but that was all right. I would shut up, listen, and hope that maybe a blemish or two might appear in the shadows of the tin god.
“Louis was born in Quebec in 1645,” President Jolliet began, “so as you will see, he was actually eight years younger than Marquette, yet it was still Louis who was the official leader of the expedition. He was raised during hard times, and his family situation was so bad it was almost comical. During the days of his youth the Iroquois were constantly raiding the colony, causing so much fear that farmers were afraid to go out into their fields. As a result, the colony sat along rich farmland but would have starved if it had not been able to import food from France.” I nodded in sympathy and sipped my wine. Poor Louis.
“Louis’ father had fairly large land holdings in France, but he apparently wasn’t much of a farmer so he and his wife emigrated to New France where he worked as a wheelwright. What is odd about that is New France had no horses, so of course it had no carriages. Imagine that. The Spanish were whipping horses all across the desert southwest, and in all of New France there wasn’t a single horse. The first dozen didn’t arrive until 1665. It is no wonder we stuck so close to rivers, is it?
“But I digress. Apparently Jean made wheels for handcarts, but we will never really know. He died when Louis was five, and fades from history. Rather than retreat back to France, Louis’ mother stayed in Quebec with her four children – a pretty daring move given the circumstances. She must have been quite a woman. She remarried fairly quickly, had three children by her second husband, who then drowned in a canoeing accident. So she married a third time to a man who already had six mixed-race children. In short, she raised thirteen children and survived three husbands. God grant Canada a million such women!
“Louis had the best education any man in New France could have had. His farm was near a settlement of Hurons and he learned to speak their language as a child. At nine he was sent off to the Jesuit college of Quebec to study. Meanwhile his older brother was taken captive by the Iroquois, learned their language and was released unharmed – a real rarity. That brother, Adrian, then accompanied missionaries on visits to the farthest ends of the realm, including being among the first to traverse Lake Superior as far as the Keweenaw Peninsula. This is to say, just by sitting at the dinner table with his brother, Louis was able to learn as much geography of New France as any man alive.
“And then there was his special gift. Now I do need to digress. So far I have just talked about Louis’s circumstances. Would you not agree that it is his character that matters more?”
“Yes, I would. My father says that character is fate. Usually he would say that after we neglected to do our homework or left a mess somewhere.” We both chuckled about that.
“We have a similar saying in French politics. But when we leave a mess it tends to be a large one.” I enjoyed his joke, but I also hoped he would lead me to just such a mess.
“Given his history, “ I ventured, “I would expect Louis to be a determined man, one who planned carefully and then acted with great resolution.”
“Yes, that is a common view. If you look at the portraits, he has a facial expression usually reserved for conquering generals. They would put him on a horse if we had any. But he was not that kind of man at all. He was an artist. He taught himself to play the organ, and led worship services for all the years he was at college. And he sang. He had the best tenor voice in North America. He was such a good musician that he attended the college at Quebec for free, and more importantly, he was able to personally meet all the more important personages of the colony through his music.” This was all news to me. A backwoods musician? I had seen no record of that in any of the histories I had read.
“Louis sang duets with Claude Dublon, who later became so famous among the explorers. He performed for Bishop Laval, whose high regard was essential two decades later when the future of the colony was at its turning point. Through his singing ability, he was known to every man in the colony. Imagine how much that mattered years later when men were chosen to do the work of the crown and of the church. People loved him, and respected him, even when he had his time of crisis. Where other men would have been destroyed by his actions, Louis emerged even more respected.
“His crisis?” I asked. I know my pupils had just dilated, but I hoped no other signs of my interest were visible. A glass of wine and tern minutes of conversation might have just taken me to my ultimate destination. I just needed to prod ever so carefully at this admission of family weakness.
“In the summer of 1667, as Marquette was crossing the North Atlantic, Louis was twenty-two. He had graduated from the Jesuit college and decided to become a priest. His first year in the seminary had been very successful. One of the requirements of seminarians was that they become skilled in debate. In fact they had to demonstrate that skills in public by debating an issue before all citizens of Quebec. The debate was held in Latin, so you would imagine that few would attend, but even those who didn’t understand the words would attend to enjoy the drama of the contest. Who was Louis assigned to debate? No other than Jean Talon, then the chief executive of New France. Louis did fine and made another important friend.
“But this was a young man in crisis. Was he truly called to be a priest? He was successful at everything he tried. He was known throughout the colony. With the Iroquois defeated, the colony was about to become much larger and more successful. There were opportunities everywhere for him. How to choose? He did what so many young men do in these circumstances. He decided to travel to clear his head. He respectfully quit the seminary, and sailed for France, ironically sailing back to France on the same fleet of ships that had just brought Marquette.
“Why France? Imagine all the stories he had heard during his youth. This was the nation constantly talked about, dreamed about, loved and hated by every colonist. This was the motherland. And he had never seen it. Now was the time to see what life was like there. His family still had land there. Why not go see it? Why not visit this land of dreams?
“He stayed a year. You will hear many stories about that year. Enemies of the family assert that he was
a vagabond wandering the streets of Paris. Conspiracy theorists claim he was on a secret mission from the Bishop to pursue some project for Cardinal Richlieu, completely ignoring the fact that Richilieu was long since dead. What is the truth? He studied cartography at the Sorbonne. He was there too briefly to be enrolled as a student, so there are no records of his studies, but he found tutors and attended lectures and learned to make maps.
“And he had made up his mind about his future. He returned to Quebec just a year after he had left it, met with Bishop Laval and not only formally withdrew from the seminary in the Bishop’s good graces, but was able to borrow enough money from Laval to start his first business – a trading company. His brother Adrien was already trading with Indians in the western region. Rather than work for his brother, Louis purchased his own trade goods, took his own risk, and headed west – sometimes with his brother, sometimes on his own.
“The trip to Paris intrigues me.” I let those words out as carefully as I could, attempting to seem off-handed about a point that might be crucial. “While he was gone a year, if you allow for the time to sail to France and then the time to sail back, he was in France little more than half a year. That is really such a short time. Was there family remaining in France that he could have visited during this time?”
“Yes, his sister had married a man who returned to France, and of course there were still cousins and such in villages south of Rheims. But we have no evidence that he met with any of them. No letters remain from this time, and there is no oral history of family reunions and such. The belief in the family is that he never saw any of his relatives during this visit.”
“So there are no letters, enrollment documents, or other historical records from his visit? Then it makes for a good mystery, doesn’t it?” I asked. “A twenty-two year-old seminarian goes to France for the first time in his life. What does he do there?”
“More than one French historian has tried to unravel that mystery. Given his later fame and the continued prominence of the family, many attempts have been made to account for all the events of his youth. But all have been unsuccessful. Maybe our enemies are correct and he was just a vagabond during those months. “ Jolliet smiled at me, almost daring me to pursue that line further. “That would account for the total lack of records. But then, after more than three centuries, there are many reasons why records might not exist. After all, it is not like we could just track his credit card purchases, is it? Account books can be destroyed in fires, or lost to floods. Letters and diaries can be lost the same way.”
“Yes, we historians like to see ourselves as detectives, but we can only use the clues that have survived the times.” I made a mental bookmark to see what I could find about the “crisis” of young Louis. With luck, who knew what could be found. But there was no sense pursuing the point now. I sensed that Jolliet was getting uncomfortable – maybe from the topic, maybe from sitting so long. It was time to bring the interview to a conclusion.
“You have been a very gracious host,” I began. “But I do not wish to outstay my welcome. Can we sum up the history to this point? It is the year 1668. Louis is back from France and has begun his trading business. Father Marquette has reached New France and has begun his missionary career. The players are on the stage, the processes have begun, and within five years these two will explore the Mississippi and establish the empire we see today.”
“Yes, you are right that the players are moving swiftly now to the events of 1673 and the founding of our nation. But you are a professional historian so I must tell you there is more to the story than we tell our school children. Yes, 1673 was a great year – one we celebrate with proper fanfare on each centennial. But there are three years we must fully appreciate to understand the founding of our nation – 1673, 1674, and 1676. In 1673 we found the Mississippi and gained the keys to empire. But in 1674 we lost it all. By the end of the year we had lost everything Louis and Marquette had risked their lives for. Their discovery might as well not have occurred. Rescue only came in 1676. It is a year we do not celebrate, but we in the family know the importance of that year, even if the school books never mention it.”
“But you are right, “ he said as he slowly stood. “Picard has signaled me that affairs of state need my attention. I wish you luck with your project and hope that we may meet again sometime.” He held out his hand and I knew I was being dismissed. But what a time to go! What happened in 1674 and 1676? I had read much of their history and neither year had seemed of great moment. How could they be so important?
“If I may be so bold, might I be able to visit you again soon to hear more of these events?”
“Oh course. I will tell Picard to schedule some time for you when my appointments will allow.”
“Thank you so much.” I shook his hand again and turned to begin the walk back to the chateau. As I turned I thought I saw him smile.
Chapter 4
Father Jacques Marquette, S.J.
The Canadian Civil War: Volume 1 - Birth of a Nation Page 3