Guillaume, oh Guillaume! Wherefore art thou, Guillaume? Or more to the point, where were you born, where did you grow up, where the heck did you live – and what about that forest thing? What was going on there?
Let’s begin by summarizing what we know about Guillaume Trahan’s life in France, and then we’ll discuss what we think, or think we know. And what we don’t know. That list is a little longer.
- We know that Guillaume Trahan wed Francoise Corbineau in Chinon, on July 13, 1627. We have those original records, and that’s fact.
- Guillaume’s marriage record provides the names of his parents as Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges. That’s fact too.
- We know that on April 1, 1636, Guillaume, his wife, and two children set sail from La Rochelle on Charles Menou d’Aulnay’s ship, the Saint-Jehan, for Acadia. The roster, held in the archives at La Rochelle, is somewhat confusing, but he’s listed after six other men and his servant as being from Bourgueil. The following six were from Chinon. Guillaume was listed as an “officer of the cavalry.” That’s all fact.
But where was Guilluame Trahan from?
It Takes a Village or Maybe a Small Army
Apparently it takes a small army, because that’s who has provided the necessary puzzle pieces.
Before I go any further, let me thank several people. Unknown and unnamed contributors at WikiTree, especially the one who included a link to Guillaume’s marriage record in Chinon, contributors at WeRelate, historian Genevieve Massignon (1921-1986 to whom I’ve been indebted over and over for her research, Karen Theroit reader’s wonderful notes in her tree, Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s website, my friend Maree from down under who located and fed me several resources, and Stephen White who included at least some information in his book.
It’s important to note that with actual records, it’s possible to correct earlier postings or information that was either incomplete or in error. We are all humans. It happens.
A very special thank you needs to go to my Cousin Mark who so generously ran MANY hints to ground and surfaced the actual parish documents in Montreuil-Bellay, Bourgueil, and elsewhere.
If I’m on a wild goose chase, Mark is the wild goose herder – and Heaven knows I needed one. He’s probably infinitely tired of hearing me say, “I’m confused,” and providing him with conflicting information that can only be resolved in records held in French archives that I can’t find, navigate, or read.
Not all of the information from various sources is or was accurate. To begin with, I was searching for specific source references because that’s where to start. In one case, two reliable sources provided conflicting information, one citing the other. It’s no wonder I was confused. I’m glad I didn’t take either at face value and incredibly grateful that Mark was able to sort it out – and this isn’t even his family line
Early records, when they exist, are challenging in multiple ways, and there’s so much erroneous information out there.
As genealogists, it’s our obligation to seek records, verify everything, then make sure the narrative really fits the rest of the story and makes sense. Yes, it’s exhausting, BUT THEN THERE’S THAT NEW DISCOVERY! And we’re ready to stay up all night all over again!
Here’s another discrepancy we had to sift through. Guillaume Trahan clearly was not born in 1611, then married at age 16 in 1627, and certainly not as an officer in the military. At age 16, neither thing happened, let alone both. Let’s get on with the rest of our story, now that I’m pretty sure we know where Guillaume was born.
And thank you, Cousin Mark, for helping to preserve what smidgen is left of my sanity!
Acadian Players Map
Speaking of villages, each of these locations play a vital role in the Trahan and wider Acadian history.
- Charles Menou d’Aulnay’s mother, Nicole Jousserand held the seigneury in Martaize.
- Both Aulnay and La Chaussee were just a couple of miles, if that, from Martaize, where many Acadian families originated.
- Montreuil-Bellay was where Guillaume Trahan’s parents lived.
- Chinon is where Guillaume was married and some Saint-Jehan passengers were from..
- Richelieu is the town Cardinal Richelieu built after pilfering some of the stone from Chinon’s castle, which he controlled.
- Bourgueil is the location of the Acadian Pierre Martin family, and also where some passengers on the 1636 Saint-Jehan hailed from. It’s also were Guillaume’s brother lived, and where Guillaume witnessed several events.
- The Razilly family estate is located about 10 miles north of Loudun. Isaac de Razilly founded La Hève in 1632 at the behest of Cardinal Richelieu, his cousin. Charles d’Aulnay was Razilly’s cousin, too, as well as his right-hand man in Acadia.
Razilly’s father, Francois (1545-1600), was the Governor of Loudun, and his grandfather, Gabriel, probably born about 1520 and died in 1579, was the Governor of Chinon, so this entire area was very interconnected and intertwined.
Loudun
The beautiful medieval city of Loudun, with its hills, churches, towers, and ancient carved walls, functioned as the heart of this region. But beneath the surface, a darker history lingers, weighted in heavy silence – long buried but not entirely forgotten.
In 1632, plague struck the city, followed by allegations that demons had possessed several nuns in the local convent.
That spawned, for lack of a better word, witchcraft hysteria, including public exorcisms, torture, and burning a priest, Urbain Grandier, at the stake in August of 1634.
Grandier was quite popular with his parishioners but did not support Cardinal Richelieu’s policies and favored retaining the town’s wall, which Richelieu opposed. Considered a handsome man, there was also gossip about Grandier having fathered a child.
Many believed that this entire episode, known as the Loudun Possessions, was spurred by political rivalry and jealousy, and that Cardinal Richelieu was heavily involved.
Guillaume Trahan would have known about this. Everyone knew about this for miles in every direction. And the message was unequivocal in the end. Do NOT mess around with Cardinal Richelieu. He’s a powerful, dangerous man. You’ll see why this matters in Guillaume’s story later. Just tuck it away for now.
You’d never guess any of its sordid past by walking through Loudun today, although the ivy-covered walls of the Crossroads of the Sorcerers remain for those who know where to look.
Secrets still carved into knowing stones that witnessed it all.
I just happened to be passing by this house wall when I realized that it held numerous interesting carvings. Zoom in. There are several stars, one that might be masonic, some that look like roman numerals, horseshoes perhaps, plus a clear date of 1666 with a man.
I desperately want to understand this history and the message, or messages, that the drawings were meant to convey.
Who carved them?
When?
And why?
Was it simply medieval graffiti, or something more?
I wonder how many other carvings are secreted in the alleys and byways, their stories lost to time as the ancient walls, patched up with mortar, blending with the new.
Me, touching the stones, wearing my mother’s ring from the Acadian side of the family, trying to absorb whatever history those stones on the side of this medieval house have to tell.
Loudun was also the location of the first newspaper, or “gazette,” in France, published by Theophraste Renaudot, who is honored by a statue in the center of town, and financed by Cardinal Richelieu.
On July 16, 1632, Renaudot’s article reported:
The sorrow that there is to solve the difficulties which are in the large companies made differ two months, and opiniatreté of the wind of downstream two other months later than I had not told you the loading for the Company of New France. But finally the loaded vessel from La Rochelle arrived to join two others from Morbihan that Commander de Razilly having the commission of the King to control in the extent of the country in the absence of the Cardinal Duke de Richelieu, brought there at the beginning of this month, charged with all things and three hundred elite men. It carries the assent of the King of Great Britain to remove the Scots out of Port Royal and take of it possession in the name of the Company, which sends to it three Capuchins for the conversion of the people of Acadie, in addition to five Jesuits that it already sent in the other dwellings of Cap Breton, the Gulf and the St. Lawrence River. The embarkment of this noble force returning there illustrates the beginning of colony which will make an easy passage to all the French, for the honor of their nation and their peace, that it will be from now on easy for them to comply with the King, that the great businesses of its kingdom do not prevent it from going across the seas the concepts to increase the Catholic faith, by a procedure quite distant from that which was practiced until now in the discovery of the Indies, where one was satisfied with spoils and to captivate the people.
And with that, Acadia as we know it, was born.
Montreuil-Bellay
Cousin Mark followed Karen Reader’s citation and found Genevieve Massignon’s article for me, in “Les Trahan d’Acadie,” in Cahier de la Society Historique Acadienne; no. 4 (1964); p. 16, which I had translated.
From Cousin Mark:
I can see why Massignon references the records of parish Saint-Pierre at Montreuil-Bellay as “anciens mais incomplets,” ancient but incomplete.
Attached is the screenshot from the Maine-et-Loire Archives showing what records are available. They date back to the early 1580s, but there is indeed a gap, about page 62, where there are none between October 1588 and 1602, and where the size of the record book changes. Obviously, there is one or more missing books. And thus, it is likely that Guillaume’s baptism is from the missing books.
Mark located the unindexed baptisms of Guillaume’s sisters, Renee born in 1612 and Lucrece in 1614, by searching page by page through the mixed Latin and old French records, trying to decipher 400-year-old script. (Bless his patient heart!)
French men typically married when they were between 25 and 30, so about 30ish.
Given that Guillaume Trahan married in 1627, a birth year between 1597-1602 is reasonable. “About 1601” has been used by others, so I’ll certainly not quibble about that. Based on the record availability, we know his birth was probably after October 1588 and before 1602. He could have been born substantially earlier than 1601, but probably not much before 1590 given his mother’s age when his youngest sister was born.
Thanks to other researchers, we know that Guillaume’s parents, Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges, baptized children in the now-defunct church of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay, then located in Anjou, but now in Maine-et-Loire, in France.
- Guillaume Trahan, born when records no longer exist, between 1588 and 1602.
- Daughter Anne Trahan was baptized on February 4, 1605. (Event by Massignon, date by White, original record unable to be confirmed by Mark after reading all records from December 1604-March 1605.) Massignon reports that she married Pierre Molay and they baptized four children between 1624 and 1633.
- Son Nicolas was reportedly born about 1608 and married Lorande Billiard around 1633, but I have not seen records or sources other than “church record” for either event. Massignon reports the baptism of their child in 1633.
- Son Francois Trahan was born somewhere in this timeframe. His engagement contract was dated the 14th Sunday of Pentecost in 1621 (in Montreuil-Bellay, according to White), and he married on the 14th Sunday after Pentecost in 1632 in Bourgueil, (according to Massignon, confirmed by Mark). Engagement contracts often occurred between ages 8 and 12, or sometimes older. The minimum age for both children was 7. So, Francois was born in 1610 or before, based on the other children’s births.
- Daughter Renee Trahan was baptized on February 28, 1612 (confirmed by Mark).
- Daughter Lucrece Trahan was born on November 14, 1614 (confirmed by Mark).
Guillaume’s parents were probably married in the same place, or at least nearby. In a feudal society, people were generally restricted to living within the domain or seigneury of the feudal Lord.
While we will probably never know exactly, it’s nearly certain that Guillaume was born in Montreuil-Bellay where his siblings were born.
Furthermore, per Massignon, who very clearly viewed the original records in person:
A second branch [in Montreuil-Bellay], likely related, includes Anthoyne Trahan and Barbe Barault, with three children baptized between 1610 and 1616.
I’d wager this was a brother of our Nicolas Trahan, or maybe a cousin.
The Trahan family was very clearly active in the Saint-Pierre Parish church, adjacent the Prieure des Nobis, tucked just beneath the castle.
The great irony is that I visited this location, quite by accident, a roadside stop at a beautiful castle along the Thouet River, completely unaware. We knew that the Trahan family was from “someplace near here” because the Trahan winery, our destination, was a few miles on down the road – assuming it’s the same Trahan family. (A Y-DNA test would answer this question.)
Montreuil-Bellay is a historic French town surrounding a fairytale-like castle, so it was the perfect and logical place to stop for a quick walk and travel break.
I had no idea how close I was, literally feet from where Guillaume was baptized and where he lived. As I walked through the ancient village, I trod the same streets and cobblestones as Guillaume, his brothers and sisters, and his parents before him.
Who knows how long the Trahan family had inhabited this location and this region? For all we know, they may have lived here before the castle and the churches were built. People didn’t tend to move far. Their ancestors may have labored to construct the holy structures in which their descendants worshipped.
Montreuil-Bellay began as a Gallo-Roman fortified town built on the hill beside the Thouet River. Around the year 1000, Foulques Nerra, Count of Anjou, known as the Black Falcon, built a citadel on the foundation of the Roman village. What would become Montreuil-Bellay was an impregnable fortress on the front lines of the battles between England and France, eventually falling to the Plantagenet family. King Louis VIII held court there in 1224.
Were our ancestors there too?
Montreuil-Bellay was surrounded by immense forests and hosted lavish festivals for hunting and falconry.
The Camino de Santiago
Not only is Montreuil-Bellay significant to the Trahan family, it’s also a pilgrim’s stop on the Camino de Santiago. Pilgrims then and now typically walk the entire distance of the Camino as a spiritual journey, an expression of devotion, or other personal reasons, especially today.
Known as the Way of St. James, in English, the Pilgrim’s Path begins from several European starting points, traverses through France, and ultimately ends in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain, where St. James is supposed to be buried.
Scallop shells serve as waymarkers for the Camino de Santiago, placed were pilgrims can see them to navigate the path, and also on buildings indicating places of shelter. Historically, pilgrims wore shells attached to their clothing, fostering a sense of community. After completing the pilgrimage, pilgrims picked up a scallop shell along the Galician coast, serving as proof of completion of the arduous and hazardous journey.
Pilgrimages to Galicia began in the 800s when Saint James’s bones were discovered, and Montreuil-Bellay is on one of the four major pilgrimage routes. The old l’hopital Saint-Jean, within the castle walls, served as an overnight for pilgrims and probably other travelers.
While I will never finish trekking the entire Way of St. James, I have walked many portions, and didn’t realize until I saw the clamshell markers that I, once again, had found my way or been guided to the Pilgrim’s Path while also a pilgrim on the path of my Acadian heritage. This only seems fitting.
The stylized shell’s rays represent the diverse paths pilgrims take from start to finish, both on the physical path, and in their lives. The sun or convergence of the lines represents the spirit, the universal center of all life forms, and our own sacred path that unfolds into our life journey.
Now, a year later, I discover that my ancestors lived on the St. James Way in Montreuil-Bellay. For all I know, they sheltered pilgrims and listened to their stories, hopes, and dreams as they made their way on the next leg of their great pilgrimage.
And maybe, just maybe, some of them were moved to join the pilgrim’s trek.
Let’s unravel more about the history of Montreuil-Bellay.
History of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay – It’s Complicated
The Church of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay, also known as the Saint-Pierre-des-Nobis church, lies in ruins today, shown by the red arrow, below.
The L’Église Saint-Pierre should not be confused with the castle chapel, shown in the forefront of the photo, built between 1472 and 1484 by Guillaume d’Harcourt, Lord of Montreuil-Bellay. The castle’s chapel became a collegiate church served by canons and was named the Collégiale Notre-Dame.
While Guillaume and his parents probably visited the castle church from time to time, it was not their home church.
Their church, Saint-Pierre, now in ruins, was located just on the far side of the castle, at the foot of the keep, where the earliest portion of the village was located.
The remains of L’Église Saint-Pierre are located beneath the castle on the river, accessible by descending the Saint-Pierre staircase from the Place du Marché, and was known to exist here in the 10th century.
I can just see young Guillaume taking these steps two at a time, running on his way to church, or perhaps on his way back if his mother made him walk and stay clean on the way “to” church.
A priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey was established between 1097 and 1103, and church reconstruction was completed around 1140-1150. The ruins of the choir include a group of capitals from this period.
During the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453), the castle was captured by the English and used as a military stronghold, but the French took it back again in 1443.
Probably related to that war, part of Saint-Pierre collapsed, leading to the restoration and construction of the north aisle. After being rebuilt, the church was reconsecrated on January 31, 1485, as both the parish and priory church – an event that must have been joyfully celebrated by all the townspeople.
In the 1500s, the castle was rebuilt in the style of the Renaissance and became the residence of French nobility.
Saint-Pierre was just over a century old and still in full use in the early 1600s when Guillaume was baptized there. The church later declined, especially during the French Revolution.
In 1850, when the nave was destroyed, parish worship was transferred to the castle chapel. The church of Saint-Pierre was entirely abandoned and has continued to deteriorate. What was once the church floor is now carpeted with grass inside the ruins.
Descending the Saint-Pierre staircase from the upper portion of the town, you can see the roof of the Maurist Benedictine Priory, known as the Nobis, hidden somewhat behind the ruins of the Church of Saint-Pierre. You’ll find beautiful photos and even a video, here.
The walls of the choir, the transept, and the north wall of the side aisle still stand. Romanesque sculptures and painted walls are tucked within, hailing from the past.
The road along the church runs behind the castle, past the castle church along the Thouet River to the medieval mill.
The castle church, towering over the mill, would have been reserved for the nobility and aristocrats, and Saint-Pierre, the neighborhood church, served the townspeople.
Rumors exist about tunnels between the castle, the former priory, and Saint Pierre, but as far as I know, they are just rumors. Tunnels might have been as much for escape from the castle during a siege as protection for clerics inside the castle. Tunnels do exist within the castle complex, but their paths and full extent remain mysteries. Some may have collapsed, but others can be toured.
Saint-Pierre has never revealed all of her secrets, including the location of the medieval cemetery. Normally, it would be located beside the church, so it must be very close.
I’ve been eyeing a greenspace behind the church ruins and nobis suspiciously, but it would take cadastral maps between then and now to see if houses at one time occupied that greenspace, or if it could be the cemetery.
We don’t know how large Montreuil-Bellay was, but in the 14th century, when the Hundred Years’ War began (1337), the population was starving and took refuge in the castle mote and the neighboring monastery.
The Castle on the Hill
Guillaume Trahan grew up in Montreuil-Bellay in the shadow of the castle on the hill.
The castle dominated the landscape from near and far.
Tradesmen lived in the village, and vineyards surrounded the castle along the fertile river valley.
Thanks to Mark, we know that the church records before the early 1580s no longer exist, and the records after that are substantially incomplete, at least through 1602.
However, we also know that Guillaume’s siblings were baptized in 1605, 1612 and 1614, and additional records for Guillaume’s siblings are found in the 1620s and 1630s, after Guillaume had already departed for Acadia.
Let’s take a walk through the village.
The old and new are woven seamlessly in Montreuil-Bellay.
The Wisteria was in full bloom, climbing ancient walls in narrow streets.
Stepping out from the medieval streets into the plaza reveals the castle unexpectedly.
The Montreuil-Bellay castle is breathtaking, as in catch-your-breath-in-your-throat breathtaking. I can only imagine how impressive it was in the 1500s and 1600s when we know our ancestors lived here.
I involuntarily drew in my breath sharply – as if I had inadvertently stepped back in time into a Disney fairy tale.
The bridge across the mote was constructed in the 1800s to allow the townspeople to worship in the chapel after Saint-Pierre was abandoned. The castle stood to the left.
The church stood straight ahead – but our ancestors probably never worshipped here.
A passage in the wall to the left beckoned, but the gates were closed.
Was there a gate here when Guillaume frequented these streets? Was the castle gate closed to the Trahan ancestors, or did they freely come and go, providing some type of service to the nobility?
While Guillaume’s siblings were being married and living in Montreuil-Bellay, Guillaume had moved on, in one way or another, to Chinon.
Chinon
How did Guillaume manage to leave Montreuil-Bellay and find himself in Chinon?
This 1649 map shows both locations, about 21 miles apart.
We know, unquestionably, that Guillaume was in Chinon on July 13, 1627, when he married Francoise Corbineau, in the beautiful Saint-Etienne church. This assuredly would have been where the bride lived, but if Guillaume wasn’t living there, how did he meet and come to know Francoise?
Between ChatGPT and Cousin Mark, we finally obtained a reasonable translation of their marriage document.
The 13th day of July 1627 were married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and of Renée Desloges (or Deslonges), and Françoise Corbineau, daughter of the late Corbineau and of Françoise Poret, the said Trahan and Corbineau assisted by Pierre Ligné, Pierre Aubry, Suzanne Ligné, daughter of Master Guillaume Ligné, and other witnesses, this I have signed.
Piget, priest
Well, that was one interpretation of this document, but there’s also another, posted by Karen Theriot Reader, that Cousin Mark reviewed painstakingly, and seems to be more likely the case.
I am leaving this original version here, just in case – in part because some people may have used it, and I don’t believe in just “disappearing” something without stating why it was changed.
The 13th of July 1627 was married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renée Deslonges with Françoise Corbineau, of this parish St. Etienne. Present Nicolas Trahan, father of G. Trahan, Pierre Ligier, Pierre Baudry, dame Anne Ligier, wife of M. Gilloire, attest, and declare they do not sign.
ChatGPT and Transcribus gave me multiple different translations of the names involved, which made the situation even more confusing. Hint – don’t use AI for documents you can’t verify.
Acadian researcher and now-deceased historian Stephen White stated that Francoise’s parents were not named, so I weigh that heavily as well.
Given that Guillaume was later noted to be both a toolmaker and a Captain in the military, he may have been in Chinon on business or errands related to his occupation when he met the lovely Francoise. He may also have been an apprentice.
It’s unlikely that the couple moved away from where she lived, although it’s possible.
They traditionally would have married in the bride’s church and would have lived nearby in the parish – probably within a block or two, at least at first.
Many of Chinon’s medieval homes still stand and are residences and businesses – and sometimes both, with families living above their shops – probably a lot like 400 years ago.
Between their marriage and the departure of the Saint-Jehan on April 1, 1636, from LaRochelle, Guillaume and Francoise probably had at least five children, given that they were married for 9 years, but only two survived, one of whom was Jeanne Trahan, born about 1629.
Where was Guillaume between 1627 and 1636, and why did he decide to leave with his young family for New France – L’Acadie?
Bourgueil, It Appears
Guillaume was in Bourgeuil, but we don’t know if he lived in Bourgeuil, or nearby, or visited often. We do, however, have hints – and a mystery.
In this 1699 drawing, you can see the Saint Germain church, at far right, the village, and the Abbey at left, with the Loire river on the horizon above the town.
In April 2024, I visited Bourgueil while on an Acadian tour. While I appreciated the history, I really didn’t think this stop pertained to me.
I was dead wrong.
The local volunteers from the Saint Germain church greeted us warmly. Claude Boudrot, one of othe tour operators (and owner) is at left.
Sales of and donations towards these black slates are being used to raise money for desperately needed repairs to the roof of this ancient church, parts of which are over 900 years old. These are the actual slate pieces that will be used.
At the time of the visit, I had absolutely no idea that one of my ancestors had walked and worshipped here. But that has all changed now.
Let’s get some help from a historian
Excerpts taken from the book by R. Ranjard: “La Touraine archéologique” (1975) and modified slightly, photography mine:
Bourgueil like Chinon was located on the Roman road between Tours and Angers and dates to at least 977. Later, Bourgueil became a domain of the Count of Anjou, due to the château at Chinon. The town was destroyed and rebuilt several times and suffered greatly during the wars between 1482 and 1586.
The parish church, dedicated to Saint Germain was consecrated in 1115 and cited in a papal bull by Pope Innocent III in 1208.
The front door of the church opens into the center marketplace of the old town. Directly across from the church stands a winery, now occupying one of the town’s historic buildings that probably stood when Guillaume walked there.
The western portion, with its latticework construction, is visible from the outside and stands out from the rest of the church, which has been more frequently modified.
Gargoyles grace the front and a pump and watering trough stand on cobblestones beside the entrance.
They would have been here when Guillaume graced these doors.
Life-sustaining water for both man and beast.
The structure is composed of three naves forming a single main nave. The outer walls bear heavy buttresses.
The choir, in line with the central nave but set slightly off-axis, is a fine example of late 12th-century Angevin style. Built on a square plan, it consists of three bays, each with three vault compartments.
The ribbed vaults are supported by crossed ogives (ribs) and tiercerons (intermediate ribs). Four elegant columns, with foliated capitals, support the inward-falling arches.
The keystones of the vaults are especially elaborate and richly decorated with figures, allegorical characters, and scenes from the Holy Scriptures.
The stained-glass windows in the chevet (east end of the choir) beautifully color the choir. The windows of the apse are topped by pointed arches.
The bell tower rises to the north, flanked by a stair turret topped with a small dome shaped like turtle scales. The upper floor was converted into a prison, as noted by local tradition. On the second floor, four squinches support four small vaults, the remnants of an earlier structure [that probably supported a dome]. The floor below contains the bells and was rebuilt in 1888. The octagonal spire, capped with a crown of small triangular openings, is characteristic of 12th-century design. It does not rest on the choir as is often the case, but on a tower. This design is rare and contributes to the distinct silhouette of the church.
As luck would have it, the Bourgueil churchbells rang when I visited. Guillaume would have heard these very bells, but of course, I didn’t realize that then.
In the alley to the right, you can see some of the original foundation stone, plus one of the additions, part of the roof, and a few windows.
Given that we find records of Guilluame and his family in Montreuil-Bellay, Chinon and Bourgueil, he may not have lived in Bourgueil itself.
The nearby countryside blossoms with vineyards and farms.
Scattered farmhouses dot the landscape.
Some more prosperous than others.
The French idea of “old” vastly differs from the US. People live in medieval homes everyplace, and this farmhouse along the road isn’t even “old” yet.
This medieval barn is still in fine shape.
It may be in one of these locations with the ancient farmhouses and barns, church steeple more distant but within walking distance, beckoning like a beacon, that Guillaume Trahan and Francoise Corbineau lived with their children.
Nearly every event in the life of a Catholic is tied to a ritual within the church, in addition to regular church services. Birth, baptism, first communion, marriage, holidays, last rites, and burials.
Wherever Guillaume lived, and whichever church he attended, his faith and religious practices would have been a guiding force.
Services Inside Saint-Germain Church
Pierre Martin, one of Acadia’s founding settlers, and his wife, were married in Saint-Germain church in Bourgueil. It would have been here, at this altar, that Pierre and his beloved took their nuptials that bound them for life.
Text from Massignon, image from Mark:
The parish registers of Saint-Germain de Bourgueil, which survive back to the 15th century, help trace the origins of both Pierre Martin and Guillaume Trahan.
One of the earliest relevant entries is from January 6, 1629 (written as 1630), recording the marriage of Pierre Martin and Catherine Vigneau. Witnesses included François Dubreil, “nobleman” and captain of the Château of Monseigneur de Chartres, who later became godfather to the couple’s first son, Pierre, in 1630.
The elegant and complicated signature of “Guillaume Trahan, marshal” appears, a few lines further along, on these same registers, on April 11, 1632, as a witness to a marriage.
On December 14, 1632, he signed as witness to the betrothal of his brother François Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and the late Renée Desloges of Montreuil-Bellay, to Renée Pineau of Bourgueil.
Guillaume witnessed another marriage on October 29, 1635—just months before departing for Acadia.
I think the date was actually September 7th, not December. Massignon’s right, though, that Guillaume’s signature is incredibly beautiful, which tells us that the clergy at Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay taught him to read and write – and to scribe his name with great flourish, as an artist.
This document also reveals that Guillaume’s mother died sometime between his marriage in July 1627, when she is not noted as deceased, and September 1632, when Francois married, and she is listed as deceased.
Now that we know Guillaume was in Bourgueil, often, even if he didn’t live there the entire time, let’s take a closer look at the Bourgueil that Guillaume, his brother, and fellow Acadian Pierre Martin, knew.
Every Catholic church has chapels tucked away that are dedicated to saints or the Mother Mary. Saint Germain is no different.
Pilgrims, parish members and visitors light candles and offer prayers. My husband is Catholic. I am not. So, our own ritual is always that he lights a candle for both of us.
This simple act of faith is incredibly meaningful and beautiful, bringing me closer to my ancestors by allowing me to share this devotional act.
This giant clamshell, which probably originally functioned as a holy water font, is mounted beneath a sign detailing the history of the church restorations.
Rimmed and mounted in brass today, with the holy water held in the bowl stabilized by pebbles, this massive shell may or may not have been in the church when Guillaume attended.
While the church is not directly on the St. James Way, which is associated with the scallop or clamshell, this shell could certainly be associated with pilgrimage or a prized relic from the Age of Exploration, given that the shells of this size typically originated in Asia and the Pacific.
I really wanted one of those pebbles as a memento, although I didn’t understand why at the time. I wasn’t sure it was appropriate and didn’t see anyone to ask, as we had stepped away from the group into the side chapel, so I left all of the pebbles there.
When I visited Bourgueil, I was unaware of the Trahan connection to that location. Now I recognize the allure of those pebbles.
I may not have “known” about that connection, but I assuredly felt it. I think my ancestors were shepherding me around.
Somehow, I was transported back in time, or maybe into a timeless realm would be a more apt description.
What else happened here, in this ancient church?
Did Guillaume visit because he lived nearby, or were his daughters baptized here?
What about his children who didn’t survive?
Guillaume and Francoise were married for 9 years before setting sail for Acadia with two children. They would have brought forth probably 5, and possibly more.
Are those children buried here?
Were their funerals held here, their mother sobbing her eyes out?
We don’t know where Guillaume’s two surviving children who sailed on the Saint-Jehan to Acadia were born and baptized – nor do we know where the children who were surely born and died are buried.
We know Guillaume was active in this church, so those events would either have taken place here, in Chinon, or in a small church or chapel someplace in between. Perhaps near the woods of Bourgueil.
I followed in Guillaume’s footsteps, treading on stone steps worn smooth by centuries of worshipers, and stepped out into the sunlit plaza. Just like he had.
Was this the final place he prayed before leaving everything behind to set forth for Acadia? What, and how much was he leaving behind? What did the future promise?
Did he ask himself those questions here?
Did he pray for guidance in this holy building?
Perhaps in the chapel where we lit those candles?
Did he turn around and look back, wondering if he was making the right decision?
Maybe he needed a pebble too.
Bourgueil, Chinon and Montreuil-Bellay were not the only churches in the area, as shown by this poster at Bourgueil.
The St. Pierre de Bourgueil Abbey with its beautiful gardens, was only a few blocks from Saint-Germain. This drawing reflects the layout circa 1600, before the fire of 1612, although the entire abbey was not destroyed.
Guillaume would have walked these grounds in reflection, perhaps, or visited to purchase anise, coriander or liquorice cultivated by the monks and especially prized when candied in sugar. The daughters would have loved that!
The front of the Abbey today.
The Abbey is quite large and includes several buildings.
Portions of the oldest part of the Abbey lie in ruins, but some buildings are in use as community resources.
This beautiful wall encloses something, but what?
I desperately wanted to open this door and find out.
And this one too.
Guillaume’s time in Bourgueil is marked by three church records, indicating that he was a Catholic in good standing or he would not have been allowed to sign as a witness. From all appearances, everything seemed to be going well for him.
However, appearances can be deceiving, and that’s not all of the story…
Trouble in the Forest
As it turns out, Guillaume might have gotten in a bit of trouble, or maybe quite a bit.
Massignon reveals a crucial secret:
While leafing through the Report of the Departmental Archives of Indre-et-Loire, in the name of the parish of Bourgueil, I found a record reporting in 1634 “a certain number of inhabitants of Bourgueil.” The list of their names includes those of François Dubreil (friend, as we have seen above, of Pierre Martin) and of Guillaume Trahan.
Now François Dubreil already appears in the List of Fines for feudal dues made by Messire Léonard d’Estampes de Valençay, commendatory abbot of the royal abbey of Saint Pierre de Bourgueil, for a piece of land adjoining that of Nicolas Simon, in October 1618.
The sentence, rendered by the court of Chinon in 1634, cites as plaintiffs “the inhabitants of the parishes of Saint Germain and Saint Nicolas of Bourgueil [church within the Abbey], the joined prosecutor” and “further Messire Leonor d’Estampes,” [Abbott of the Royal Abbey of St. Pierre of Bourgueil], and as defendants, three religious, two squires, a “warden of the forest of Bourgueil,” François Dubreil, Guillaume Trahan, and a few other persons. This sentence orders that “everything which has been undertaken usurped and cleared by the said defendants from the appurtenances and dependencies of the said forest of Bourgueil during forty years in the said conserved land by the proceedings of visitation and surveying and alleged leases for rent, which we declare null and of no effect — shall in the future belong to the body of the said forest of Bourgueil… making express prohibition to the said defendants and all others to in future cut or fell any wood in the said forest, nor change the nature of it on pain of a fine of five hundred livres.”
The sentence then lists the fines incurred by the defendants: “The said Dubreil, in fifty livres of fine for having had the said pieces containing twelve arpents cleared to go there to take the wood which was there in the last forty-eight years and a half, in two hundred livres for half the damages and interest and restitution of the fruits…”
“The said Trahan, in twenty livres of fine and in sixty livres for the value and estimation of a young ox and for the expenses of two arpents which he had torn from the forest and which were found at his house and in forty livres for damages and interest…”
It is observed that this sentence struck as defendants men of various occupations: religious, squires, captain of guards… and simple inhabitants.
The heavy fines may have influenced some of those involved to leave the region. By April 1636, Guillaume Trahan’s name was on the Saint-Jehan passenger list bound for Acadia.
Moreover, Guillaume Trahan was still in Bourgueil the following year (1635), since he appears there as a witness to a marriage; in which disposition of spirit did this “feller of forest” — excessively judged, perhaps — find himself, when emissaries (perhaps Claude de Launay-Razilly himself?) came to him charged with recruiting volunteers to go to Acadia, Chinon and in Bourgueil? Did they envision before them a country with a freer system, with intact forests where one could be able to cut wood as and when it seemed good?
For Guillaume, fined so heaving in 1634, the promise of a new life in a land of free forests may have been quite appealing.
Note the year here – 1634. The same year that the priest in Loudun was burned at the stake. The message was clear. Richelieu, who ruled Chinon where this court was located, was rich, powerful, and not someone to be crossed.
Forests played a vital role in the region’s climate, landscape, and economy, particularly in relation to winemaking. Wine was an important commodity.
From this, we know that Guillaume was living at least near Bourgueil, probably in one of those two parishes, and perhaps in or near the forest. Was the land he cleared to build his house? If so, was he allowed to remain on the forest land. Given the nature of the sentence rendered at Chinon, it would appear not, but it’s difficult to interpret these ancient documents. I’m also curious about how the young ox was involved in the situation.
There are also challenges with this information. The Bourgueil forest was near Bourgueil, especially given the connection with the Abbey and two churches, and this event clearly occurred someplace between Chinon and Bourgueil. Chinon was part of the Richelieu family landholdings, but neither Bourgueil itself, nor Montreuil-Bellay were directly controlled by Richelieu. But let’s face it, Richelieu was the Cardinal, and perhaps he did not need to “directly” control anything.
I wish we could pinpoint the area of the infraction more closely, because it’s probably an important clue as to where Guillaume lived.
There were other small churches sprinkled along the road South of Bourgueil that Guillaume and Francoise may have attended. Regardless, this is the path Guillaume and his fellow forest conspirators would have traveled as they made their way to court in Chinon. Today, a 10 mile walk that would have taken about 4 hours, assuming a bridge or available boat across the Loire.
Guillaume was levied a hefty fine, 120 livres in total. I can only imagine what his wife, Francoise, had to say to him. Or maybe it’s best if I don’t imagine that. Wives probably haven’t changed much when their husbands do boneheaded things.
This infraction clearly wasn’t an accident, and it didn’t just happen once. What were Guillaume and the others thinking? This was serious.
If Guillaume was clearing land to build a house, he clearly knew that activity would not go unnoticed. This had to be more than a misunderstanding. What were the others doing?
I’d bet there’s more to this story too, but regardless, Guillaume paid dearly.
In 1642, the monthly salaries were listed for the passengers on the Saint Francois, -another of d’Aulnay’s ships that transported families to Acadia. That list showed that laborers earned between 6 and 15 livres a month. Other than the surgeon, Jacques Bourgeois, the highest paid person was the baker who made 200 livres a year, a carpenter made 16 livres per month, the gunner, 15, the ship’s pilot, 12, and soldiers, 10. So, if the wages were comparable with 1634, that wood harvesting adventure in Richelieu’s forest cost Guillaume about a year’s worth of income. How would he ever have paid that much?
How would he feed his family?
Where would they live?
Not only was Guillaume shamed, publicly humiliated, fined, and probably broke, he would also have been hurt, angry, and embarrassed. Everyone in all the nearby farms and towns knew, and I’m sure he saw the looks people gave him, eyes averted, or muted whispers behind hands. And those were the nice people. There were assuredly others. Not to mention that his wife’s family lived in Chinon.
Indeed, Acadia might have seemed like the perfect doorway to a fresh start.
Recruitment
Isaac de Razilly, a member of the French nobility, pictured above, at right, was appointed a Knight of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. An explorer and member of the French Navy, he founded La Hève in Acadia in 1632 with 300 men and 3 monks at the request of Cardinal Richelieu. The Razilly estate in France was located at Roiffé, about 10 miles north of Loudon. The Razilly fief was part of the castle of Loudun.
After Razilly’s untimely 1635 death in La Hève, his cousin, Cardinal Richelieu, reached out to Charles Menou d’Aulnay, Razilly’s right-hand man, to continue expansion efforts in Acadia.
We don’t know if Guillaume Trahan paid his fine and was in good standing once again, or if Richelieu suggested he would be a good fit in Acadia and maybe waived part or all of the fine if Guillaume sailed for the New World. Or maybe Guillaume didn’t have much choice. Richelieu needed settlers, and Guillaume needed a graceful exit from his predicament.
We also don’t actually know what Guillaume did for a living. Several people have interpreted his occupation differently: a captain in the military, an edge-tool-maker, a knifemaker, a ferrier, a marshall (listed both in 1632 and 1671), and a blacksmith. One thing seems certain – his occupation had something to do with metals and was a skill that would have been needed in Acadia. There were no other men on the Saint-Jehan listed with this type of trade.
We just don’t know what happened, and probably never will, but it does seem like his departure is probably more than just a coincidence. I’d love to compare the other names on the list of residents fined, the amount of their fines, and the passenger list of the Saint-Jehan – although Massignon says they were not on the list.
But once again, things may not have been exactly what they seemed.
La Rochelle
Regardless of why, Guillaume and Francoise, along with young Jeanne and her unnamed sibling, (probably a daughter who later married Germain Doucet in Acadia), boarded the Saint-Jehan along with their servant, who was “also from Bourgueil.” The roster is unclear whether the entire family group, or just the servant was from Bourgueil.
“Guillaume Trahan, officer of the cavalry, with his wife and two children and a servant, also from Bourgueil”
Wait?
What?
Servant?
How could a man who was just fined a full year’s worth of wages possibly manage to have a servant?
If you’re looking for an answer – I don’t have one. I have no idea. Part of me wonders if the “servant” was perhaps one of the laborers fined in the forest incident who also wanted a way out.
The only other servant is with the six members of the noble Motin family.
Another family is noted as being from “the parish of Bourgueil near Chinon.”
Pierre Martin, laborer, his wife and one child are listed from Bourgueil.
Nine other passengers or families are listed as being from Bourgeuil, and six others are from Chinon. It doesn’t actually say if Guillaume is from Bourgueil or Chinon. His name is placed exactly between the two groups, and the words “also from Bourgueil” are after the unnamed servant.
The people from Bourgueil all seem to be laborers, but some of the passengers from Chinon are craftsmen – a cooper, two tailors, and a cobbler, in addition to two laborers.
This entire group from this area probably traveled together to La Rochelle. Perhaps Razilly or Richelieu bought their possessions and livestock in France, providing them with an incentive and cash for the journey.
La Rochelle
In La Rochelle, passengers preparing to board ships for New France often camped in the grass beside the quay.
Did Guillaume, Francoise and their children walk into town, near the harbour, to attend mass one last time?
To pray for safe passage?
Was Francoise happy to be leaving, or was she already grieving having to leave her family?
Whose idea was this journey to a new land?
It would still have been chilly on April 1st when the Trahan family sailed through the twin towers of the La Rochelle harbour.
The family would have stood on deck, watching the horizon until the shores of France shrank to a spec and finally disappeared. Then, there was no place to look except forward.
Had Guillaume gone back home, to Montreuil-Bellay, to see his siblings, nieces, nephews, and elderly father? Did he visit his mother’s grave one last time before packing up and setting out for La Rochelle?
Did he have the opportunity to say one final goodbye?
Soon, very soon, he would be an entire world away.
La Hève – Fort Sainte Marie de Grace
La Hève, now LaHave, was established by Isaac Razilly in 1632, but we really don’t know if there were any families or only soldiers and traders at the fort’s garrison. We believe that there were only “300 men” and 3 priests before the arrival of the Saint-Jehan in 1636.
Razilly died in 1635 and was buried in the cemetery beside the fort, but the dream of Acadia did not perish with Razilly. It was carried full-steam-ahead by Charles Menou d’Aulnay.
Thirty-five days after leaving La Rochelle, the Saint-Jehan delivered her passengers in their new home, the tiny outpost settlement of La Hève on the southern Atlantic coast of what we know today as Nova Scotia.
Did the Trahan family have any idea what to expect?
Cobblestone streets in French villages, stunning churches with stained-glass windows that echoed with the chants of monks, and medieval houses gave way to mud, a community well, and an outdoor oven for everyone to share.
Before embarking on this journey, they had never seen the ocean, or beaches before.
The La Hève beaches were rocky and the shoreline battered by wind, rain, and storms. Nor’easters, hurricanes, and biting, driving blizzards. It seemed like the Atlantic was always angry about something.
The tiny settlement planted apple trees fertilized with hope, some of which remain today.
Today’s museum stands where the lighthouse stood, which stood where the original fort was built by Razilly’s men.
One wonders why Razilly named his Le Havre de Grace after a location of the same name at Cap del La Heve in Normandy, France
The settlers constructed their tiny village of a few homes above the fort, clustered on the next outcropping, pictured above and at right, below.
LaHave is starkly beautiful today.
The fort’s remains could still be seen eroding into the sea in the early 1900s, but the only remnants today are in the museum, and these two pieces from La Hève, found in the Acadian Museum in La Chaussee.
Guillaume and his family wouldn’t be in La Hève long, because d’Aulnay moved the seat of Acadia from La Hève to Port Royal at the end of 1636.
They probably barely had their house built, then they were packing up and boarding a ship once again. Ironically, no one cared how much timber you cut here.
Still, they were probably glad to be heading for a more sheltered, forgiving location.
Port Royal
When Guillaume and family arrived in Port Royal, he would have been about 36 years old, maybe 37.
While La Hève is on the fully-exposed Atlantic coast, Port Royal is in the more-protected Rivière du Dauphin, now the Annapolis River.
Not only is the location easier to defend, but it’s also much less exposed to the elements.
The first several years at Port Royal are marked by a lack of records.
Some survive in governors’ and administrative notes, some as records of war, some in England, and eventually, in 1671, more than three decades later, a census which helps us piece the families together.
Unfortunately, no parish records exist until 1702. Based on the fact that no one arriving on the Saint-Jehan except for Pierre Martin, Guillaume Trahan, and their families was later found on the census, nor descendants with their surname, it appears that either most people died or returned to France.
Buried in various Port Royal records are tidbits about Guillaume’s life.
Massignon tells us that on September 21, 1639, Guillaume’s daughter, Jeanne Trahan, is noted as being the godmother to the child of Charles d’Aulnay and Jeanne Motin, a fellow passenger on the 1636 ship. Furthermore, the record states that Jeanne’s parents were Guillaume Trahan, a blacksmith (others interpret this as toolsmith), and Francoise Charbonneau, his wife. Massignon consistently reported Francoise’s surname as Charbonneau, not Corbineau. More important to this record is that Guillaume was noted as Jeanne’s father, and with an occupation.
Life Was Not Peaceful
Life was not peaceful in Port Royal. Charles d’Aulnay and Charles La Tour were dueling governors of different parts of Acadia. In reality, much of the confusion rested at the feet of the officials in France, but nonetheless, the animosity grew into what has been termed an “Acadian Civil War” lasting from 1635 when Razilly died until 1653 when La Tour married d’Aulnay’s widow.
Guillaume wasn’t just a witness or bystander, but was involved, one way or another, with all of this. There were no disinterested parties.
In 1640, La Tour sailed across the bay from Saint John, now the Fort Howe National Historic Site, and attacked d’Aulnay at Port Royal, killing one of his Captains. La Tour surrendered, but unhappy with that, d’Aulnay sailed back across the bay to blockade La Tour’s fort.
On July 14, 1640, Guillaume represented the residents of Acadia, inhabitants at Pentagouet (in Maine), La Hève and Port Royal, alongside Germain Doucet and Isaac Peseley who testified at an inquiry against Governor Charles La Tour.
In 1642, d’Aulnay blockaded the river at Saint John for five months while La Tour was gone. In July, La Tour returned from Boston with four ships and 270 men to retake his Fort Sainte-Marie, chasing d’Aulnay back to Port Royal, but not actually catching him.
The next year, still angry about d’Aulnay’s blockade of his fort, La Tour chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay where d’Aulnay was forced to run two of his ships aground. In the resulting skirmish, d’Aulnay lost another smaller ship, and three men from each side died. Satisfied with his damage, La Tour proceeded on to Boston to trade. D’Aulnay was left licking his wounds and fuming.
Later in 1643, La Tour, on his way back from Boston, attacked Port Royal again, killing three men and injuring seven, while La Tour only lost one man. La Tour’s men rampaged through Port Royal, burned the mill, stole furs and gunpowder, killed livestock and pillaged homes. For some reason, La Tour did not attack the fort directly, which was only defended by 20 men.
Guillaume’s home was unquestionably affected. Pillaged – but if he was lucky – not burned. His family must have been terrified. I’d wager that he was furious.
About 1643, Guillaume’s daughter, Jeanne Trahan, married Jacques Bourgeois, the local surgeon, merchant, and trader. This was a very good marriage for Jeanne and Jacques, both. In 1643, there were few eligible partners.
Port Royal was quite small, with only a few homes along the waterfront. In 1654, there were only about 270 people in total, but most had moved up the river to the BelleIsle area. Nicolas Denys noted of Port Royal that “all the inhabitants there are the ones whome Razilly brought from France to La Hève.” In other words, the original founding families. Later arrives settled upriver or across the river
In the 1671 census, families averaged about 5.5 people per family, so if that holds true in 1654, there were about 50 families total, most of whom did not live in Port Royal proper. In 1643, there were many fewer.
This 1686 map, more than 40 years later, shows the general layout of Port Royal, with Jacques Bourgeois living at Hogg Island, a few homes along the waterfront, the mill, the (then-ruined) fort, and the church shown. Even in 1686, there were few homes along the river.
On Easter Sunday, 1645, d’Aulnay gathered every man possible, 200 in total, and attacked La Tour’s fort across the bay at the mouth of the St. John’s River. La Tour was in Boston again, but his young wife valiantly commanded the soldiers who defended the fort for five long days.
Outnumbered and outgunned, she agreed to surrender terms that specified giving quarter to and not harming the soldiers. D’Aulnay agreed to those terms, but immediately broke them by hanging every soldier in La Tour’s garrison while his wife was forced to watch with a rope tied around her neck. Taken hostage, then “punished” for trying to send a letter through a Mi’kmaq trader to her husband, she died in captivity three weeks later.
Given their status in the community and military experience, Guillaume Trahan, Germain Doucet and Jacques Bourgeois would clearly have been involved in this unfortunate chapter in history.
Charles d’Aulnay, penning his will in 1649, writes of his wife that “She will not forget the wife of Guillaume Trahan.” This version of his will was replaced in 1650 wherein he mentions how kindly Germain Doucet has cared for his nieces and nephews and leaves to him and his wife both money and free rent for the rest of their lives. Doucet’s wife was Guillaume’s other daughter, whose name is not known.
D’Aulnay unexpectedly died in 1650 in a boating accident, leaving a power vacuum in Acadia – and an opening for La Tour. Acadia had been at war internally, with La Tour on one side and d’Aulnay on the other, essentially since the beginning of Acadia – by this time nearly 20 years. The warfare and warring factions were siphoning the resources and sapping the energy of the Acadian people. It had gone on for too long.
Acadia needed to heal.
In 1653, La Tour returned – and are you sitting down – married d’Aulnay’s widow. La Tour’s brave spouse and d’Aulnay were both probably turning in their graves.
Everyone was probably shocked, but this union offered the healing Acadia needed – and just in time. A united Acadia was much stronger than a divided Acadia. And the English were coming.
Acadia Falls
On July 14, 1654, the English unexpectedly attacked Port Royal. English Colonel, Robert Sedgewick was prepared to attack New Netherlands when peace was unexpectedly reached. “All dressed up with no place to go,” Sedgewick decided to attack Acadia instead.
He first reached La Tour’s fort at Saint John on the 13th and took that, capturing La Tour in the process. He then sailed across the bay where Port Royal’s governor, Emmanuel Le Borgne, was known to be quite friendly with the English and had been accused by La Tour of conspiring with them.
Entirely unprepared for an attack, especially of this magnitude. Sedgewick had 533 New England militia members, plus 200 professional soldiers sent by Oliver Cromwell. About 130 soldiers at Port Royal attempted to defend the fort, but the English killed 5 and forced the rest to retreat into the fort.
The resulting siege lasted until August 8th when Le Borgne surrendered with conditions very generous to the English – perhaps “too generous”. By this time, 113 Acadians were being held by the English, along with 23 cannons, 500 weapons, 50 barrels of gunpowder, and Le Borgne’s own ship, the Chateaufort, that was loaded to capacity with alcohol.
In the surrender conditions, Le Borgne was allowed to keep his ship, and the alcohol, which was quite valuable, and return to France. His sons were allowed to remain at Port Royal “as hostages” to watch over his property in Port Royal and elsewhere in Acadia, which he was allowed to retain. Many Acadians accused him of treason and blamed him for the capture of Port Royal and the savagry that followed.
Sedgewicks men tore through Port Royal, defaced the church, smashed windows, floors and paneling before burning the church and killing the settlers’ livestock.
Sedgewick and Le Bourgne’s handiwork would not be undone for another 16 years.
Guillaume signed the Act of Capitulation as “Mr. Guillaume Trouin, syndic of the inhabitants” in the “opposed” column. Given that Germain Doucet was the Commander of the Garrison at Port Royal, he and his wife, Guillaume’s daughter, and their children, if they had any, would have been shipped back to France along with the French soldiers and any Acadians who wanted to leave.
It must have pained Guillaume greatly to sign that agreement, understanding that it meant he would never see his daughter, or grandchildren if there were any, again. Doucet’s wife was one of only two children that Guillaume had with Francoise known to survive to adulthood.
The English had no plan to govern Acadia, because they had no plans to take Acadia in the first place, so they formed a council of Acadians to govern on their behalf, with Guillaume Trahan at its head.
A Second Family
We don’t know exactly when Guillaume’s wife, Francoise, died, other than she was alive in 1639 and was deceased by about 1666 when he remarried.
Given his position within the community, and that most widowers remarried fairly quickly, it’s likely that Francoise died about 1665, because Guillaume remarried about 1666, based on the ages of his children with his new wife, in the 1671 census.
Guillaume married 21-year-old Madeleine Brun, daughter of Vincent Brun and Renée Breau of La Chaussée, south of Loudun, not far from Chinon.
Forty-five years, give or take – that’s a BIG difference in age, but Guillaume was a “good catch”, a respected man of power and influence, and they began a second family.
In 1667, Acadia was returned to the French by treaty, but not effectively until 1670. In 1671, the first census was taken, which reflects Guillaume with his new wife and family.
In the 1671 census, Guillaume’s occupation is listed as “Marshal”, the meaning of which is questionable, but Karen Reader suggests it may be a farrier. We saw that same word back in the 1632 Bourgueil record too, so it’s at least consistent.
Guillaume might have been a bit sensitive about the 45-year age gap, because he is listed as 60 “or thereabouts”, when he was approximately 70. He’s listed with his wife, Madeleine Brun, 25, son Guillaume, 4, clearly his namesake, Jehan-Charles, 3, and Alexandre, 1. They were living on 5 arpents of land with 8 cattle and 10 sheep.
Three sons. Guillaume must have been thrilled. We have no idea how many children Guillaume and Francoise lost, but given that we know of only two who survived to adulthood, and women were of childbearing age for about 24 years – they would have had at least 12 children, if not several more.
Perhaps this second family, even if he was the age of grandparents or even great-grandparents, was just what he needed.
In the 1678 census, Guillaume is listed with 3 boys and 3 girls, although children’s names and ages aren’t given.
One unknown Trahan child who was born about 1673 was reflected in the 1678 census, but had died by the 1686 census.
In the 1686 census, Guillaume has died, because his widow, Magdelaine Brun, age 47 (actually 41), has remarried to Pierre Bezier, and her children with Guillaume are listed as:
- Guillaume, 19
- Jean, 17
- Jean-Charles, 15
- Marie, 14
- Jeanne, 12
- Magdelaine, 9
The next child is Susanne Joan, 2 months, who is her child with her new husband, Pierre.
Guillaume’s last child, Magdelaine, was born about 1678, and his wife had remarried by 1686, so Guillaume died sometime between 1678 and 1685 when Magdelaine became pregnant for Susanne Joan.
As is typical, it’s more likely that Guillaume died closer to her remarriage, so perhaps he died about 1684. He may have been ill between 1678 and his death in his mid-80s, if not older.
Guillaume lived a very long life for someone born around the year 1600, or perhaps earlier, when medical care as we know it was entirely nonexistent.
Guillaume would have been buried in the Garrison Cemetery after his funeral service in the church, just a short walk from where he lived in Port Royal. Every single person in Port Royal would have attended. Guillaume wasn’t the oldest resident in Acadia, but only two or three men, one of whom may have been his old friend, Pierre Martin, were older. Today, the Acadian graves are unmarked, and their beloved church is long gone.
This humble marker commemorates the location of the Catholic church, with the fort’s bastions and the river in the background. “Mother” and I visited and stood on this hallowed ground, exactly a year ago, today.
Where did Guillaume Live in Port Royal?
It’s somehow ironic that for all the things we don’t know about Guillaume, we do know approximately where he lived in Port Royal.
The Simon Pelletret profile in WikiTree provides the following information:
On the list of expropriations of 1705 appear the names of François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, Simon Pelletret and Michel Boudrot, as owners of the locations “joining the side of the old fort”. Four of these five names are those of the first settlers of Port-Royal. Trahan for example having arrived on board the Saint-Jehan in 1636 and Boudrot having been trustee at Port-Royal in 1639. In 1705, all four had long since died and it must be assumed that their heirs were the current owners of these locations at the time of the expropriations. We believe that it was the same with Simon Pelletret. Given that there was no male of this name on the censuses of Acadia from 1671, we think that this Simon must have been the first husband of Perrine Bourg. Simon Pelletret would therefore have received, like François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, and Michel Boudrot, one of the first concessions at Port-Royal, very close to the fort.
This makes perfect sense because these were the first settlers, and many of the descendants of these men were assigned compensatory land just across Allain’s River, side by side.
Cousin Mark sent me a map that shows the land of the men whose land was expropriated when Fort Anne was expanded in 1705.
You can see the familiar landmarks of the fort, the river, today’s Rue Saint-Antoine, and the long, skinny strips of land that would provide everyone a tiny bit of waterfront.
You can see the various properties, overlaid with the dimensions of the larger 1705 fort extension. The Trahan land (79) falls inside and outside of the upper star point.
I was able to use contemporary landmarks to “true” this map and my location when I visited. The approximate location of Guillaume Trahan’s land is marked with the red broken arrow.
Once again, when I was there, I had no idea I was standing on his land.
I am either standing on or right beside Guillaume Trahan’s five arpents of land in this photo. You can see the fort’s bastions and the Edge of the Queen’s Wharf where the Acadians were forced to board the expulsion ships in 1755.
I wonder if Guillaume’s descendants, generations later, knew that they were actually being forced to leave from the ground that their original Acadian settler ancestors were given after arrival.
Guillaume would have surveyed the Rivière du Dauphin towards the sea to watch for approaching ships, and to determine whether they were friend or foe. Here, in 1654, he watched the English warships approach. Here, in 1670, he watched a French ship approach with a French governor, once again. Guillaume probably wondered if he would live long enough to see this day.
Acadia would fall to the English again, but not in his lifetime.
Cannons eventually stood on Guillaume’s land, defending Port Royal, or at least trying.
The portion of the Rue Saint Antoine that became part of the fort runs beneath this culvert today.
Guillaume Trahan’s land abutted the street and was located between where I’m standing and about where that white statue stands.
It was here, overlooking the river, fort, and town, that Guillaume spent nearly half a century, raised his families, attended church, saw his daughters married, fought wars, waved goodbye to one daughter forever, buried his wife and a few grandchildren, remarried, and added a second family to his legacy.
All he had to do was turn around to visit the church and parish cemetery where he would join Francoise and rest for all eternity.
A Final Wink
Guillaume lived an incredible life. While he must have been frightened from time to time, none of that is evident in his legacy of leadership.
He was, after all, human, though.
I have felt throughout the process of walking with my Acadian ancestors that I have been guided, or perhaps shepherded, or maybe dragged kicking and screaming by some.
Sometimes, I felt like they were trying so hard to communicate something to me, and I was strolling along obliviously as they were SCREAMING, “Over here, look over here!”
Guillaume has, perhaps, one of the more persistent voices. Thankfully, I finally heard him, even if he did have to drag me across an ocean, two other countries and several provinces for me to hear him clearly.
Guillaume, I’m listening if you have something else to say. Please, please whisper in my ear.
And right on queue, Guillaume spoke up.
Last year, when I was in Bourgueil, I was disappointed that Pierre Martin wasn’t my ancestor, and he was the only Acadian ancestor with roots there.
Nonetheless, I felt an incredibly strong “pull.” I don’t know how to explain it, other than I felt I belonged there, to that place. Part of me was there and had returned home. I kept asking if there were other Acadians from there, and of course, the answer was “no.”
I very much wanted to help preserve the Saint-Germain church, even though it wasn’t “mine.”
The tour guides, Claude and Anne-Christine always donate on behalf of their tour groups to the places that so generously make themselves available so that we can appreciate the history first-hand.
Anne-Christine, shown above, holds the roof slate that the folks from Bourgueil had created to commemorate our group’s visit.
We all donate to the “pot” to be divided among the various locations, but I felt the need to contribute something more. I have no idea why.
Jim and I were digging around in our billfolds to see how many Euros we had between us.
I don’t remember how much we came up with, but after the tour, I handed it quietly and privately to the very kind lady, in the center, above, who had explained about the urgent need for the roof restoration.
This lady clearly loves this church, and facilitated the tour inside. Now, I wonder if she, too, is a cousin.
A few weeks later, I received a text on my phone from Anne-Christine.
It made me cry.
Thanks to that very kind lady, Jim and I now have our own roof slate, waiting for its moment to be anchored in place, an unbroken thread from the day Guillaume last worshipped here 11 generations ago.
A piece of me will forever remain in Bourgueil, held fast under the sky, while centuries of clouds turn above it. Long after we are gone, the names will still whisper — perhaps puzzling those who will one day look up and wonder about those white marks on the roof – some 300 or 400 years into the future.
I hope Guillaume will explain.
Guillaume spoke. He called to me, and even though I had no idea at the time, his voice clearly reached me across the centuries. Three times I had stood exactly where he had – without knowing it until months later. Three times, he had guided me.
I had some catching up with Guillaume to do, but now, everything makes sense.
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