520 Livres for a Murdered Husband

How the Research Began

The discovery of Toussaint Hunault's murder didn't begin with a dramatic archival moment—it began with a genealogical puzzle. While reconstructing Marie Lorgueil's complete family history, we were systematically documenting every child, every marriage, every death record. Marie had married Toussaint Hunault on November 23, 1654, at Notre-Dame de Montréal. They had 10 children together between 1655 and 1676. The 1666 census showed them as a thriving family. Everything appeared straightforward.

Then we found Toussaint's death record.

The date itself wasn't surprising: September 13, 1690. Toussaint would have been approximately 62 years old—a reasonable age for death in 17th-century New France. But then we saw the notation from genealogist Peter Gagne's research compilation: "murdered by Gabriel Dumont, Baron de Blaignac, Lieutenant of a Company of Marines, by sword, who fled after the attack."

The Questions That Immediately Arose

This single notation transformed what had been a straightforward genealogical reconstruction into something far more complex. Several urgent questions demanded answers:

Why This Discovery Mattered

Most genealogical research encounters death records that simply state: "died of natural causes" or "died at age X." But murder—especially murder by a nobleman—immediately signals that there would be legal consequences. In 17th-century New France, the murder of a habitant by a military officer would have triggered:

• Criminal investigation (or attempted investigation)
• Potential trial records
• Widow's legal actions (seeking justice or compensation)
• Estate settlement proceedings
• Community response and documentation

In other words: where there was murder, there should be a paper trail. The question was whether that paper trail had survived 330 years.

The Context: Marie's Life in 1690

To understand what Marie faced, we needed to reconstruct her situation at the moment of Toussaint's death:

The Timeline That Emerged

As we cross-referenced multiple sources, a devastating timeline began to emerge:

This timeline revealed something crucial: Marie didn't just lose her husband to murder—she lost him while still grieving her daughter. The psychological weight of burying a child murdered by Iroquois raiders, then thirteen months later having her husband murdered by a French nobleman, is almost incomprehensible.

Research Challenge #1: The Missing Trial Record

Given that we had clear documentation of murder by a named perpetrator, the logical next step was to search for the criminal trial record. Murder by a military officer would have triggered significant legal proceedings. We began searching the Archives Nationales du Québec for:

• Criminal case files, Royal Jurisdiction of Montreal (1690-1692)
• Military tribunal records (if handled separately)
• Governor's correspondence regarding officer misconduct
• Intendant's records of colonial justice matters

Result: No trial record found.

This absence was itself significant. Either:

1. The trial record was lost over 330 years (possible but unlikely for such a serious case)
2. The Baron was never caught and thus never tried (more likely given "fled after attack")
3. The case was handled through military channels whose records are elsewhere or lost
4. The Baron used his rank and connections to avoid prosecution entirely

The absence of a trial record meant we needed to find alternative documentation. That's when we began looking for widow's settlement records.

The Name That Changed Everything

Having established that Toussaint Hunault was murdered on September 13, 1690, the next critical question was: Who was his murderer?

The name from the death record was specific: Gabriel Dumont, Baron de Blaignac, Lieutenant of a Company of Marines. This wasn't a vague reference to "an unknown assailant" or "a military officer"—this was a full identification including title, rank, and unit. The specificity of the record suggested that the murderer's identity was well-known to colonial authorities at the time.

But 330 years later, we needed to verify: Did this person actually exist? What was his position in the colonial military? And most importantly: what kind of man murders a habitant farmer with a sword and flees?

Understanding the Title: "Baron de Blaignac"

The title "Baron" immediately signaled nobility. In 17th-century France, baronial titles placed a person firmly in the aristocratic class—not at the very top (Dukes, Counts), but well above commoners. A Baron had:

• Legal privileges - Different treatment in courts
• Social standing - Access to colonial leadership
• Economic advantages - Land grants, monopolies, appointments
• Military career path - Officer positions reserved for nobility

"De Blaignac" suggested a territorial connection—likely a family estate or landholding in France from which the title derived. This wasn't a man who had worked his way up from nothing. This was someone born into privilege, with family connections and resources.

The Research Challenge: Verifying Dumont's Existence

Having a name is one thing. Verifying that person actually existed and held the positions claimed is another. We needed to find independent confirmation of Gabriel Dumont's identity and role in New France. The search focused on:

1. Military rosters and officer lists - Did a Lieutenant Dumont serve in the Marine forces in 1690?
2. Noble registries - Was there a Baron de Blaignac in colonial records?
3. Land grants and property records - Did he receive seigneurial grants as officers often did?
4. Governor's correspondence - Any mentions of Dumont in official communications?

The challenge was that military records from 1690s New France are incomplete. Many were lost, destroyed, or returned to France. We had to piece together what we could from surviving fragments.

What We Found (and Didn't Find)

Our search for Gabriel Dumont in the archives produced mixed results:

The absence of detailed records about Dumont after the murder supports the notation that he "fled after the attack." If he had remained in the colony and faced trial, there would be extensive documentation. The silence suggests he either:

1. Escaped to France
2. Fled to another part of the colony and lived under assumed identity
3. Died shortly after the attack (illness, accident, or other violence)
4. Used his connections to obtain transfer to another post

The Power Differential: Why This Matters

Understanding who Gabriel Dumont was—a Baron, a Lieutenant, a nobleman—is crucial to understanding what Marie Lorgueil faced when her husband was murdered. This wasn't simply "person A killed person B." This was:

The Power Differential: Habitant vs. Nobleman

The Question of Motive

Why would a Baron and Lieutenant of Marines kill a 62-year-old habitant farmer? The historical record provides no direct answer, but we can examine possibilities:

The truth is: we don't know. No trial record means no testimony, no witness statements, no explanation. The motive died with Toussaint—or fled with Dumont.

September 14, 1690: The Morning After

The day after Toussaint Hunault was murdered, Marie Lorgueil woke up to a new reality: she was 56 years old, had eight children depending on her, no income, existing debts, and her husband's murderer had fled. She wasn't just a widow—she was a widow facing an impossible choice between pursuing justice and feeding her family.

To understand the decision Marie would eventually make (selling her legal rights for 520 livres in 1691), we first needed to reconstruct exactly what she faced in September 1690. This required piecing together information from multiple sources spanning her entire life.

Reconstructing Marie's Family in 1690

Through systematic research of baptism records, marriage records, and the 1666 census, we documented all ten of Marie's children and determined which were still living in 1690:

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Marie's Eight Living Children (September 1690)

The Economic Reality of Widowhood

While five of Marie's eight surviving children were adults (ages 23-35), only some were in positions to help financially. Understanding Marie's economic vulnerability required examining what widowhood meant in 1690s New France:

The standard assumption might be that Marie's adult children would support her. And they did—eventually, Marie lived with her son André in Varennes from 1690 until her death in 1700. But adult children had their own families, their own expenses, their own struggles. Marie couldn't simply become a permanent dependent without consequence.

The Debt to Charles de Couagne

The widow's settlement document of 1691 reveals a crucial detail: Toussaint owed money to Charles de Couagne at the time of his death. This debt didn't disappear—it became Marie's responsibility.

Charles de Couagne was one of Montreal's prominent merchants. Being in debt to a wealthy merchant meant:

• Legal obligation that survived Toussaint's death
• Creditor could demand immediate payment from estate
• Failure to pay could result in seizure of property
• Ongoing interest accumulating on unpaid balance

So Marie didn't just need money to live—she needed money to satisfy creditors who had legal right to collect.

The Cost of Pursuing Justice

Even if Marie wanted to pursue legal action against Baron de Blaignac, she faced substantial obstacles. To understand her dilemma, we researched what a criminal case would actually cost in 1690s New France:

The Psychological Weight: Layered Trauma

While reconstructing Marie's economic situation, we also had to acknowledge the psychological reality she faced. The timeline we established in Phase 1 revealed something devastating:

💔 Marie's Losses: A Timeline of Trauma

The Widow's Impossible Choice

By late 1690, Marie faced a choice that wasn't really a choice at all:

"Marie could choose abstract justice someday or concrete survival today. She could pursue a nobleman who fled or feed her children tonight. She could wait years for a verdict or settle her debts immediately."

In Phase 4, we'll see exactly what offer Charles de Couagne made—and why Marie accepted it.

The Document That Changed Everything

Having established that Marie faced an impossible situation—no income, existing debt, 8 children, and a murderer who had fled—the next question was: what did she actually do about it?

The answer came from a widow's settlement document dated 1691, referenced in Peter Gagne's genealogical research. This single document revealed that Marie and her children didn't just passively accept their fate. They acted. They filed suit against Baron de Blaignac. And then—critically—they made a deal.

This wasn't a trial verdict. This wasn't a criminal sentence. This was a business transaction—one that would define the rest of Marie's life.

The Settlement: What the Document Revealed

The widow's settlement of 1691 outlined a specific exchange between three parties: Marie Lorgueil and her children (sellers), Charles de Couagne (buyer), and the absent Baron de Blaignac (defendant).

Who Was Charles de Couagne?

Understanding why this transaction made sense requires understanding who Charles de Couagne was—and why he was interested in buying a widow's legal case.

💼 Charles de Couagne: Montreal Merchant

Analyzing the Transaction: Was This Fair?

From a modern perspective, the idea of "selling justice" might seem wrong. But in 1691, legal rights were property—they could be bought, sold, and traded like any other asset. The question isn't whether the transaction was morally right, but whether it was economically rational for both parties.

⚖️ The Transaction Analysis: Win-Win or Exploitation?

What Happened Next: Did Couagne Pursue the Case?

Having acquired Marie's legal rights, Charles de Couagne now owned the lawsuit against Baron de Blaignac. The question is: did he actually pursue it?

Answer: We don't know.

The absence of records suggests several possibilities:

1. Couagne never pursued it - Perhaps after buying the rights, he decided it wasn't worth the effort to chase a fled nobleman
2. Baron was never found - If the defendant couldn't be located, the case couldn't proceed
3. Quiet settlement - Perhaps Couagne and Baron reached private agreement, no public record
4. Records lost - 330 years is a long time; documents may have been destroyed or misplaced

What we know for certain is that Marie never saw her husband's murderer face consequences. She took the 520 livres, cleared her debts, and moved on with survival. Whether Couagne ever collected anything beyond Toussaint's modest estate remains unknown.

The Timing Question

One detail we couldn't pin down with precision: How much time passed between Toussaint's murder (September 13, 1690) and the widow's settlement (1691)?

The document is dated "1691" but doesn't specify the month. This matters because:

• If early 1691 (January-March) = Marie waited only 3-6 months
• If late 1691 (October-December) = Marie waited over a year

The timing would tell us whether Marie quickly accepted she couldn't pursue the Baron, or whether she tried first and then gave up. Without the specific date, we can only know that by 1691, Marie had made her choice.

The Number That Defined Marie's Fate

Marie Lorgueil sold her legal rights for 520 livres plus debt forgiveness. But what did 520 livres actually mean in 1691 New France? Was it a fortune? A pittance? Enough to survive on? Too little for justice?

Understanding the economic value of Marie's settlement required extensive research into 1690s prices, wages, and purchasing power. We couldn't just accept "520 livres" at face value—we needed to know what it could buy, how long it would last, and whether it was a fair price for what Marie gave up.

This phase involved cross-referencing economic data from multiple sources: notarial records showing prices, court cases involving property values, census records with declared assets, and economic histories of New France. The goal: translate 520 livres into terms we can understand.

Methodology: How We Calculated Value

To understand 520 livres, we used a comparative approach—looking at what specific items cost in 1690s New France. This is more reliable than trying to calculate modern equivalents (which are always approximate and misleading). Instead, we asked: "What could Marie actually buy with this money?"

🛒 What 520 Livres Could Buy in 1691

Real-World Example: Pierre's Oxen Lawsuit (1694)

One of our best sources for understanding property values came from within Marie's own family. In 1694—just three years after Marie's settlement—her son Pierre Hunault filed a lawsuit for property damage. The case records provide specific values for livestock, which helps us understand Marie's 520 livres in concrete terms.

Annual Wage Comparisons

Another way to understand 520 livres is to compare it to what people earned annually in various occupations:

The Modern Equivalent Question

One question that comes up frequently: "What would 520 livres be worth in today's money?"

This is simultaneously the most asked and least useful question. Currency conversions across 330+ years are notoriously unreliable because:

• The economy was completely different (mostly agricultural vs. industrial/digital)
• Relative prices have changed dramatically (livestock was expensive then, cheap now)
• Labor value was different (human labor more valuable, technology less)
• Different purchasing power for different goods

That said, using rough calculations based on comparative purchasing power and wage multiples, 520 livres in 1691 might approximate $40,000-$60,000 USD today—but this is a very rough estimate and should not be taken as precise.

More useful comparison: Think of 520 livres as 2-3 years of income for someone at Marie's economic level. In modern terms, imagine a widow being offered 2-3 years of salary in cash, plus all debts forgiven, in exchange for giving up the right to sue her husband's murderer. That's the economic reality Marie faced.

💳 The Debt Forgiveness Factor

Was 520 Livres Fair?

Having established what 520 livres meant in purchasing power, the question remains: Was this a fair settlement?

The answer depends on what we're comparing it to:

Understanding the System

To fully understand Marie's widow settlement, we needed to understand the legal framework that made such a transaction possible—and necessary. How did justice work in 1690s New France? What rights did widows have? How could legal claims be bought and sold like property?

This phase required researching colonial law, examining other family legal cases for comparison, and understanding the court system structure. The goal: explain why Marie's transaction was legally valid and what it reveals about colonial justice.

The Court System Structure

New France had a hierarchical court system based on French law:

⚖️ The Colonial Court System (1690s)

Widow's Legal Rights in New France

One of the most important aspects of this research was understanding what legal rights Marie actually had as a widow. Colonial law regarding widows was complex—influenced by French customary law but adapted for frontier conditions.

Community of Property Law

New France followed the Custom of Paris (Coutume de Paris), which governed property rights in marriage. Understanding this system is crucial to understanding what Marie inherited—and what she gave up.

Transfer of Legal Claims: Why It Was Legal

The most unusual aspect of Marie's settlement—from a modern perspective—is that she sold her legal claim to Charles de Couagne. Today, this might seem improper or even illegal. But in 17th-century New France, legal claims were property, and property could be bought and sold.

This practice was called cession of rights (cession de droits) and was perfectly legal under French law. Here's how it worked:

🔄 Legal Mechanism: Transfer of Claims (Cession de Droits)

Other Family Legal Cases: A Pattern of Court Use

Marie's widow settlement wasn't the only time the Hunault family appeared in colonial courts. In fact, researching this case revealed a pattern: across three generations, Marie's family regularly used the legal system to resolve disputes, pursue claims, and protect their interests.

This context matters because it shows that Marie understood how courts worked. She wasn't naive or helpless—she came from a family that knew how to navigate the colonial legal system when necessary.

⚖️ Hunault Family Legal Cases (1683-1738)

The Man Who Disappeared

We know Gabriel Dumont, Baron de Blaignac, ran Toussaint Hunault through with a sword on September 13, 1690, and fled. We know Marie filed suit and then sold her legal rights to Charles de Couagne in 1691. But then...nothing.

The Baron vanishes from the historical record.

This final phase documents the extensive search for what happened to Marie's husband's murderer—and confronts the reality that sometimes, even after 40+ hours of research across multiple archives, history doesn't give us the answers we want.

What We Searched For

Finding evidence of Baron de Blaignac's fate became a methodical process of elimination. We searched every archive, every record type, every reference that might contain information about what happened after September 13, 1690.

🔍 Comprehensive Archive Search (1690-1695)

The Silence of the Record

After searching five categories of records across multiple archives, the conclusion was unavoidable: Gabriel Dumont, Baron de Blaignac, left no trace after September 13, 1690.

This absence is itself meaningful. The last confirmed reference to the Baron states he "fled after the attack." After that—nothing. No trial. No punishment. No death record. No property transactions. No military reassignment. Complete silence.

What does this silence mean?

🤔 Possible Explanations for the Baron's Disappearance

What This Means for Marie's Story

The absence of any record of Baron de Blaignac's fate isn't just a frustrating research dead-end—it's a crucial part of Marie's story. It means:

The Final Research Question

After documenting what we couldn't find, one question remained: Should we stop searching?

The answer depends on what we're trying to accomplish. If the goal is to find Baron de Blaignac's definitive fate—where he went, how he died, what happened to him—then yes, we've exhausted the readily available archives. Further research would require:

• Traveling to France to search provincial archives for Blaignac family records
• Searching French military archives for Marine forces officer records
• Hiring professional genealogists specializing in French nobility
• Months or years of additional research with no guarantee of results

But if the goal is to understand Marie's story—what she faced, what choices she made, what her life was like—then we have everything we need. The Baron's absence from the record is itself part of the story. It tells us that Marie sold her case to Couagne, took the 520 livres, cleared her debts, and moved on—because there was no other realistic option.

Sometimes the silence of the archives is as meaningful as what they contain.

📜 PRIMARY SOURCES

📚 SECONDARY SOURCES

🏛️ ARCHIVES & REPOSITORIES CONSULTED

📋 Record Types Examined

⏱️ Research Timeline & Hours

The Story We Set Out to Tell

When this research began, we had a single piece of information: in 1691, Marie Lorgueil and her children sold their legal rights for 520 livres and debt forgiveness to merchant Charles de Couagne. The question was simple: Why?

What we discovered was a story far richer and more complex than a simple transaction. We found a widow who had buried her daughter to Iroquois violence thirteen months before her husband was murdered by a French nobleman. We found a family drowning in debt with eight children to support. We found a legal system that theoretically offered justice but practically required resources Marie didn't have. We found a merchant who saw opportunity in a widow's desperation. And we found a murderer who vanished from history without consequence.

But most importantly, we found Marie's agency. She didn't passively accept her fate. She filed suit. She negotiated. She made the hardest choice imaginable—survival over justice—and she survived.

What This Research Accomplished

What This Case Reveals About New France

Marie Lorgueil's widow settlement is more than one woman's story. It's a window into how colonial New France actually functioned—not the idealized version in textbooks, but the messy reality of power, class, violence, and survival.

Methodological Reflections

This research demonstrates several important principles for historical methodology:

1. Follow the documents wherever they lead. We didn't set out to write about a murder—we followed Marie's paper trail and found one. Let the sources guide the narrative.

2. Context matters more than isolated facts. "520 livres" is meaningless without understanding what it could buy, what Marie owed, what justice cost, and what her alternatives were.

3. Cross-reference everything. Marie's story only emerged by connecting vital records, legal documents, census data, family cases, and economic histories. No single source told the complete story.

4. Be honest about what you don't know. We don't know what happened to the Baron. We don't know the exact settlement date. We don't know the debt amount. Acknowledging gaps is as important as documenting what we found.

5. Center the subject's choices, not just their circumstances. Marie wasn't just a victim. She strategized, negotiated, and made hard decisions. Historical actors deserve credit for their agency even when their options were limited.

The Limits of This Research

Despite 40+ hours and 40+ sources, significant questions remain unanswered:

• What happened to Baron de Blaignac? (No evidence found)
• What was his motive for murdering Toussaint? (Unknown)
• Exact settlement date in 1691? (Month/day unspecified)
• Amount of debt owed to Couagne? (Not documented in available records)
• Value of Toussaint's estate? (Unknown)
• Did Couagne pursue the Baron? (No evidence either way)
• Marie's own words/thoughts? (No letters or testimony preserved)

These gaps aren't research failures—they're acknowledgments of what 330 years and incomplete archives leave uncertain. Future researchers may discover documents we missed or couldn't access. But based on available records, this is as complete as the story can be told today.

🔭 Directions for Future Research

Marie's Legacy

On November 29, 1700, Marie Lorgueil died in Varennes at age 66. She had lived ten years as a widow, supported by her son André. She never saw her husband's murderer face consequences. She never got back the inheritance rights she sold. She never received more than 520 livres and debt forgiveness for 36 years of marriage and a murdered husband.

But she survived. After losing two young children to illness, one adult daughter to Iroquois violence, and her husband to a nobleman's sword, Marie Lorgueil survived. She made the hardest choice imaginable—selling justice for survival—and she lived another ten years because of it.

Her eight living children married and had children of their own. Her grandchildren had children. Her family line continued. Today, Marie Lorgueil has thousands of descendants across North America.

That's her legacy. Not justice. Not the 520 livres. Not revenge on the Baron. Survival, continuation, endurance.

🙏 Acknowledgments