They are excessively vain, and not only look on the French as theonly civilized nation in the world, but on themselves as the flower ofthe French nation: they had, I am told, a great aversion to the regulartroops which came from France in the late war, and a contempt equal tothat aversion; they however had an affection and esteem for the lateMarquis De Montcalm, which almost rose to idolatry; and I have even atthis distance of time seen many of them in tears at the mention of hisname: an honest tribute to the memory of a commander equally brave andhumane; for whom his enemies wept even on the day when their own herofell.
I am called upon for this letter, and have only time to assure yourLordship of my respect, and of the pleasure I always receive from yourcommands. I have the honor to be,
My Lord, Your Lordship's, &c. William Fermor.
LETTER 73.
To Miss Fermor.
Feb. 24, Eleven at night.
I have indeed, my dear, a pleasure in his conversation, to whichwords cannot do justice: love itself is less tender and lively than myfriendship for Rivers; from the first moment I saw him, I lost alltaste for other conversation; even yours, amiable as you are, borrowsits most prevailing charm from the pleasure of hearing you talk of him.
When I call my tenderness for him friendship, I do not mean eitherto paint myself as an enemy to tenderer sentiments, or him as one whomit is easy to see without feeling them: all I mean is, that, as oursituations make it impossible for us to think of each other except asfriends, I have endeavored--I hope with success--to see him in noother light: it is not in his power to marry without fortune, and mineis a trifle: had I worlds, they should be his; but, I am neither soselfish as to desire, nor so romantic as to expect, that he shoulddescend from the rank of life he has been bred in, and live lost to theworld with me.
As to the impertinence of two or three women, I hear of it withperfect indifference: my dear Rivers esteems me, he approves myconduct, and all else is below my care: the applause of worlds wouldgive me less pleasure than one smile of approbation from him.
I am astonished your father should know me so little, as to supposeme capable of being influenced even by you: when I determined to refuseSir George, it was from the feelings of my own heart alone; the firstmoment I saw Colonel Rivers convinced me my heart had till then been astranger to true tenderness: from that moment my life has been onecontinued struggle between my reason, which shewed me the folly as wellas indecency of marrying one man when I so infinitely preferredanother, and a false point of honor and mistaken compassion: from whichpainful state, a concurrence of favorable accidents has at lengthhappily relieved me, and left me free to act as becomes me.
Of this, my dear, be assured, that, though I have not the least ideaof ever marrying Colonel Rivers, yet, whilst my sentiments for himcontinue what they are, I will never marry any other man.
I am hurt at what Mrs. Melmoth hinted in her letter to you, ofRivers having appeared to attach himself to me from vanity; sheendeavors in vain to destroy my esteem for him: you well know, he neverdid appear to attach himself to me; he is incapable of having done itfrom such a motive; but if he had, such delight have I in whateverpleases him, that I should with joy have sacrificed my own vanity togratify his.
Adieu! Your Emily Montague.
LETTER 74.
To Miss Montague.
Feb. 25, Eight o'clock, just up.
My dear, you deceive yourself; you love Colonel Rivers; you love himeven with all the tenderness of romance: read over again the latterpart of your letter; I know friendship, and of what it is capable; butI fear the sacrifices it makes are of a different nature.
Examine your heart, my Emily, and tell me the result of thatexamination. It is of the utmost consequence to you to be clear as tothe nature of your affection for Rivers.
Adieu! Yours, A. Fermor.
LETTER 75.
To Miss Fermor.
Yes, my dear Bell, you know me better than I know myself; your Emilyloves.--But tell me, and with that clear sincerity which is thecement of our friendship; has not your own heart discovered to you thesecret of mine? do you not also love this most amiable of mankind? Yes,you do, and I am lost: it is not in woman to see him without love;there are a thousand charms in his conversation, in his look, nay inthe very sound of his voice, to which it is impossible for a soul likeyours to be insensible.
I have observed you a thousand times listening to him with that airof softness and complacency--Believe me, my dear, I am not angry withyou for loving him; he is formed to charm the heart of woman: I havenot the least right to complain of you; you knew nothing of my passionfor him; you even regarded me almost as the wife of another. But tellme, though my heart dies within me at the question, is your tendernessmutual? does he love you? I have observed a coldness in his mannerlately, which now alarms me.--My heart is torn in pieces. Must Ireceive this wound from the two persons on earth most dear to me?Indeed, my dear, this is more than your Emily can bear. Tell me onlywhether you love: I will not ask more.--Is there on earth a man whocan please where he appears?
LETTER 76.
To Miss Montague.
You have discovered me, my sweet Emily: I love--not quite sodyingly as you do; but I love; will you forgive me when I add that I ambeloved? It is unnecessary to add the name of him I love, as you haveso kindly appropriated the whole sex to Colonel Rivers.
However, to shew you it is possible you may be mistaken, 'tis thelittle Fitz I love, who, in my eye, is ten times more agreable thaneven your nonpareil of a Colonel; I know you will think me a shockingwretch for this depravity of taste; but so it is.
Upon my word, I am half inclined to be angry with you for not beingin love with Fitzgerald; a tall Irishman, with good eyes, has as cleara title to make conquests as other people.
Yes, my dear, _there is a man on earth_, and even in the littletown of Quebec, _who can please where he appears_. Surely, child,if there was but one man on earth who could please, you would not be sounreasonable as to engross him all to yourself.
For my part, though I like Fitzgerald extremely, I by no meansinsist that every other woman shall.
Go, you are a foolish girl, and don't know what you would be at.Rivers is a very handsome agreable fellow; but _it is in woman_ tosee him without dying for love, of which behold your little Bell anexample. Adieu! be wiser, and believe me
Ever yours, A. Fermor.
Will you go this morning to Montmorenci on the ice, and dine on theisland of Orleans? dare you trust yourself in a covered carriole withthe dear man? Don't answer this, because I am certain you can saynothing on the subject, which will not be very foolish.
LETTER 77.
To Miss Fermor.
I am glad you do not see Colonel Rivers with my eyes; yet it seemsto me very strange; I am almost piqued at your giving another thepreference. I will say no more, it being, as you observe, impossible toavoid being absurd on such a subject.
I will go to Montmorenci; and, to shew my courage, will venture in acovered carriole with Colonel Rivers, though I should rather wish yourfather for my cavalier at present.
Yours, Emily Montague.
LETTER 78.
To Miss Montague.
You are right, my dear: 'tis more prudent to go with my father. Ilove prudence; and will therefore send for Mademoiselle Clairaut to beRivers's belle.
Yours, A. Fermor.
LETTER 79.
To Miss Fermor.
You are a provoking chit, and I will go with Rivers. Your father mayattend Madame Villiers, who you know will naturally take it ill if sheis not of our party. We can ask Mademoiselle Clairaut another time.
Adieu! Your Emily Montague.
LETTER 80.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Feb. 25.
Those who have heard no more of a Canadian winter than what regardsthe intenseness of its cold, must suppose it a very joyless s
eason:'tis, I assure you, quite otherwise; there are indeed some days here ofthe severity of which those who were never out of England can form noconception; but those days seldom exceed a dozen in a whole winter,nor do they come in succession; but at intermediate periods, as thewinds set in from the North-West; which, coming some hundred leagues,from frozen lakes and rivers, over woods and mountains covered withsnow, would be insupportable, were it not for the furs with which thecountry abounds, in such variety and plenty as to be within the reachof all its inhabitants.
Thus defended, the British belles set the winter of Canada atdefiance; and the season of which you seem to entertain such terribleideas, is that of the utmost chearfulness and festivity.
But what particularly pleases me is, there is no place where womenare of such importance: not one of the sex, who has the least share ofattractions, is without a levee of beaux interceding for the honor ofattending her on some party, of which every day produces three or four.
I am just returned from one of the most agreable jaunts imaginationcan paint, to the island of Orleans, by the falls of Montmorenci; thelatter is almost nine miles distant, across the great bason of Quebec;but as we are obliged to reach it in winter by the waving line, ourdirect road being intercepted by the inequalities of the ice, it is nowperhaps a third more. You will possibly suppose a ride of this kindmust want one of the greatest essentials to entertainment, that ofvariety, and imagine it only one dull whirl over an unvaried plain ofsnow: on the contrary, my dear, we pass hills and mountains of ice inthe trifling space of these few miles. The bason of Quebec is formed bythe conflux of the rivers St. Charles and Montmorenci with the greatriver St. Lawrence, the rapidity of whose flood tide, as these riversare gradually seized by the frost, breaks up the ice, and drives itback in heaps, till it forms ridges of transparent rock to an heightthat is astonishing, and of a strength which bids defiance to theutmost rage of the most furiously rushing tide.
This circumstance makes this little journey more pleasing than youcan possibly conceive: the serene blue sky above, the dazlingbrightness of the sun, and the colors from the refraction of its rayson the transparent part of these ridges of ice, the winding coursethese oblige you to make, the sudden disappearing of a train of fifteenor twenty carrioles, as these ridges intervene, which again discoverthemselves on your rising to the top of the frozen mount, thetremendous appearance both of the ascent and descent, which however arenot attended with the least danger; all together give a grandeur andvariety to the scene, which almost rise to enchantment.
Your dull foggy climate affords nothing that can give you the leastidea of our frost pieces in Canada; nor can you form any notion of ouramusements, of the agreableness of a covered carriole, with a sprightlyfellow, rendered more sprightly by the keen air and romantic sceneabout him; to say nothing of the fair lady at his side.
Even an overturning has nothing alarming in it; you are laid gentlydown on a soft bed of snow, without the least danger of any kind; andan accident of this sort only gives a pretty fellow occasion to varythe style of his civilities, and shew a greater degree of attention.
But it is almost time to come to Montmorenci: to avoid, however,fatiguing you or myself, I shall refer the rest of our tour to anotherletter, which will probably accompany this: my meaning is, that twomoderate letters are vastly better than one long one; in whichsentiment I know you agree with
Yours, A. Fermor.
LETTER 81.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Silleri, Feb. 25, Afternoon.
So, my dear, as I was saying, this same ride to Montmorenci--wherewas I, Lucy? I forget.--O, I believe pretty near the mouth of thebay, embosomed in which lies the lovely cascade of which I am to giveyou a winter description, and which I only slightly mentioned when Igave you an account of the rivers by which it is supplied.
The road, about a mile before you reach this bay, is a regularglassy level, without any of those intervening hills of ice which Ihave mentioned; hills, which with the ideas, though false ones, ofdanger and difficulty, give those of beauty and magnificence too.
As you gradually approach the bay, you are struck with an awe, whichincreases every moment, as you come nearer, from the grandeur of ascene, which is one of the noblest works of nature: the beauty, theproportion, the solemnity, the wild magnificence of which, surpassingevery possible effect of art, impress one strongly with the idea of itsDivine Almighty Architect.
The rock on the east side, which is first in view as you approach,is a smooth and almost perpendicular precipice, of the same height asthe fall; the top, which a little over-hangs, is beautifully coveredwith pines, firs, and ever-greens of various kinds, whose verdantlustre is rendered at this season more shining and lovely by thesurrounding snow, as well as by that which is sprinkled irregularly ontheir branches, and glitters half melted in the sun-beams: a thousandsmaller shrubs are scattered on the side of the ascent, and, havingtheir roots in almost imperceptible clefts of the rock, seem to thosebelow to grow in air.
The west side is equally lofty, but more sloping, which, from thatcircumstance, affords soil all the way, upon shelving inequalities ofthe rock, at little distances, for the growth of trees and shrubs, bywhich it is almost entirely hid.
The most pleasing view of this miracle of nature is certainly insummer, and in the early part of it, when every tree is in foliage andfull verdure, every shrub in flower; and when the river, swelled with awaste of waters from the mountains from which it derives its source,pours down in a tumultuous torrent, that equally charms and astonishesthe beholder.
The winter scene has, notwithstanding, its beauties, though of adifferent kind, more resembling the stillness and inactivity of theseason.
The river being on its sides bound up in frost, and its channelrendered narrower than in the summer, affords a less body of water tosupply the cascade; and the fall, though very steep, yet not beingexactly perpendicular, masses of ice are formed, on different shelvingprojections of the rock, in a great variety of forms and proportions.
The torrent, which before rushed with such impetuosity down the deepdescent in one vast sheet of water, now descends in some parts with aslow and majestic pace; in others seems almost suspended in mid air;and in others, bursting through the obstacles which interrupt itscourse, pours down with redoubled fury into the foaming bason below,from whence a spray arises, which, freezing in its ascent, becomes oneach side a wide and irregular frozen breast-work; and in front, thespray being there much greater, a lofty and magnificent pyramid ofsolid ice.
I have not told you half the grandeur, half the beauty, half thelovely wildness of this scene: if you would know what it is, you musttake no information but that of your own eyes, which I pronouncestrangers to the loveliest work of creation till they have seen theriver and fall of Montmorenci.
In short, my dear, I am Montmorenci-mad.
I can hardly descend to tell you, we passed the ice from thence toOrleans, and dined out of doors on six feet of snow, in the charmingenlivening warmth of the sun, though in the month of February, at atime when you in England scarce feel his beams.
Fitzgerald made violent love to me all the way, and I never feltmyself listen with such complacency.
Adieu! I have wrote two immense letters. Write oftener; you arelazy, yet expect me to be an absolute slave in the scribbling way.
Your faithful A. Fermor.
Do you know your brother has admirable ideas? He contrived to losehis way on our return, and kept Emily ten minutes behind the rest ofthe company. I am apt to fancy there was something like a declaration,for she blushed,
"Celestial rosy red,"
when he led her into the dining room at Silleri.
Once more, adieu!
LETTER 82.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
March 1.
I was mistaken, my dear; not a word of love between your brother andEmily, as she positively assures me; something very tender has passed,I am conv
inced, notwithstanding, for she blushes more than ever when heapproaches, and there is a certain softness in his voice when headdresses her, which cannot escape a person of my penetration.
Do you know, my dear Lucy, that there is a little impertinent girlhere, a Mademoiselle Clairaut, who, on the meer merit of features andcomplexion, sets up for being as handsome as Emily and me?
If beauty, as I will take the liberty to assert, is given us for thepurpose of pleasing, she who pleases most, that is to say, she whoexcites the most passion, is to all intents and purposes the mostbeautiful woman; and, in this case, I am inclined to believe yourlittle Bell stands pretty high on the roll of beauty; the men's _eyes_may perhaps _say_ she is handsome, but their _hearts feel_that I am so.
There is, in general, nothing so insipid, so uninteresting, as abeauty; which those men experience to their cost, who chuse fromvanity, not inclination. I remember Sir Charles Herbert, a Captain inthe same regiment with my father, who determined to marry Miss Raymondbefore he saw her, merely because he had been told she was a celebratedbeauty, though she was never known to have inspired a real passion: hesaw her, not with his own eyes, but those of the public, took hercharms on trust; and, till he was her husband, never found out she wasnot his taste; a secret, however, of some little importance to hishappiness.