Adieu! I am wretched till I hear from you. Is it possible, my Emily,you can have ceased to love him, who, as you yourself own, sees noother object than you in the universe?
Adieu! Yours, Ed. Rivers.
You know not the heart of your Rivers, if you suppose it capable ofany ambition but that dear one of being beloved by you.
What have you said, my dear Emily? _You will not marry me inCanada_. You have passed a hard sentence on me: you know my fortunewill not allow me to marry you in England.
END OF VOL. II.
THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.
Vol. III
LETTER 125.
To Colonel Rivers, at Montreal.
Quebec, April 17.
How different, my Rivers, is your last letter from all your Emilyhas ever yet received from you! What have I done to deserve suchsuspicions? How unjust are your sex in all their connexions with ours!
Do I not know love? and does this reproach come from the man on whommy heart doats, the man, whom to make happy, I would with transportcease to live? can you one moment doubt your Emily's tenderness? havenot her eyes, her air, her look, her indiscretion, a thousand timestold you, in spite of herself, the dear secret of her heart, longbefore she was conscious of the tenderness of yours?
Did I think only of myself, I could live with you in a desart; allplaces, all situations, are equally charming to me, with you: withoutyou, the whole world affords nothing which could give a moment'spleasure to your Emily.
Let me but see those eyes in which the tenderest love is painted,let me but hear that enchanting voice, I am insensible to all else, Iknow nothing of what passes around me; all that has no relation to youpasses away like a morning dream, the impression of which is effaced ina moment: my tenderness for you fills my whole soul, and leaves no roomfor any other idea. Rank, fortune, my native country, my friends, allare nothing in the balance with my Rivers.
For your own sake, I once more entreat you to return to England: Iwill follow you; I will swear never to marry another; I will see you,I will allow you to continue the tender inclination which unites us.Fortune may there be more favorable to our wishes than we now hope;may join us without destroying the peace of the best of parents.
But if you persist, if you will sacrifice every consideration toyour tenderness--My Rivers, I have no will but yours.
LETTER 126.
To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.
London, Feb. 17.
My dear Bell,
Lucy, being deprived of the pleasure of writing to you, as sheintended, by Lady Anne Melville's dining with her, desires me to makeher apologies.
Allow me to say something for myself, and to share my joy with onewho will, I am sure, so very sincerely sympathize with me in it.
I could not have believed, my dear Bell, it had been so very easy athing to be constant: I declare, but don't mention this, lest I shouldbe laughed at, I have never felt the least inclination for any otherwoman, since I married your lovely friend.
I now see a circle of beauties with the same indifference as a bedof snowdrops: no charms affect me but hers; the whole creation to mecontains no other woman.
I find her every day, every hour, more lovely; there is in my Lucy amixture of modesty, delicacy, vivacity, innocence, and blushingsensibility, which add a thousand unspeakable graces to the mostbeautiful person the hand of nature ever formed.
There is no describing her enchanting smile, the smile ofunaffected, artless tenderness. How shall I paint to you the sweetinvoluntary glow of pleasure, the kindling fire of her eyes, when Iapproach; or those thousand little dear attentions of which love aloneknows the value?
I never, my dear girl, knew happiness till now; my tenderness isabsolutely a species of idolatry; you cannot think what a slave thislovely girl has made me.
As a proof of this, the little tyrant insists on my omitting athousand civil things I had to say to you, and attending her and LadyAnne immediately to the opera; she bids me however tell you, she lovesyou _passing the love of woman_, at least of handsome women, whoare not generally celebrated for their candor and good will to eachother.
Adieu, my dearest Bell! Yours, J. Temple.
LETTER 127.
To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.
Silleri, April 18.
Indeed?
"Is this that haughty, gallant, gay Lothario, That dear perfidious--"
Absolutely, my dear Temple, the sex ought never to forgive Lucy fordaring to monopolize so very charming a fellow. I had some thoughts ofa little _badinage_ with you myself, if I should return soon toEngland; but I now give up the very idea.
One thing I will, however, venture to say, that love Lucy as much asyou please, you will never love her half so well as she deserves;which, let me tell you, is a great deal for one woman, especially, asyou well observe, one handsome woman, to say of another.
I am, however, not quite clear your idea is just: _cattism_, ifI may be allowed the expression, seeming more likely to be the vice ofthose who are conscious of wanting themselves the dear power ofpleasing.
Handsome women ought to be, what I profess myself, who am howeveronly pretty, too vain to be envious; and yet we see, I am afraid, toooften, some little sparks of this mean passion between rival beauties.
Impartially speaking, I believe the best natured women, and the mostfree from envy, are those who, without being very handsome, have that_je ne scai quoi_, those nameless graces, which please even withoutbeauty; and who therefore, finding more attention paid to them by menthan their looking-glass tells them they have a right to expect, arefor that reason in constant good humor with themselves, and of coursewith every body else: whereas beauties, claiming universal empire, areat war with all who dispute their rights; that is, with half the sex.
I am very good natured myself; but it is, perhaps, because, though apretty woman, I am more agreable than handsome, and have an infinity ofthe _je ne scai quoi_.
_A propos_, my dear Temple, I am so pleased with whatMontesquieu says on this subject, that I find it is not in my nature toresist translating and inserting it; you cannot then say I have sentyou a letter in which there is nothing worth reading.
I beg you will read this to the misses, for which you cannot fail oftheir thanks, and for this reason; there are perhaps a dozen women inthe world who do not think themselves handsome, but I will venture tosay, not one who does not think herself agreable, and that she has thisnameless charm, this so much talked of _I know not what_, which isso much better than beauty. But to my Montesquieu:
"There is sometimes, both in persons and things, an invisible charm,a natural grace, which we cannot define, and which we are thereforeobliged to call the _je ne scai quoi_.
"It seems to me that this is an effect principally founded onsurprize.
"We are touched that a person pleases us more than she seemed atfirst to have a right to do; and we are agreably surprized that sheshould have known how to conquer those defects which our eyes shewedus, but which our hearts no longer believe: 'tis for this reason thatwomen, who are not handsome, have often graces or agreablenesses andthat beautiful ones very seldom have.
"For a beautiful person does generally the very contrary of what weexpected; she appears to us by degrees less amiable, and, after havingsurprized us pleasingly, she surprizes us in a contrary manner; butthe agreable impression is old, the disagreable one new: 'tis alsoseldom that beauties inspire violent passions, which are almost alwaysreserved for those who have graces, that is to say, agreablenesses,which we did not expect, and which we had no reason to expect.
"Magnificent habits have seldom grace, which the dresses ofshepherdesses often have.
"We admire the majesty of the draperies of Paul Veronese; but we aretouched with the simplicity of Raphael, and the exactness of Corregio.
"Paul Veronese promises much, and pays all he promises; Raphael andCorregio promise little, and pay much, which pleases us more.
"These graces, these
agreablenesses, are found oftener in the mindthan in the countenance: the charms of a beautiful countenance areseldom hidden, they appear at first view; but the mind does not shewitself except by degrees, when it pleases, and as much as it pleases;it can conceal itself in order to appear, and give that species ofsurprize to which those graces, of which I speak, owe their existence.
"This grace, this agreableness, is less in the countenance than inthe manner; the manner changes every instant, and can therefore everymoment give us the pleasure of surprize: in one word, a woman can behandsome but in one way, but she may be agreable in a hundredthousand."
I like this doctrine of Montesquieu's extremely, because it givesevery woman her chance, and because it ranks me above a thousandhandsomer women, in the dear power of inspiring passion.
Cruel creature! why did you give me the idea of flowers? I now envyyou your foggy climate: the earth with you is at this moment coveredwith a thousand lovely children of the spring; with us, it is anuniversal plain of snow.
Our beaux are terribly at a loss for similies: you have lilies ofthe valley for comparisons; we nothing but what with the idea ofwhiteness gives that of coldness too.
This is all the quarrel I have with Canada: the summer is delicious,the winter pleasant with all its severities; but alas! the smilingspring is not here; we pass from winter to summer in an instant, andlose the sprightly season of the Loves.
A letter from the God of my idolatry--I must answer it instantly.
Adieu! Yours, &c. A. Fermor.
LETTER 128.
To Captain Fitzgerald.
Yes, I give permission; you may come this afternoon: there issomething amusing enough in your dear nonsense; and, as my father willbe at Quebec, I shall want amusement.
It will also furnish a little chat for the misses at Quebec; a_tete a tete_ with a tall Irishman is a subject which cannot escapetheir sagacity.
Adieu! Yours, A. F.
LETTER 129.
To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall.
Silleri, April 20.
After my immense letter to your love, my dear, you must not expectme to say much to your fair ladyship.
I am glad to find you manage Temple so admirably; the wisest, thewildest, the gravest, and the gayest, are equally our slaves, when wehave proper ideas of petticoat politics.
I intend to compose a code of laws for the government of husbands,and get it translated into all the modern languages; which I apprehendwill be of infinite benefit to the world.
Do you know I am a greater fool than I imagined? You may remember Iwas always extremely fond of sweet waters. I left them off lately, uponan idea, though a mistaken one, that Fitzgerald did not like them: Iyesterday heard him say the contrary; and, without thinking of it, wentmechanically to my dressing-room, and put lavender water on myhandkerchief.
This is, I am afraid, rather a strong symptom of my being absurd;however, I find it pleasant to be so, and therefore give way to it.
It is divinely warm to-day, though the snow is still on the ground;it is melting fast however, which makes it impossible for me to get toQuebec. I shall be confined for at least a week, and Emily not with me:I die for amusement. Fitzgerald ventures still at the hazard of his ownneck and his horse's legs; for the latter of which animals I have somuch compassion, that I have ordered both to stay at home a few days,which days I shall devote to study and contemplation, and little pertchit-chats with papa, who is ten times more fretful at being keptwithin doors than I am: I intend to win a little fortune of him atpiquet before the world breaks in upon our solitude. Adieu! I am idle,but always
Your faithful A. Fermor.
LETTER 130.
To the Earl of ----.
Silleri, April 20.
'Tis indeed, my Lord, an advantage for which we cannot be toothankful to the Supreme Being, to be born in a country, whose religionand laws are such, as would have been the objects of our wishes, had webeen born in any other.
Our religion, I would be understood to mean Christianity in general,carries internal conviction by the excellency of its moral precepts,and its tendency to make mankind happy; and the peculiar mode of itestablished in England breathes beyond all others the mild spirit ofthe Gospel, and that charity which embraces all mankind as brothers.
It is equally free from enthusiasm and superstition; its outwardform is decent and respectful, without affected ostentation; and whatshews its excellence above all others is, that every other churchallows it to be the best, except itself: and it is an established rule,that he has an undoubted right to the first rank of merit, to whomevery man allows the second.
As to our government, it would be impertinent to praise it; allmankind allow it to be the master-piece of human wisdom.
It has the advantage of every other form, with as little of theirinconveniences as the imperfection attendant on all human inventionswill admit: it has the monarchic quickness of execution and stability,the aristocratic diffusive strength and wisdom of counsel, thedemocratic freedom and equal distribution of property.
When I mention equal distribution of property, I would not beunderstood to mean such an equality as never existed, nor can exist butin idea; but that general, that comparative equality, which leaves toevery man the absolute and safe possession of the fruits of his labors;which softens offensive distinctions, and curbs pride, by leavingevery order of men in some degree dependent on the other; and admitsof those gentle and almost imperceptible gradations, which the poet sowell calls,
"Th' according music of a well-mix'd state."
The prince is here a centre of union; an advantage, the want ofwhich makes a democracy, which is so beautiful in theory, the veryworst of all possible governments, except absolute monarchy, inpractice.
I am called upon, my Lord, to go to the citadel, to see the goingaway of the ice; an object so new to me, that I cannot resist thecuriosity I have to see it, though my going thither is attended withinfinite difficulty.
Bell insists on accompanying me: I am afraid for her, but she willnot be refused.
At our return, I will have the honor of writing again to yourLordship, by the gentleman who carries this to New York.
I have the honor to be, my Lord, Your Lordship's, &c. Wm. Fermor.
LETTER 131.
To the Earl of ----.
Silleri, April 20, Evening.
We are returned, my Lord, from having seen an object as beautifuland magnificent in itself, as pleasing from the idea it gives ofrenewing once more our intercourse with Europe.
Before I saw the breaking up of the vast body of ice, which formswhat is here called _the bridge_, from Quebec to Point Levi, Iimagined there could be nothing in it worth attention; that the icewould pass away, or dissolve gradually, day after day, as the influenceof the sun, and warmth of the air and earth increased; and that weshould see the river open, without having observed by what degrees itbecame so.
But I found _the great river_, as the savages with muchpropriety call it, maintain its dignity in this instance as in allothers, and assert its superiority over those petty streams which wehonor with the names of rivers in England. Sublimity is thecharacteristic of this western world; the loftiness of the mountains,the grandeur of the lakes and rivers, the majesty of the rocks shadedwith a picturesque variety of beautiful trees and shrubs, and crownedwith the noblest of the offspring of the forest, which form the banksof the latter, are as much beyond the power of fancy as that ofdescription: a landscape-painter might here expand his imagination,and find ideas which he will seek in vain in our comparatively littleworld.
The object of which I am speaking has all the American magnificence.
The ice before the town, or, to speak in the Canadian stile, _thebridge_, being of a thickness not less than five feet, a league inlength, and more than a mile broad, resists for a long time the rapidtide that attempts to force it from the banks.
We are prepared by many previous circumstances to expect some
thingextraordinary in this event, if I may so call it: every increase ofheat in the weather for near a month before the ice leaves the banks;every warm day gives you terror for those you see venturing to pass itin carrioles; yet one frosty night makes it again so strong, that eventhe ladies, and the timid amongst them, still venture themselves overin parties of pleasure; though greatly alarmed at their return, if afew hours of uncommon warmth intervenes.
But, during the last fortnight, the alarm grows indeed a veryserious one: the eye can distinguish, even at a considerable distance,that the ice is softened and detached from the banks; and you dreadevery step being death to those who have still the temerity to pass it,which they will continue always to do till one or more pay theirrashness with their lives.
From the time the ice is no longer a bridge on which you see crowdsdriving with such vivacity on business or pleasure, every one islooking eagerly for its breaking away, to remove the bar to thecontinually wished and expected event, of the arrival of ships fromthat world from whence we have seemed so long in a manner excluded.
The hour is come; I have been with a crowd of both sexes, and allranks, hailing the propitious moment: our situation, on the top of CapeDiamond, gave us a prospect some leagues above and below the town;above Cape Diamond the river was open, it was so below Point Levi, therapidity of the current having forced a passage for the water under thetransparent bridge, which for more than a league continued firm.