Frances Brooke - The History of Emily Montague

F >> Frances Brooke >> The History of Emily Montague

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Transcriber's Notes: This text retains many old and inconsistent
spellings as found in the Dodsley 1769 edition. Differences from that
edition are as follows: As is usually done in modern editions of Emily
Montague, the letters have been renumbered to run consecutively from 1
to 228. This avoids irregularities in numbering in the original. Normal
case has been used for the initial words of each letter. Long s has been
replaced with a regular short s. The Errata which appeared at the end of
volume four of the original has been applied to the text. Various other
corrections have been made, and in each case, the original form has been
recorded in the html markup. Usage of quote marks has been modernized.

THE
HISTORY
OF
EMILY MONTAGUE.
In FOUR VOLUMES.

By the AUTHOR of
Lady JULIA MANDEVILLE.

--"A kind indulgent sleep
O'er works of length allowably may creep."
Horace.

Vol. 1

LONDON,
Printed for J. DODSLEY, in Pall Mall.
MDCCLXIX.

TO HIS EXCELLENCY GUY CARLETON, Esq. GOVERNOR AND COMMANDER IN
CHIEF OF His Majesty's Province of QUEBEC, &c. &c. &c.

SIR,

As the scene of so great a part of the following work is laid in
Canada, I flatter myself there is a peculiar propriety in addressing it
to your excellency, to whose probity and enlightened attention the
colony owes its happiness, and individuals that tranquillity of mind,
without which there can be no exertion of the powers of either the
understanding or imagination.

Were I to say all your excellency has done to diffuse, through this
province, so happy under your command, a spirit of loyalty and
attachment to our excellent Sovereign, of chearful obedience to the
laws, and of that union which makes the strength of government, I
should hazard your esteem by doing you justice.

I will, therefore, only beg leave to add mine to the general voice
of Canada; and to assure your excellency, that

I am,
With the utmost esteem
and respect,
Your most obedient servant,
Frances Brooke.
London,
March 22, 1769.

THE HISTORY OF EMILY MONTAGUE.

LETTER 1.

To John Temple, Esq; at Paris.

Cowes, April 10, 1766.

After spending two or three very agreeable days here, with a party
of friends, in exploring the beauties of the Island, and dropping a
tender tear at Carisbrook Castle on the memory of the unfortunate
Charles the First, I am just setting out for America, on a scheme I
once hinted to you, of settling the lands to which I have a right as a
lieutenant-colonel on half pay. On enquiry and mature deliberation, I
prefer Canada to New-York for two reasons, that it is wilder, and that
the women are handsomer: the first, perhaps, every body will not
approve; the latter, I am sure, _you_ will.

You may perhaps call my project romantic, but my active temper is
ill suited to the lazy character of a reduc'd officer: besides that I
am too proud to narrow my circle of life, and not quite unfeeling
enough to break in on the little estate which is scarce sufficient to
support my mother and sister in the manner to which they have been
accustom'd.

What you call a sacrifice, is none at all; I love England, but am
not obstinately chain'd down to any spot of earth; nature has charms
every where for a man willing to be pleased: at my time of life, the
very change of place is amusing; love of variety, and the natural
restlessness of man, would give me a relish for this voyage, even if I
did not expect, what I really do, to become lord of a principality
which will put our large-acred men in England out of countenance. My
subjects indeed at present will be only bears and elks, but in time I
hope to see the _human face divine_ multiplying around me; and, in
thus cultivating what is in the rudest state of nature, I shall taste
one of the greatest of all pleasures, that of creation, and see order
and beauty gradually rise from chaos.

The vessel is unmoor'd; the winds are fair; a gentle breeze agitates
the bosom of the deep; all nature smiles: I go with all the eager hopes
of a warm imagination; yet friendship casts a lingering look behind.

Our mutual loss, my dear Temple, will be great. I shall never cease
to regret you, nor will you find it easy to replace the friend of your
youth. You may find friends of equal merit; you may esteem them
equally; but few connexions form'd after five and twenty strike root
like that early sympathy, which united us almost from infancy, and has
increas'd to the very hour of our separation.

What pleasure is there in the friendships of the spring of life,
before the world, the mean unfeeling selfish world, breaks in on the
gay mistakes of the just-expanding heart, which sees nothing but truth,
and has nothing but happiness in prospect!

I am not surpriz'd the heathens rais'd altars to friendship: 'twas
natural for untaught superstition to deify the source of every good;
they worship'd friendship, which animates the moral world, on the same
principle as they paid adoration to the sun, which gives life to the
world of nature.

I am summon'd on board. Adieu!

Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 2.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Quebec, June 27.

I have this moment your letter, my dear; I am happy to hear my
mother has been amus'd at Bath, and not at all surpriz'd to find she
rivals you in your conquests. By the way, I am not sure she is not
handsomer, notwithstanding you tell me you are handsomer than ever: I
am astonish'd she will lead a tall daughter about with her thus, to let
people into a secret they would never suspect, that she is past five
and twenty.

You are a foolish girl, Lucy: do you think I have not more pleasure
in continuing to my mother, by coming hither, the little indulgencies
of life, than I could have had by enjoying them myself? pray reconcile
her to my absence, and assure her she will make me happier by jovially
enjoying the trifle I have assign'd to her use, than by procuring me
the wealth of a Nabob, in which she was to have no share.

But to return; you really, Lucy, ask me such a million of questions,
'tis impossible to know which to answer first; the country, the
convents, the balls, the ladies, the beaux--'tis a history, not a
letter, you demand, and it will take me a twelvemonth to satisfy your
curiosity.

Where shall I begin? certainly with what must first strike a
soldier: I have seen then the spot where the amiable hero expir'd in
the arms of victory; have traced him step by step with equal
astonishment and admiration: 'tis here alone it is possible to form an
adequate idea of an enterprize, the difficulties of which must have
destroy'd hope itself had they been foreseen.

The country is a very fine one: you see here not only the
_beautiful_ which it has in common with Europe, but the _great
sublime_ to an amazing degree; every object here is magnificent: the
very people seem almost another species, if we compare them with the
French from whom they are descended.

On approaching the coast of America, I felt a kind of religious
veneration, on seeing rocks which almost touch'd the clouds, cover'd
with tall groves of pines that seemed coeval with the world itself: to
which veneration the solemn silence not a little contributed; from Cape
Rosieres, up the river St. Lawrence, during a course of more than two
hundred miles, there is not the least appearance of a human footstep;
no objects meet the eye but mountains, woods, and numerous rivers,
which seem to roll their waters in vain.

It is impossible to behold a scene like this without lamenting the
madness of mankind, who, more merciless than the fierce inhabitants of
the howling wilderness, destroy millions of their own species in the
wild contention for a little portion of that earth, the far greater
part of which remains yet unpossest, and courts the hand of labour for
cultivation.

The river itself is one of the noblest in the world; its breadth is
ninety miles at its entrance, gradually, and almost imperceptibly,
decreasing; interspers'd with islands which give it a variety
infinitely pleasing, and navigable near five hundred miles from the
sea.

Nothing can be more striking than the view of Quebec as you
approach; it stands on the summit of a boldly-rising hill, at the
confluence of two very beautiful rivers, the St. Lawrence and St.
Charles, and, as the convents and other public buildings first meet the
eye, appears to great advantage from the port. The island of Orleans,
the distant view of the cascade of Montmorenci, and the opposite
village of Beauport, scattered with a pleasing irregularity along the
banks of the river St. Charles, add greatly to the charms of the
prospect.

I have just had time to observe, that the Canadian ladies have the
vivacity of the French, with a superior share of beauty: as to balls
and assemblies, we have none at present, it being a kind of interregnum
of government: if I chose to give you the political state of the
country, I could fill volumes with the _pours_ and the _contres_;
but I am not one of those sagacious observers, who, by staying a week
in a place, think themselves qualified to give, not only its natural,
but its moral and political history: besides which, you and I are
rather too young to be very profound politicians. We are in
expectation of a successor from whom we hope a new golden age; I shall
then have better subjects for a letter to a lady.

Adieu! my dear girl! say every thing for me to my mother. Yours,

Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 3.

To Col. Rivers, at Quebec.

London, April 30.

Indeed! gone to people the wilds of America, Ned, and multiply the
_human face divine?_ 'tis a project worthy a tall handsome colonel of
twenty seven: let me see; five feet, eleven inches, well made, with
fine teeth, speaking eyes, a military air, and the look of a man of
fashion: spirit, generosity, a good understanding, some knowledge, an
easy address, a compassionate heart, a strong inclination for the
ladies, and in short every quality a gentleman should have: excellent
all these for colonization: _prenez garde, mes cheres dames_. You
have nothing against you, Ned, but your modesty; a very useless virtue
on French ground, or indeed on any ground: I wish you had a little more
consciousness of your own merits: remember that _to know one's self_
the oracle of Apollo has pronounced to be the perfection of human
wisdom. Our fair friend Mrs. H---- says, "Colonel Rivers wants nothing
to make him the most agreeable man breathing but a little dash of the
coxcomb."

For my part, I hate humility in a man of the world; 'tis worse than
even the hypocrisy of the saints: I am not ignorant, and therefore
never deny, that I am a very handsome fellow; and I have the pleasure
to find all the women of the same opinion.

I am just arriv'd from Paris: the divine Madame De ---- is as lovely
and as constant as ever; 'twas cruel to leave her, but who can account
for the caprices of the heart? mine was the prey of a young
unexperienc'd English charmer, just come out of a convent,

"The bloom of opening flowers--"

Ha, Ned? But I forget; you are for the full-blown rose: 'tis a
happiness, as we are friends, that 'tis impossible we can ever be
rivals; a woman is grown out of my taste some years before she comes up
to yours: absolutely, Ned, you are too nice; for my part, I am not so
delicate; youth and beauty are sufficient for me; give me blooming
seventeen, and I cede to you the whole empire of sentiment.

This, I suppose, will find you trying the force of your destructive
charms on the savage dames of America; chasing females wild as the
winds thro' woods as wild as themselves: I see you pursuing the stately
relict of some renown'd Indian chief, some plump squaw arriv'd at the
age of sentiment, some warlike queen dowager of the Ottawas or
Tuscaroras.

And pray, _comment trouvez vous les dames sauvages?_ all pure
and genuine nature, I suppose; none of the affected coyness of Europe:
your attention there will be the more obliging, as the Indian heroes, I
am told, are not very attentive to the charms of the _beau sexe_.

You are very sentimental on the subject of friendship; no one has
more exalted notions of this species of affection than myself, yet I
deny that it gives life to the moral world; a gallant man, like you,
might have found a more animating principle:

_O Venus! O Mere de l'Amour!_

I am most gloriously indolent this morning, and would not write
another line if the empire of the world (observe I do not mean the
female world) depended on it.

Adieu!
J. Temple.

LETTER 4.

To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.

Quebec, July 1.

'Tis very true, Jack; I have no relish for _the Misses_; for
puling girls in hanging sleeves, who feel no passion but vanity, and,
without any distinguishing taste, are dying for the first man who tells
them they are handsome. Take your boarding-school girls; but give me
_a woman_; one, in short, who has a soul; not a cold inanimate form,
insensible to the lively impressions of real love, and unfeeling as the
wax baby she has just thrown away.

You will allow Prior to be no bad judge of female merit; and you may
remember his Egyptian maid, the favorite of the luxurious King
Solomon, is painted in full bloom.

By the way, Jack, there is generally a certain hoity-toity
inelegance of form and manner at seventeen, which in my opinion is not
balanc'd by freshness of complexion, the only advantage girls have to
boast of.

I have another objection to girls, which is, that they will
eternally fancy every man they converse with has designs; a coquet and
a prude _in the bud_ are equally disagreeable; the former expects
universal adoration, the latter is alarm'd even at that general
civility which is the right of all their sex; of the two however the
last is, I think, much the most troublesome; I wish these very
apprehensive young ladies knew, their _virtue_ is not half so
often in danger as they imagine, and that there are many male creatures
to whom they may safely shew politeness without being drawn into any
concessions inconsistent with the strictest honor. We are not half such
terrible animals as mammas, nurses, and novels represent us; and, if my
opinion is of any weight, I am inclin'd to believe those tremendous
men, who have designs on the whole sex, are, and ever were, characters
as fabulous as the giants of romance.

Women after twenty begin to know this, and therefore converse with
us on the footing of rational creatures, without either fearing or
expecting to find every man a lover.

To do the ladies justice however, I have seen the same absurdity in
my own sex, and have observed many a very good sort of man turn pale at
the politeness of an agreeable woman.

I lament this mistake, in both sexes, because it takes greatly from
the pleasure of mix'd society, the only society for which I have any
relish.

Don't, however, fancy that, because I dislike _the Misses_, I
have a taste for their grandmothers; there is a golden mean, Jack, of
which you seem to have no idea.

You are very ill inform'd as to the manners of the Indian ladies;
'tis in the bud alone these wild roses are accessible; liberal to
profusion of their charms before marriage, they are chastity itself
after: the moment they commence wives, they give up the very idea of
pleasing, and turn all their thoughts to the cares, and those not the
most delicate cares, of domestic life: laborious, hardy, active, they
plough the ground, they sow, they reap; whilst the haughty husband
amuses himself with hunting, shooting, fishing, and such exercises only
as are the image of war; all other employments being, according to his
idea, unworthy the dignity of man.

I have told you the labors of savage life, but I should observe that
they are only temporary, and when urg'd by the sharp tooth of
necessity: their lives are, upon the whole, idle beyond any thing we
can conceive. If the Epicurean definition of happiness is just, that it
consists in indolence of body, and tranquillity of mind, the Indians of
both sexes are the happiest people on earth; free from all care, they
enjoy the present moment, forget the past, and are without solicitude
for the future: in summer, stretch'd on the verdant turf, they sing,
they laugh, they play, they relate stories of their ancient heroes to
warm the youth to war; in winter, wrap'd in the furs which bounteous
nature provides them, they dance, they feast, and despise the rigors of
the season, at which the more effeminate Europeans tremble.

War being however the business of their lives, and the first passion
of their souls, their very pleasures take their colors from it: every
one must have heard of the war dance, and their songs are almost all on
the same subject: on the most diligent enquiry, I find but one love
song in their language, which is short and simple, tho' perhaps not
inexpressive:

"I love you,
I love you dearly,
I love you all day long."

An old Indian told me, they had also songs of friendship, but I
could never procure a translation of one of them: on my pressing this
Indian to translate one into French for me, he told me with a haughty
air, the Indians were not us'd to make translations, and that if I
chose to understand their songs I must learn their language. By the
way, their language is extremely harmonious, especially as pronounced
by their women, and as well adapted to music as Italian itself. I must
not here omit an instance of their independent spirit, which is, that
they never would submit to have the service of the church, tho' they
profess the Romish religion, in any language but their own; the women,
who have in general fine voices, sing in the choir with a taste and
manner that would surprize you, and with a devotion that might edify
more polish'd nations.

The Indian women are tall and well shaped; have good eyes, and
before marriage are, except their color, and their coarse greasy black
hair, very far from being disagreeable; but the laborious life they
afterwards lead is extremely unfavorable to beauty; they become coarse
and masculine, and lose in a year or two the power as well as the
desire of pleasing. To compensate however for the loss of their charms,
they acquire a new empire in marrying; are consulted in all affairs of
state, chuse a chief on every vacancy of the throne, are sovereign
arbiters of peace and war, as well as of the fate of those unhappy
captives that have the misfortune to fall into their hands, who are
adopted as children, or put to the most cruel death, as the wives of
the conquerors smile or frown.

A Jesuit missionary told me a story on this subject, which one
cannot hear without horror: an Indian woman with whom he liv'd on his
mission was feeding her children, when her husband brought in an
English prisoner; she immediately cut off his arm, and gave her
children the streaming blood to drink: the Jesuit remonstrated on the
cruelty of the action, on which, looking sternly at him, "I would have
them warriors," said she, "and therefore feed them with the food of
men."

This anecdote may perhaps disgust you with the Indian ladies, who
certainly do not excel in female softness. I will therefore turn to the
Canadian, who have every charm except that without which all other
charms are to me insipid, I mean sensibility: they are gay, coquet, and
sprightly; more gallant than sensible; more flatter'd by the vanity of
inspiring passion, than capable of feeling it themselves; and, like
their European countrywomen, prefer the outward attentions of unmeaning
admiration to the real devotion of the heart. There is not perhaps on
earth a race of females, who talk so much, or feel so little, of love
as the French; the very reverse is in general true of the English: my
fair countrywomen seem ashamed of the charming sentiment to which they
are indebted for all their power.

Adieu! I am going to attend a very handsome French lady, who allows
me the honor to drive her _en calache_ to our Canadian Hyde Park,
the road to St. Foix, where you will see forty or fifty calashes, with
pretty women in them, parading every evening: you will allow the
apology to be admissible.

Ed. Rivers.

LETTER 5.

To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.

Quebec, July 4.

What an inconstant animal is man! do you know, Lucy, I begin to be
tir'd of the lovely landscape round me? I have enjoy'd from it all the
pleasure meer inanimate objects can give, and find 'tis a pleasure that
soon satiates, if not relieved by others which are more lively. The
scenery is to be sure divine, but one grows weary of meer scenery: the
most enchanting prospect soon loses its power of pleasing, when the eye
is accustom'd to it: we gaze at first transported on the charms of
nature, and fancy they will please for ever; but, alas! it will not
do; we sigh for society, the conversation of those dear to us; the
more animated pleasures of the heart. There are fine women, and men of
merit here; but, as the affections are not in our power, I have not
yet felt my heart gravitate towards any of them. I must absolutely set
in earnest about my settlement, in order to emerge from the state of
vegetation into which I seem falling.

But to your last: you ask me a particular account of the convents
here. Have you an inclination, my dear, to turn nun? if you have, you
could not have applied to a properer person; my extreme modesty and
reserve, and my speaking French, having made me already a great
favourite with the older part of all the three communities, who
unanimously declare colonel Rivers to be _un tres aimable homme_,
and have given me an unlimited liberty of visiting them whenever I
please: they now and then treat _me_ with a sight of some of the
young ones, but this is a favor not allow'd to all the world.

There are three religious houses at Quebec, so you have choice; the
Ursulines, the Hotel Dieu, and the General Hospital. The first is the
severest order in the Romish church, except that very cruel one which
denies its fair votaries the inestimable liberty of speech. The house
is large and handsome, but has an air of gloominess, with which the
black habit, and the livid paleness of the nuns, extremely corresponds.
The church is, contrary to the style of the rest of the convent,
ornamented and lively to the last degree. The superior is an
English-woman of good family, who was taken prisoner by the savages
when a child, and plac'd here by the generosity of a French officer.
She is one of the most amiable women I ever knew, with a benevolence in
her countenance which inspires all who see her with affection: I am
very fond of her conversation, tho' sixty and a nun.

The Hotel Dieu is very pleasantly situated, with a view of the two
rivers, and the entrance of the port: the house is chearful, airy, and
agreeable; the habit extremely becoming, a circumstance a handsome
woman ought by no means to overlook; 'tis white with a black gauze
veil, which would shew your complexion to great advantage. The order is
much less severe than the Ursulines, and I might add, much more useful,
their province being the care of the sick: the nuns of this house are
sprightly, and have a look of health which is wanting at the Ursulines.

The General Hospital, situated about a mile out of town, on the
borders of the river St. Charles, is much the most agreeable of the
three. The order and the habit are the same with the Hotel Dieu, except
that to the habit is added the cross, generally worn in Europe by
canonesses only: a distinction procur'd for them by their founder, St.
Vallier, the second bishop of Quebec. The house is, without, a very
noble building; and neatness, elegance and propriety reign within. The
nuns, who are all of the noblesse, are many of them handsome, and all
genteel, lively, and well bred; they have an air of the world, their
conversation is easy, spirited, and polite: with them you almost forget
the recluse in the woman of condition. In short, you have the best
nuns at the Ursulines, the most agreeable women at the General
Hospital: all however have an air of chagrin, which they in vain
endeavour to conceal; and the general eagerness with which they tell
you unask'd they are happy, is a strong proof of the contrary.

Tho' the most indulgent of all men to the follies of others,
especially such as have their source in mistaken devotion; tho' willing
to allow all the world to play the fool their own way, yet I cannot
help being fir'd with a degree of zeal against an institution equally
incompatible with public good, and private happiness; an institution
which cruelly devotes beauty and innocence to slavery, regret, and
wretchedness; to a more irksome imprisonment than the severest laws
inflict on the worst of criminals.

Could any thing but experience, my dear Lucy, make it be believ'd
possible that there should be rational beings, who think they are
serving the God of mercy by inflicting on themselves voluntary
tortures, and cutting themselves off from that state of society in
which he has plac'd them, and for which they were form'd? by renouncing
the best affections of the human heart, the tender names of friend, of
wife, of mother? and, as far as in them lies, counter-working creation?
by spurning from them every amusement however innocent, by refusing the
gifts of that beneficent power who made us to be happy, and destroying
his most precious gifts, health, beauty, sensibility, chearfulness, and
peace!

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25