The Hurons have no positive laws; yet being a people not numerous,with a strong sense of honor, and in that state of equality which givesno food to the most tormenting passions of the human heart, and thecouncil of ancients having a power to punish atrocious crimes, whichpower however they very seldom find occasion to use, they live togetherin a tranquillity and order which appears to us surprizing.
In more numerous Indian nations, I am told, every village has itschief and its councils, and is perfectly independent on the rest; buton great occasions summon a general council, to which every villagesends deputies.
Their language is at once sublime and melodious; but, having muchfewer ideas, it is impossible it can be so copious as those of Europe:the pronunciation of the men is guttural, but that of the womenextremely soft and pleasing; without understanding one word of thelanguage, the sound of it is very agreeable to me. Their style even inspeaking French is bold and metaphorical: and I am told is on importantoccasions extremely sublime. Even in common conversation they speak infigures, of which I have this moment an instance. A savage woman waswounded lately in defending an English family from the drunken rage ofone of her nation. I asked her after her wound; "It is well," said she;"my sisters at Quebec (meaning the English ladies) have been kind tome; and piastres, you know, are very healing."
They have no idea of letters, no alphabet, nor is their languagereducible to rules: 'tis by painting they preserve the memory of theonly events which interest them, or that they think worth recording,the conquests gained over their enemies in war.
When I speak of their paintings, I should not omit that, thoughextremely rude, they have a strong resemblance to the Chinese, acircumstance which struck me the more, as it is not the stile ofnature. Their dances also, the most lively pantomimes I ever saw,and especially the dance of peace, exhibit variety of attitudesresembling the figures on Chinese fans; nor have their features andcomplexion less likeness to the pictures we see of the Tartars, astheir wandering manner of life, before they became christians, wasthe same.
If I thought it necessary to suppose they were not natives of thecountry, and that America was peopled later than the other quarters ofthe world, I should imagine them the descendants of Tartars; as nothingcan be more easy than their passage from Asia, from which America isprobably not divided; or, if it is, by a very narrow channel. But Ileave this to those who are better informed, being a subject on which Ihonestly confess my ignorance.
I have already observed, that they retain most of their antientsuperstitions. I should particularize their belief in dreams, of whichfolly even repeated disappointments cannot cure them: they have also anunlimited faith in their _powawers_, or conjurers, of whom thereis one in every Indian village, who is at once physician, orator, anddivine, and who is consulted as an oracle on every occasion. As Ihappened to smile at the recital a savage was making of a propheticdream, from which he assured us of the death of an English officer whomI knew to be alive, "You Europeans," said he, "are the mostunreasonable people in the world; you laugh at our belief in dreams,and yet expect us to believe things a thousand times more incredible."
Their general character is difficult to describe; made up ofcontrary and even contradictory qualities, they are indolent, tranquil,quiet, humane in peace; active, restless, cruel, ferocious in war:courteous, attentive, hospitable, and even polite, when kindly treated;haughty, stern, vindictive, when they are not; and their resentment isthe more to be dreaded, as they hold it a point of honor to dissembletheir sense of an injury till they find an opportunity to revenge it.
They are patient of cold and heat, of hunger and thirst, even beyondall belief when necessity requires, passing whole days, and oftenthree or four days together, without food, in the woods, when on thewatch for an enemy, or even on their hunting parties; yet indulgingthemselves in their feasts even to the most brutal degree ofintemperance. They despise death, and suffer the most excruciatingtortures not only without a groan, but with an air of triumph; singingtheir death song, deriding their tormentors, and threatening them withthe vengeance of their surviving friends: yet hold it honorable to flybefore an enemy that appears the least superior in number or force.
Deprived by their extreme ignorance, and that indolence whichnothing but their ardor for war can surmount, of all theconveniencies, as well as elegant refinements of polished life;strangers to the softer passions, love being with them on the samefooting as amongst their fellow-tenants of the woods, their livesappear to me rather tranquil than happy: they have fewer cares, butthey have also much fewer enjoyments, than fall to our share. I amtold, however, that, though insensible to love, they are not withoutaffections; are extremely awake to friendship, and passionately fond oftheir children.
They are of a copper color, which is rendered more unpleasing by aquantity of coarse red on their cheeks; but the children, when born,are of a pale silver white; perhaps their indelicate custom ofgreasing their bodies, and their being so much exposed to the air andsun even from infancy, may cause that total change of complexion, whichI know not how otherwise to account for: their hair is black andshining, the women's very long, parted at the top, and combed back,tied behind, and often twisted with a thong of leather, which theythink very ornamental: the dress of both sexes is a close jacket,reaching to their knees, with spatterdashes, all of coarse blue cloth,shoes of deer-skin, embroidered with porcupine quills, and sometimeswith silver spangles; and a blanket thrown across their shoulders, andfastened before with a kind of bodkin, with necklaces, and otherornaments of beads or shells.
They are in general tall, well made, and agile to the last degree;have a lively imagination, a strong memory; and, as far as theirinterests are concerned, are very dextrous politicians.
Their address is cold and reserved; but their treatment ofstrangers, and the unhappy, infinitely kind and hospitable. A veryworthy priest, with whom I am acquainted at Quebec, was some yearssince shipwrecked in December on the island of Anticosti: after avariety of distresses, not difficult to be imagined on an islandwithout inhabitants, during the severity of a winter even colder thanthat of Canada; he, with the small remains of his companions whosurvived such complicated distress, early in the spring, reached themain land in their boat, and wandered to a cabbin of savages; theancient of which, having heard his story, bid him enter, and liberallysupplied their wants: "Approach, brother," said he; "the unhappy havea right to our assistance; we are men, and cannot but feel for thedistresses which happen to men;" a sentiment which has a strongresemblance to a celebrated one in a Greek tragedy.
You will not expect more from me on this subject, as my residencehere has been short, and I can only be said to catch a few markingfeatures flying. I am unable to give you a picture at full length.
Nothing astonishes me so much as to find their manners so littlechanged by their intercourse with the Europeans; they seem to havelearnt nothing of us but excess in drinking.
The situation of the village is very fine, on an eminence, gentlyrising to a thick wood at some distance, a beautiful little serpentineriver in front, on which are a bridge, a mill, and a small cascade, atsuch a distance as to be very pleasing objects from their houses; and acultivated country, intermixed with little woods lying between them andQuebec, from which they are distant only nine very short miles.
What a letter have I written! I shall quit my post of historian toyour friend Miss Fermor; the ladies love writing much better than wedo; and I should perhaps be only just, if I said they write better.
Adieu! Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 12.
To Miss Rivers, Clarges Street.
Quebec, Sept. 12.
I yesterday morning received a letter from Major Melmoth, tointroduce to my acquaintance Sir George Clayton, who brought it; hewanted no other introduction to me than his being dear to the mostamiable woman breathing; in virtue of that claim, he may command everycivility, every attention in my power. He breakfasted with meyesterday: we were two hours alone, and had a great deal ofco
nversation; we afterwards spent the day together very agreably, on aparty of pleasure in the country.
I am going with him this afternoon to visit Miss Fermor, to whom hehas a letter from the divine Emily, which he is to deliver himself.
He is very handsome, but not of my favorite stile of beauty:extremely fair and blooming, with fine features, light hair and eyes;his countenance not absolutely heavy, but inanimate, and to my tasteinsipid: finely made, not ungenteel, but without that easy air of theworld which I prefer to the most exact symmetry without it. In short,he is what the country ladies in England call _a sweet pretty man_.He dresses well, has the finest horses and the handsomest liveries Ihave seen in Canada. His manner is civil but cold, his conversationsensible but not spirited; he seems to be a man rather to approve thanto love. Will you excuse me if I say, he resembles the form myimagination paints of Prometheus's man of clay, before he stole thecelestial fire to animate him?
Perhaps I scrutinize him too strictly; perhaps I am prejudiced inmy judgment by the very high idea I had form'd of the man whom EmilyMontague could love. I will own to you, that I thought it impossiblefor her to be pleased with meer beauty; and I cannot even now changemy opinion; I shall find some latent fire, some hidden spark, when weare better acquainted.
I intend to be very intimate with him, to endeavour to see into hisvery soul; I am hard to please in a husband for my Emily; he must havespirit, he must have sensibility, or he cannot make her happy.
He thank'd me for my civility to Miss Montague: do you know Ithought him impertinent? and I am not yet sure he was not so, though Isaw he meant to be polite.
He comes: our horses are at the door. Adieu!
Yours, Ed. Rivers.
Eight in the evening.
We are return'd: I every hour like him less. There were severalladies, French and English, with Miss Fermor, all on the rack to engagethe Baronet's attention; you have no notion of the effect of a titlein America. To do the ladies justice however, he really look'd veryhandsome; the ride, and the civilities he receiv'd from a circle ofpretty women, for they were well chose, gave a glow to his complexionextremely favorable to his desire of pleasing, which, through all hiscalmness, it was impossible not to observe; he even attempted once ortwice to be lively, but fail'd: vanity itself could not inspire himwith vivacity; yet vanity is certainly his ruling passion, if such apiece of still life can be said to have any passions at all.
What a charm, my dear Lucy, is there in sensibility! 'Tis the magnetwhich attracts all to itself: virtue may command esteem, understandingand talents admiration, beauty a transient desire; but 'tis sensibilityalone which can inspire love.
Yet the tender, the sensible Emily Montague--no, my dear, 'tisimpossible: she may fancy she loves him, but it is not in nature;unless she extremely mistakes his character. His _approbation_ ofher, for he cannot feel a livelier sentiment, may at present, when withher, raise him a little above his natural vegetative state, but aftermarriage he will certainly sink into it again.
If I have the least judgment in men, he will be a cold, civil,inattentive husband; a tasteless, insipid, silent companion; atranquil, frozen, unimpassion'd lover; his insensibility will secureher from rivals, his vanity will give her all the drapery of happiness;her friends will congratulate her choice; she will be the envy of herown sex: without giving positive offence, he will every moment wound,because he is a stranger to, all the fine feelings of a heart likehers; she will seek in vain the friend, the lover, she expected; yet,scarce knowing of what to complain, she will accuse herself of caprice,and be astonish'd to find herself wretched with _the best husband inthe world_.
I tremble for her happiness; I know how few of my own sex are to befound who have the lively sensibility of yours, and of those few howmany wear out their hearts by a life of gallantry and dissipation, andbring only apathy and disgust into marriage. I know few men capable ofmaking her happy; but this Sir George--my Lucy, I have not patience.
Did I tell you all the men here are in love with your friend BellFermor? The women all hate her, which is an unequivocal proof that shepleases the other sex.
LETTER 13.
To Miss Fermor, at Silleri.
Montreal, Sept. 2.
My dearest Bell will better imagine than I can describe, thepleasure it gave me to hear of her being in Canada; I am impatient tosee her, but as Mrs. Melmoth comes in a fortnight to Quebec, I know shewill excuse my waiting to come with her. My visit however is toSilleri; I long to see my dear girl, to tell her a thousand littletrifles interesting only to friendship.
You congratulate me, my dear, on the pleasing prospect I have beforeme; on my approaching marriage with a man young, rich, lovely,enamor'd, and of an amiable character.
Yes, my dear, I am oblig'd to my uncle for his choice; Sir George isall you have heard; and, without doubt, loves me, as he marries me withsuch an inferiority of fortune. I am very happy certainly; how is itpossible I should be otherwise?
I could indeed wish my tenderness for him more lively, but perhapsmy wishes are romantic. I prefer him to all his sex, but wish mypreference was of a less languid nature; there is something in it morelike friendship than love; I see him with pleasure, but I part from himwithout regret; yet he deserves my affection, and I can have noobjection to him which is not founded in caprice.
You say true; Colonel Rivers is very amiable; he pass'd six weekswith us, yet we found his conversation always new; he is the man onearth of whom one would wish to make a friend; I think I could alreadytrust him with every sentiment of my soul; I have even more confidencein him than in Sir George whom I love; his manner is soft, attentive,insinuating, and particularly adapted to please women. Withoutdesigns, without pretensions; he steals upon you in the character of afriend, because there is not the least appearance of his ever being alover: he seems to take such an interest in your happiness, as giveshim a right to know your every thought. Don't you think, my dear,these kind of men are dangerous? Take care of yourself, my dear Bell;as to me, I am secure in my situation.
Sir George is to have the pleasure of delivering this to you, andcomes again in a few days; love him for my sake, though he deserves itfor his own. I assure you, he is extremely worthy.
Adieu! my dear. Your affectionate Emily Montague.
LETTER 14.
To John Temple, Esq; Pall Mall.
Quebec, Sept. 15.
Believe me, Jack, you are wrong; this vagrant taste is unnatural,and does not lead to happiness; your eager pursuit of pleasure defeatsitself; love gives no true delight but where the heart is attach'd, andyou do not give yours time to fix. Such is our unhappy frailty, thatthe tenderest passion may wear out, and another succeed, but the loveof change merely as change is not in nature; where it is a real taste,'tis a depraved one. Boys are inconstant from vanity and affectation,old men from decay of passion; but men, and particularly men of sense,find their happiness only in that lively attachment of which it isimpossible for more than one to be the object. Love is an intellectualpleasure, and even the senses will be weakly affected where the heartis silent.
You will find this truth confirmed even within the walls of theseraglio; amidst this crowd of rival beauties, eager to please, onehappy fair generally reigns in the heart of the sultan; the rest serveonly to gratify his pride and ostentation, and are regarded by him withthe same indifference as the furniture of his superb palace, of whichthey may be said to make a part.
With your estate, you should marry; I have as many objections to thestate as you can have; I mean, on the footing marriage is at present.But of this I am certain, that two persons at once delicate andsensible, united by friendship, by taste, by a conformity of sentiment,by that lively ardent tender inclination which alone deserves the nameof love, will find happiness in marriage, which is in vain sought inany other kind of attachment.
You are so happy as to have the power of chusing; you are rich, andhave not the temptation to a mercenary engagement. Look round you fora companio
n, a confidente; a tender amiable friend, with all thecharms of a mistress: above all, be certain of her affection, that youengage, that you fill her whole soul. Find such a woman, my dearTemple, and you cannot make too much haste to be happy.
I have a thousand things to say to you, but am setting offimmediately with Sir George Clayton, to meet the lieutenant governor atMontreal; a piece of respect which I should pay with the most livelypleasure, if it did not give me the opportunity of seeing the woman inthe world I most admire. I am not however going to set you the exampleof marrying: I am not so happy; she is engaged to the gentleman whogoes up with me. Adieu!
Yours, Ed. Rivers.
LETTER 15.
To Miss Montague, at Montreal.
Silleri, Sept. 16.
Take care, my dear Emily, you do not fall into the common error ofsensible and delicate minds, that of refining away your happiness.
Sir George is handsome as an Adonis; you allow him to be of anamiable character; he is rich, young, well born, and loves you; youwill have fine cloaths, fine jewels, a fine house, a coach and six; allthe _douceurs_ of marriage, with an extreme pretty fellow, who isfond of you, whom _you see with pleasure, and prefer to all his sex_;and yet you are discontented, because you have not for him attwenty-four the romantic passion of fifteen, or rather that idealpassion which perhaps never existed but in imagination.