The Memoirs of François René Vicomte de Chateaubriand sometime Ambassador to England, Volume 1 (of 6): Mémoires d'outre-tombe, volume 1Chateaubriand, François-René, vicomte de
General
The Memoirs of François René Vicomte de Chateaubriand sometime Ambassador to England, Volume 1 (of 6): Mémoires d'outre-tombe, volume 1
Chateaubriand, François-René, vicomte de
Chateaubriand, François-René, vicomte de, 1768-1848
The Canadians are no longer the same as when they were described by
Cartier, Champlain[496], La Hontan[497], Lescarbot[498], Lafitau[499],
Charlevoix[500], and the _Lettres édifiantes_; the sixteenth century
and the commencement of the seventeenth were still the time of a
boundless imagination and ingenuous customs: the marvel of the first
reflected a virgin nature, and the candour of the second reproduced the
simplicity of the savage. Champlain tells us at the end of his first
journey to Canada, in 1603, that "near Chaleur Bay, verging to the
south, there is an island where dwells a frightful monster which the
savages call Gougou."
Canada had its giant as well as the Cape of Storms. Homer is the true
father of all these inventions; it is always the Cyclopes, Scylla and
Charybdis, ogres or _gougous._
The savage population of North America, not including the Mexicans and
Esquimaux, does not today amount to four hundred thousand souls on
either side of the Rocky Mountains; there are travellers who put it
so low as one hundred and fifty thousand. The degradation of Indian
manners has kept pace with the depopulation of the tribes. Their
religious traditions have become confused; the instruction spread by
the Canadian Jesuits has mixed foreign ideas with the inborn ideas
of the natives: through their rude fables, one sees the Christian
beliefs disfigured; the majority of the savages wear crosses by way
of ornaments, and the Protestant traders sell them what the Catholic
missionaries give them. Let us say at once, to the honour of our
country and to the glory of our religion, that the Indians had become
greatly attached to us; that they never cease to regret us; and that a
"black robe," or missionary, is still an object of veneration in the
forests of America. The savage continues to love us under the tree
where we were his first guests, on the soil which we have trod, where
we have left tombs in his care.
When the Indian was naked or clad in skins, he had something great
and noble about him; at present, rags of European clothing, without
covering his nakedness, bear witness to his destitution: he is a beggar
at the door of a counting-house, he is no longer the savage in his
forest
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