DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://www.arcliive.org/details/paulvirginiOOsain DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oom UïuPIA PAUL AND VIRGINIA. PAUL AND VIRGINIA TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BERNA Pv DIN SAINT-PIERRE; HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS, AUTHOR OF LETTERS ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTIOI^j JULIA A NOVEL, POEMS, &C. 1795. 3 (4^^ Pd raaia k-Mi t i i mii^utmu. uMjamjaBjJni] i jL i fcmmjjiji..^jaumuHJ i tiui ' iJjt.- gr P R. E F A C E 'HE following translation of Paul and Virginia was written at Paris, amidst the horrors of Robespierre's tyranny. During that gloomy epocha, it was difficult to find occupations which might cheat the days of cala- mity of their weary length. Society had vanished, and amidst the minute vexations of Jacobinical despotism, which, while it murdered in inass, per- secuted in detail, the resources of writing, and even reading, were en- compassed with danger. The re- searches of domiciliary visits had al- A 2 ready iv PREFACE. ready compelled me to commit to the flames a manuscript volume, where I had traced the political scenes of which I had been a witness, with the colouring of their first impressions on my mind, with those fresh tints that fade from recollection : and since my pen, accustomed to follow the impulse of my feelings, could only have drawn at that fatal period, those images of desolation and despair which haunted my imagination, and dwelt upon my heart ; writing was forbidden employment : even reading had its perils ; for books had some- times aristocratical insignia, and some- times counter-revolutionary allusions : and when the administrators of police happened to think the writer a con- spirator, they punished the reader as his 'accomplice. In PREFACE. V In this situation I gave myself the task of employing a few hours every day in translating the charming little novel of Bernardin St. Pierre, entitled ' Paul and Virginia ;' and I found the most soothing relief in wandering from my own gloomy reflections to those enchanting scenes of the Mau- ritius, which he has so admirably described. I also composed a few sonnets adapted to the peculiar productions of that part of the globe, which are interspersed in the work. Some indeed are lost, as well as a part of the translation, which I have since supplied, having been sent to the Municipality of Paris, in order to be examined as English papers; where they still remain, mingled with revo- lutionary ^placards, motions and ha-, rangues; and are not likely to be re- stored to my possession. With vi PREFACE. With respect to the translation, I can only hope to deserve the hum- ble merit of not having deformed the beauty of the original. I have indeed taken one liberty with my Author, which it is fit I should ac- knowledge, that of omitting several pages of general observations, which, however excellent in themselves, would be passed over with impa- tience by the English reader, when they interrupt the pathetic narrative. In this respect the two nations seem to change characters, and while the serious and reflecting Englishman requires, in novel writing as well as on the theatre, a rapid succession of incidents, much bustle, and stage effect, without suffering the author to appear himself, and stop the progress of the story ; the gay and restless Frenchman listens at- tentively PREFACE, viî tentively to long philosophical re- flexions, while the catastrophe of the drama hangs in suspense. My last poetical productions, the sonnets which are interspersed in this work, may perhaps be found even, more imperfect than my earlier com- positions ; since after a long exile from England, I can scarcely flatter myself that my ear is become more attuned to the harmony of a language, with the sounds of which it is seldom gladdened ; or that my poetical taste is improved by living in a country where arts have given place to arms. But the public will perhaps receive with indulgence a work written under such peculiar circumstances ; not com^ posed in the calm of literary leisure, or in pursuit of literary fame ; but amidst viii r R E F A C E. amidst the turbulence of the most cruel sensations, and in order to escape awhile from overwhelming misery. HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. PARIS, JUNE, 1795. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF BERNARDIN SAINT - PIERRE. ( 9 PAUL AND VIRGINIA N the Eastern coast of the mountain which rises above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks of former cultivation, are seen the ruins of tv/o small cottages. Those ruins are situated near the centre of a valley, 'formed by immense rocks, and which opens only towards the north. On the left rises the moun- tain, called the Height of Discovery, from whence the eye marks the dis- tant sail when it first touches the B verse 10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is given when a vessel ap- proaches the island. At tlie foot of this mountain stands the town of Port Louis. On the right is formed tlie road which stretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the church, bearing that name, lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues of bamboo, in the midst of a spacious plain; and tJie prospect terminates in a forest extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The front view presents the Bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb ; a little on the right is seen the Cape q[ Misfortune, and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands, and, among: o- thers, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles a bastion built upon the flood, At PAUL AND VIRGINIA, ri At the entrance of the valley, which presents those various objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of the winds that shake the neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs. But near the ruined cottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there meet the eye, are rude steep rocks that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumDS of trees 2;row at their base^ on their rifced sides, and even on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid colours of the rainbow on their green and brov/n declivities, and swell the sources of the little river which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms. B % WithiDL 12 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Within this inclosure reigns the most profound silence. The waters, the air, all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat the whispers of the palm-trees spreading their broad leaves, the long points of which are gently balanced by the winds. A soft light illuminates the bottom of this deep valley, on which the sun only shines at noon. But even at break of day the rays of light are thrown on the surrounding rocks, and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleam- ing upon tlie azure sky. To this scene I loved to resort, where I might enjoy at once the riches of the extensive landscape, and the charm of uninterrupted so- litude. One day when I was seated at PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i3 at the foot of the cottages, and con- templating their ruins, a man, ad- vanced in years, passed near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony : his hair was white, and the expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed to him with respect ; he returned the salutation ; and, after looking at me with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock where I w^as seated. Encouraged by this mark of confi- dence, I thus addressed him : '" Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages once belonged?" '•'■ My son," replied the old man: '' those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled land, were twenty years ago the pro- perty of two families wdio then found hap- 14 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. happiness in this solitude. Their history is affecting; but what Euro- pean, pursuing his way to the Indies, will pause one moment to interest himself in the faj;e of a few obscure individuals ? What European can pic- ture, happiness to his imagination amidst poverty and neglect ? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by the history of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use can be derived." '' Father," • I rejoined, "- from your manners and your ob- servations, I perceive that you have acquired much experience of human life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history of the an- cient inhabitants of tk.is desert; and be assured, that even the men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world, find a soothing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which belongs. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i5 belongs to simplicity and virtue." The old man, after a short silence, during which he leant his face upon his hands as if he were trying to recal the images of the past, thus began his narration: '■' Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Norm^andy, after having in vain solicited a com- mission in the French army, or some support from his own family, at length determined to seek his for- tune in this island, where he ar- rived in 1726. He brought hither a young woman, whom he loved ten- derly, and by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province, but he had married her without fortune, and in opposition to the will of her relations, who re- iG PAUL AND VIRGINIA. refused their consent because he was found guilty of being descended from parents who had no claims to nobility. Monsieur Le Noir, leav- ing his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to purchase 0: a few slaves to assist him in forming a plantation in this island. He landed at that unhealthy season which com- mences about the middle of October; and, soon after his arrival, died of the pestilential fever, which preyails in that country six months of the year, and which will for ever baffle the attempts of the European na- tions to form establishments on that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity of strangers ; and his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country where she had neither credit or re- commendation, and no other earthly pes- PAUL AND ■ VIRGINIA. 17 possession, or rather support, than one negro'woman. Too delicate to solicit protection or relief from any other man after the death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, and she re- solved to cultivate v;ith her slave a little spot of ground, and procure for herself the means of subsistence. In an island almost a desert, and where the ground was left to the choice of the settler, she avoided those SDOts which were most fertile and most fa- vourable to commerce ; and seeking some nook of the mountain, some secret asylum, where she might live solitary and unknov/n, she bent her way from the town towards those rocks, where she wished to shelter herself as in a nest. All suffering créa- tures, from a sort of common instinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to G haunts i8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. haunts the most wild and desolate ; as if rocks could form a rampart against misfortiuic, as if the calm of nature could hush the tumults of the soul. That Providence, which lends its support wdien we ask but the sup- ply of our necessary wants, had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour, which neither riches or great- ness can purchase ; this blessing was a friend. The spot to which Madame de la Tour fled, had already been inhabited a year by a young woman of a lively good-natured and affectionate dispo- sition. Margaret, for- that was her name, was born in Britanny, of a family of peasants, by whom she was cherished and beloved, and with whom she might have passed life in simple rustic happiness, if, misled by PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 19 by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listened to the passion of a gentleman in the neighbour- hood, who promised her marriage. He soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to seduction, refused to ensure a provision for the child of which she was pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave for ever her native village, and go where her fault might be concealed, to some colony distant from that country where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant-girl, her reputation. With some borrowed money she purchased an old negro -slave, with whom she cultivated a little spot of this canton. Here Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro-woman, found Margaret suckling her child. Soothed by the sight of a person in a situation some- what similar to her own, Madame de C 2 la 20 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. la Tour related, in a few words, her past condition and her present wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the recital ; and more anxious to excite confidence than esteem, she con- fessed, without disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. "■ As for me," said she, '' I deserve my fate : but you, madam, --- you Î at once virtuous and unhappy" And, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour her hut and her friendship. That lady, affected by this tender reception, pressed her in her arms, and exclaimed, '' Ah, surely heaven will put an end to my misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, with more goodness towards me than I have ever experienced from my own relations !" I knew Margaret ; and although my habi- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 21 habitation is a league and a half from hence, in the woods behind that sloping mountain, I considered my- self as her neighbour. In the cities of Europe, a street, som.etimes even a less distance, separates families whom nature had united ; but in nev/ colonies we consider those persons as neighbours, from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains: and above all, at that period when this island had little in- tercourse with the Indies, neighbour- hood alone gave a claim to friendship, and hospitality towards strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner was I informed that Margaret had found a companion, than I hast- ened hither in the hope of being useful to my neighbour and her guest. Madame 22 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Madame de la Tour possessed all those melancholy graces which give beauty additional power, by blending sympathy with admiration. Her fi- gure was interesting, and her coun- tenance expressed at once dignity and dejection. She appeared to be in the last stage of her pregnancy. I told them that, for the future in- terest of their children, and to pre- vent the intrusion of any other set- tler, it vv^as necessary they should divide between them the property of this wild sequestered valley, which is nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to me, and I marked out two equal portions of land. One includes the higher part of this inclosure, from the peak of that rock buried in clouds, whence springs the rapid river of Fan-Palms, to that wide cleft which you see on the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 23 the summit of the mountain, and which is called the Cannon's mouth from the resemblance in its form. It is difficult to find a path along this -wild portion of the inclosure, the soil of which is incumbered with frag- ments of rock, or worn into channels formed by torrents ; yet it produces noble trees, and innumerable foun- tains and rivulets. The other portion of land is comprised in the plain extending along the banks of the river of Fan-Palms, to the opening where we are now seated, from whence the river takes its course between those two hills, until it falls into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some meadow-land, and this part of the common is less rugged, but not more valuable than the other; since in the rainy season it becomes marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and un- 24 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. unbending, that it Tvill yield only to the stroke of the hatchet. When I had thus divided the property, I per- suaded my neighbours to draw lots for their separate possessions. The higher portion of land became the property of Madame de la Tour ; the lower, of Margaret; and each seemed satisfied with her respective share. They intreated me to place their ha- bitations together, that they might at all times enjoy the soothing in- tercourse of friendship, and the consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's cottage was situated near the centre of the valley, and just on the boundary of her own plantation. Close to that spot I built another cottage for the dwelling of Madame de la Tour; and thus the two friends, while they possessed all the advan- tages of neighbourhood, lived on their PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 25 their own property. I myself cut palisades froin the mouniain, and brought leaves of Fan-Palms from the sea shore, in order to construct those two cottages, of which yoii can now discern neither the entrance or the roof. Yet alas ! there still re- main but too many traces for my remembrance Î Time, which so ra<» pidly destroys the proud monuments of empires, seems in this desert to spare those of friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets till the last hour of my existence. Scarcely was her cottage finished^ when Madame de la Tour was deli- vered of a girl. I had been the god- father of Margaret's child, who was christened by the name of Paul. Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the same office for her cliild D also, 26 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. also, together with her friend, who gave her the name of Virginia. " She will be virtuous," cried Margaret, " and she will be happy. I have only know^n misfortune by wander- ing from virtue." At the time Madame de la Tour recovered, those two little territories had already begun to yield some pro- duce, perhaps in a small degree ow- ing to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their inprovement, but far more to the indefatigable labours of the two slaves. Margaret's slave, who was called Domingo, was still healthy and robust, although advanced in years ; he possessed some know- ledge, and a good natural under- standing. He cultivated indiscrimi- nately, on both settlements, such spots of ground as w^ere most fertile, and PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 27 and sov/ed whatever g^rain he thought most congenial to each particular soil. Where the ground was poor he strewed maize ; where it was most fruitful he planted wheat, and rice in such spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of gourds and cu- cumbers at the foot of the rocks, which they loved to climb and de- corate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the sv/eet potatoe, the cotton-tree flourished upon the heights, and the sugar- cane grew in the clayey soil. He reared som^e plants of coffee on the hills, where the grain, although small, is excellent. The Plantain -trees, which spread their grateful shade on the banks of the river, and encir- cled the cottage, yielded fruit through- out the Vs^hole year. And lastly,. Domingo cultivated a few plants of D 2 to- / 28 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. tobacco, to charm away his own cares. Sometimes he was employed in cutting woo'd for firing from the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the inclosure, in order lo level the paths. He, w'as much attached to Margaret, and not less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro- woman Mai y he had manied at the time of \irginia's birth; and he was passionately fond of his wife. Mary was born at Madagascar, from whence she had brought a few arts of in- dustry : she could weave baskets, and a sert of stuff, with long grass that grows in the woods. She was acii\e, cleanly, and, above all, hiith- fuh It was her care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Fort Louis and sell the superfluities of these little plantations, which were not very considerable. If PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 29 If you add to the personages I have already mentioned, two goats who were brought up with the children, and a great dog who kept watch at night, you will have a complete idea of the houshold as well as of the re- venue of those two farms. , Madame de la Tour and her friend were employed from the morning till the evening "in spinning cotton for the use of their families. Destitute of all those things which their own industry could not supply, they walked about their habitations with their feet bare, and shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, when at an early hour they attended mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which you see yonder: that church is far more distant than Port Louis, yet they seldom visited the town, 3o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. town, lest they should be treated with contempt, because they were dressed in the coarse blue linen of Bengal, which is usually worn by slaves. But is there in that external deference which fortune commands, is there a compensation for domestic happiness ? If they had something to suiTcr from the world, tliis served but to endear their humble home. No sooner did Mary cind Domingo perceive them from this elevated spot, on the road of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the mountain, in order to help them to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their domestics, that joy which their return inspired. They found in their retreat, neatness, indepen- dence, all those blessings which are the recompence of toil, and received those services which have their source in PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 3i in affection. United by the tie of similar wants, and the sympathy of similar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender names of companion, friend, sister, --- they had but one will, one interest, one table; ---all their possessions were in common. And if sometimes a passion, more ardent than friendship, awakened in their hearts the pang of unavailing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste manners, drev^^ their affections towards another life ; as the trembling flame rises towards heaven, when it no longer finds any aliment on earth. Madame de la Tour sometimes leaving the houshold cares to Mar- garet, wandered out alone ; and, amidst this sublime scenery, indulged that luxury of pensive sadness, which is so soothing to the mind after the first 32 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. first emotions of turbulent sorrow have subsided. Sometimes she pour- ed forth the elTasions of melancholy in the language of verse; and al- though her compositions have little poetical merit, they appear to me to bear the marks of genuine sensibility. Many of her poems are lost, but some still remain in my possession, and a few still hang on my memory. I will repeat to you a sonnet ad- dressed to love. SON- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 33 SONNET. TO LOVE. AH Love ! 'ere yet I knew thy fatal power^ Bright glow'd the oDlour of my youthful days^ As, on the sultry zone, the torrid rays That paint the broad-leav'd plantain's glossy bower : Calm was my bosom as this silent hotir. When o'er the deep, scarce heard, the zephyf straySj 'Midst the cool tamarinds indolently plays. Nor from the orange shakes its od'rous flower t But ah ! since Love has all my heart possest. That desolated heart what sorrows tear ? Disturbed, and wild as ocean's troubled breast*' When the hoarse tempest of the night is there! Yet my complaining spirit asks no rest--^-^ This bleeding bosom cherishes despair. E The 34 PAUL AN£) VIRGINIA. The tender and sacred duties which nature imposed, became a source of additional happiness to those affec- tionate mothers, whose mutual friend- ship acquired new strength at the sight of their children, alike the offspring of unhappy love. Tlrey delighted ta place their infants together in the same bath, to nurse them in the same cradle, and sometimes changed the maternal bosom at which they received nourishment, as if to blend with the ties of friendship, that ins- tinctive affection, which this act of tenderness produces. '' My friend,'* cried Madame de la Tour, '' we shall each of us have two children, and each of our children will have two mothers." As two buds which remain on two trees of the same kind, after the tempest has broken all their branches, produce more delicious fruit. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 35 fruit, if each, separated from the ma- ternal stem, be grafted on the neigh- bouring tree; so those two children, deprived of all other support, im- bibed sentiments more tender than those of son and daughter, brother and sister, when exchanged at the breast of those who had given them birth. While they were yet in their cradle, their mothers talked of their marriage; and this prospect of conju- gal felicity, with which they soothed their own cares, often called forth the tears of bitter regret. The mis- fortunes of one mother had arisen from having neglected marriage, those of the other from having submitted to its laws : one had been made unhappy by attempting to raise her- self above her humble condition of life, the other by descending from her rank. But they found consolation E 2 m 36 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. in reflectirT^ that their more fortunate children, far from the cruel prejudices of Europe, those prejudices which poison the most precious sources of our happiness, would enjoy at once the pleasures of love, and the blessings of equality. Nothingr could exceed theatachment which those infants already displayed for each other. If Paul complained, his mother pointed to Virginia, and at that sight he smiled, and was ap- peased. If any accident befel Vir- ginia, the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster ; and then Virginia w^ould suppress her complaints when she found that Paul was unhappy. When I came hither, I usually found them quite naked, which is the custom of this country, tottering in their walk, and holding each other by the hands and PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 37 ^nd under the arms, as we represent the constellation of the twins. At night these infants often refused to be separated, and were found lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their hands thrown round each other's neck, and, sleeping, locked in one another's arms. When they began to speak, the first names they learnt to give each other were those of brother and sister, and childhood knows no softer appellation. Their education served to augment their early friendship, by directing it to the supply of their re- ciprocal wants. In a short time all that regarded the houshold œconomy, the care of preparing their rural re- pasts, became the task of Virginia, whose labours were always crowned with 38 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, with the praises and kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in mo- tion, he dug the garden with Do- mingo, or followed him with a little hatchet into the woods, where, if in his rambles, he espied a beautiful flower, fine fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the top of a tree, he climbed up and brought it home to his sister. When you met with one of those children, you might be sure the other was not distant. One day coming down tliat mountain, I saw Virginia at the end of the garden, running towards the house, with her petti- coat thrown over her head, in order to screen herself from a shower of rain. At a distance I thought she was alone, but as I hastened towards her in order to help her on, I per- ceived that she held Paul by the arm, who PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 3g "U^ho was almost entirely envelopped in the same canopy, and both Vv^ere laughing heartily at being sheltered together under an umbrella of their own invention. Those two charm- ing faces, placed within the petticoat, swelled by the wind, recalled to my mind the children of Leda, inclosed within the same shell. Their sole study was how to please and assist each other ; for of all other things they were ignorant, and knew neither how to read or write. They were never disturbed by re- searches into past times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of that mountain. They be- lieved the world ended at the shores of their own island, and all their ideas and affections were confined within its limits. Their mutual tenderness, and that 40 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. that of their mothers, employed all the activity of their souls. Their tears had never been called forth by long application to useless sciences. Their minds had never been wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never been taught that they must not steal, because every thing with them was in common; or be intem- perate, because their simple food was left to their own discretion ; or false, because they had no truth to con- ceal. Their young imaginations had never been terrified by the idea that God has punishments in store for ungrateful children, since with them filial affection arose naturally from maternal fondness. All they had been taught of religion was to love it, and if they did not offer up long prayers in the church ; wherever they were PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 were, in the house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised towards heaven their innocent hands, and their hearts purified by virtuous af- fections. Thus passed their early childhood^ like a beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. Already they par- took, with their mothers, the cares of the houshold. As soon as the cry of the wakeful cock announced the first beam of the morning, Vir« ginia arose, and hastened to draw water from a neighbouring spring ; then returning to the house, she prepared the breakfast. When the rising sun lighted up the points of those rocks which overhang this inclosure, Margaret and her child went to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour; and they offered up together F their 42 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. their morning prayer. This sacri- fice of thanksgiving always preceded their first repast, which they often partook before the door of the cot- tage, seated upon the grass under a canopy of plantain ; and while the branches of tliat delightful tree af- forded a grateful shade, its solid fruit furnished food ready prepared by nature, and its long glossy leaves spread upon the table, supplied the want of linen. Plentiful and wholesome nourish- ment gave early growth and vigour to the persons of those children, and their countenances expressed the purity and the peace of their souls. At twelve years of age, the figure of Virginia was in some de- gree formed ; a profusion of light hair shaded her face, to which her blue 9 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 48 blue eyes and coral lips gave the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she spoke; but when she was silent, her look had a cast upwards, which gave it an expression of extreme sensibi- lity, or rather of tender melancholy. Already the figure of Paul displayed the graces of manly beauty. He was taller than Virginia, his skin was of a darker tint, his nose more aquiline, and his black eyes would have been too piercing, if the long eye-lashes, by which they were shaded, had not given them a look of softness. He was constantly in motion, except when his sister appeared, and then placed at her side, he became quiet* Their meals often passed in silence ; and from the grace of their attitudes, the beautiful proportions of their figures, and their naked feet, you F 2 might 44 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. rnight have fancied you beheld an antique groupe of white marble, re- presenting some of the children of IS'iobe ; if those eyes which sought to meet, those smiles which were answered by smiles of the most ten- der softness, had not rather given you the idea of those happy celestial spirits, w^hose nature is love, and who are not obli>i;cd to have recourse to words for the expression of that intuitive sentiment. In the mean time, Madame de la Tour, perceiving every day some unfolding grace, some new beauty in her daughter, felt her maternal anxiety increase with her tenderness. She often said to me, '' IF I should die, what wùil become of Virginia without for- tune ?" Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 4,6 France, who was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a great bigot. She had behaved towards her niece with so much cruelty upon her marriage, that Madame de la Tour had determined that no distress or misfortune should ever compel her to have recourse to her hard-hearted relation. But when she became a m.other, the pride of resentment was stifled in the strong-er feelings of maternal tenderness. Siie wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden death of her husband, the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties in which she was involved at a distance from her own country, without support, and burdened with a child. She received no answer; but notv/ithstanding that high spirit which was natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing herself to mortihcation and reproach ; and although 46 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. although she knew her relation would never pardon her having married a man of merit but not of noble birth*, she continued to write to her by every opportunity in the hope of awakening her compassion for Vir- ginia. Many years however passed, during which she received not the smallest testimony of her remem- brance. At length, in lySS, three years after the arrival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this island, Madame de la Tour was informed that the governor had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis, careless on this occasion of appearing in her homely garment. Maternal hope and joy subdued all those little considerations which are lost when the mind is absorbed by any PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 any powerful sentiment. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais delivered to her a letter from her aunt, who informed her, that she deserved her fate for having married an adventurer and a libertine : that misplaced passions brought along with them their own punishment, and that the sudden death of her husband must be con- sidered as a visitation from heaven : that she had done well in sroine to a distant island, rather than disho- nour her family by remaining in France ; and that after all, in the colony where she had taken refuge, every person grew rich except the idle. Having thus lavished sufficient censure upon the conduct of her niece, she finished by an eulogium of herself. To avoid; she said, the al- most inevitable evils of marriage, she had determined to remain in a single state. 4S PAUL AND VIRGINIA* state. In truth, being of a very am- bitious temper, she had resolved only to unite herself to a man of high, rank; and, although she was very rich, her fortune was not found a sufficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malignant dispo- sitions of her mind, and the dis- agreeable qualities of her person. She added in a postscript, that after mature deliberation, she had strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she had indeed done, but in a manner of late too common, and which renders a patron perhaps even more formidable than a declared enemy ; for in order to justify her- self, she had cruelly slandered her niece, v;hile she affected to pity her misfortunes. Madame PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen without feeling sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost cold- ness by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais: and when she painted to him her own situation, and that of her child, he replied with indifference, '' We will see what can be done — there are so many to relieve — why did you offend so respectable a relation ? — You have been much to blame." Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her bosom throbbing with all the bitterness of disappointment* When she arrived, she threw herself on a chair, and then flinging her aunt's letter on the table, exclaimed to her friend, '' This is the recompense of eleven years of patient expect- ation!" As Madame de la Tour was Q the Bo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. • the only person in their little circle who could read, she again took up the letter, which she read aloud. Scarcely had she finished when Mar- garet exclaimed, '' What have we to do with your relations ? Has God then forsaken us ? He only is our father. — Have we not hitherto been happy ? Why then this regret ? — You have no courage." Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw her- self upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, "■ My dear friend!'* cried she, '' My dear friend !" — But her emotion choaked lier utterance. At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her mother s hand, and Margaret's alternately, to her lips, and to her heart ; while Paul, with his eyes enQamed with anger, cried, clasped his hands together, and PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 5t and stamped with his feet, not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon led Do- mingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded with the cries of distress. " Ah Madam! — My good mistress ! — My dear mother! — Do not weep!" — Those tender proofs of affection at length dispelled Madame de la Tour's sorrow. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and embracing them, cried, '' You are the cause of my affliction, and yet my only source of delight ; ---yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached me from a distance, but surely I am surrounded by happiness." Paul and Virginia did not understand this reflexion ; but when they saw that she was calm, they smiled, and continued to caress her, G 3 Thus 52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Thus tranquillity was restored, and what had passed proved but a tran- sient storm, which serves to give fresh verdure to a beautiful spring. Although Madame de la Tour ap- peared calm in the presence of her family, she sometimes communicated to me the feelings that preyed upon her mind, and soon after this period gave me the following sonnet : SON- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 53 SONNET, TO DISAPPOINTMENT. PALE Disappointment! at thy freezing name Chill fears in every shiv'ring vein I prove, My sinking pulse almost forgets to move, And life almost forsakes omy languid frame — Yet thee, relentless nymph ! no more I blame — Why do my thoughts midst vain illusions rove? Why .gild the charms of friendship and of love With the warm glow of fancy's purple flame ? When rufflino; winds have some brisrht fane overthrown. Which shone on painted clouds, or seem'd to shine. Shall the fond gazer dream for him alone Those clouds were stable, and at fate repine ? — - I feel alas! the fault is all my own, And ah , the cruel punishment is mine !-*» • ' The 54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. The amiable disposition of those children unfolded itself daily. On a Sunday, their mothers having gone at break of day to mass, at the church of the Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains, which shaded their habitation. She appea.red almost ft wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment than a shred of course cloth thrown across her loins. She flung herself at Virginia's feet, who was preparing the family breakfast, and died, '' My good young lady, have pity on a poor slave : for a whole month I have wandered a- mongst these mountains, half dead wdth hunger, and often pursued by the hunters and their dogs. I fled from my master, a rich planter of the Black River, who has used me as you see" — and she shewed her body PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 body marked by deep scars from the lashes she had received. — She added, " I was going to drown my- self, but hearing you lived here, I said to myself, since there are still some good white people in this country, I need not die yet." Virginia answered with emotion, *■' Take courage, unfortunate creature ! here is food ;" and she gave her the breakfast she had prepared ; which the poor slave in a fevv^ minutes de- voured. VVhen her hunger was ap- peased, Virginia said to her, "■ Un- happy woman, will you let me go and ask forgiveness for vou of your master ! Surely the sight of you Vviil touch him with pity ---will you shev/ me the way? — '' Angel of heaven," answered the poor negro w'oman, '' I wdll follow you where you please." Virginia 56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Virginia called her brother, and beg- ged him to accompany her. The slave led the way, by winding and difficult paths through the woods, over mountains, which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, through which they were obliged to wade. At length they reached the foot of a precipice upon the borders of the Black River. There they per- ceived a well-built house, surrounded by extensive plantations, and a great number of slaves employed at their various labours. Their master was walking amongst them with a pipe in his mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin figure, of a brown complexion, his eyes w^ere sunk in his head, and his dark eye- brows were joined together. Virginia holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much emotion begged him, for PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 5; for the love of God, to pardon his poor slave who stood trembling a few paces behind. The man at first paid little attention to the children, who he saw were meanly dressed. But when he observed the elegance of Virginia's form, and the profusion of her beautiful light tresses, which had escaped from beneath her blue cap ; when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trembled, as well as her whole frame, while she implored his compassion, he took the pipe from his mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible oath, that he pardoned his slave, not for the love of heaven, but of her who asked his forsriveness. Vir- ginia made a sign to the slave to approach her master, and instantly sprung away, followed by Paul. H They 58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, They climbed up the precipice they had descended ; and, having gained the summit, seated themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They had left their cottage fasting, and had M'alked five leagues since break of day. Paul said to Virginia, '' My dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry ; we shall find no dinner here ; let us go down the mountain again, and ask the mas- ter of the poor slave for some food." '' Oh, no," answered Virginia, '' he frightens me too much : remember what mama sometimes says, ' the bread of the wicked is like stones in the mouth.' — '' What shall w^e do then ?" said Paul ; '' these trees pro- duce no fruit; and I shall not be able to find 'even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.' Scarcely had she PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 5^ she pronounced these words, when they heard the dashing of waters which fell from a neighbouring rock. They ran thither, and having quench- ed their thirst at tliis crystal spring, they gathered a few cresses which grew on the border of the stream. While they were wandering in the ivoods in search of more solid nour- ishment, Virginia spied a young palm- tree. The kind of cabbage which is found at the top of this tree, en- folded within its leaves, forms an excellent sustenance ; but although the stalk of the tree was not thicker than a man's leg, it was above sixty feet in height. The wood of this tree is composed of fine filaments ; but the bark is so hard, that it turns the edge of the hatchet ; and Paul was not even furnished with a knife. At length he thought of setting fire H St ta 6o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. to ihe palm-tree ; but a new diffi- culty occurred ; he had no steel with "which to strike fire ; and although the whole island is covered \vith rocks, I do not believe it is possible to find a flint. Necessity, however, is fertile in expedients, and the most useful inventions have arisen from men- placed in the most destitute situations. Paul determined to kindle a fire in the manner of the negroes. With the sharp end of a stone he made a small hole in the branch of a tree that was quite dry, which he held between his feet ; he then sharp- ened another dry branch of a diifer- ent sort of wood, and afterwards placing the piece of pointed wood in the small hole of the branch which he held w'ith his feet, and turn- ing it rapidly between his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of fire PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 fire issued from the points of con- tact. Paul then heaped together dried grass and branches, and set fire to the palm-tree, which soon fell to the ground. The fire was useful to him in stripping off the long thick and pointed leaves, within which the cab- bage v;as enclosed. Paul and Virginia ate part of the cabbage raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which they found equally palatable. They made this frugal re- past with delight, from the remem- brance of the benevolent action they had performed in the morning : yet their joy was imbittered by the thoughts of that uneasiness which their long absence would give their mothers. Virginia often recurred to this sub- ject ; but Paul, v^ho felt his strength renewed by their meal, assured her^ that 62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. that it would not be long before they reached home. After dinner tliey recollected that they had no guide, and that they were ignorant of the way. Paul, wdiose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia, ''the sun shines full upon our hut at noon ; we must pass, as we did this morning, over that mountain wiih its three points, wdiich you see yonder. Come, let us cro." This mountain is called tlie Three Peaks. Paul and Virginia descended the precipice of the Black River, on the northern side ; and arrived, after an hour s walk, on the banks of a large stream. •Great part of tliis island, is so little knov;n, even now, that many of its rivers and mountains have not yet (' /,//l,/// ,,>l. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 yet received a name. The river, on the banks of" which our travellers stood, rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. The noise of the water fright- ened Virginia, and she durst not wade through the stream ; Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and went thus loaded, over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of the river^ careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters, '' Do not be afraid," cried he to Virginia, '' I feel very strong with you. If the inhabitant of the Black River had refused you the pardon of his siave, I would have fought with him." '' What ! " answered Virginia, "" with that great wicked man?— rTo what have I exposed you, gracious Heaven ! How difficult it is to do good; and it is so easy to do wrong. When G4 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, ft When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to continue his journey carrying his sister, and believed he was able to climb in that way the mountain of the three Peaks, which was still at the distance of half a league ; but his strength soon failed, and he was obliged to set down his burden, and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then said to him, '' My dear brother, the sun is going down you have still some strength left, but mine has quite failed ; do leave me here, and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers." '■'• Oh no," said Paul, '' I v;ill not leave you — if night surprises us in this wood, I will light a fire, and bring down another palm-tree ; you shall eat the cabbage ; and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you. In the mean time, Virginia being a little PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 little rested, pulled from the trunk of an old tree, which hung over the bank of the river, some long leaves of hart's tongue, which grew near its root. With those leaves she made a sort of buskin, v;ith which she cover- ed her feet, that were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony pathf; for in her eager desire to do good, she had forgot to put on her shoes. Feeling her feetf cooled by the fresh- ness of the leaves, she broke off a branch of bamboo, and continued her walk, leaning with one hand on the stafF, and with the other onrPaul. They walked on slowly through the w^oods, but from the height of the trees and the thickness of their foliage, they soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three Feaks by which they had directed their course, I . and 66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. and even of the sun which was now setting. At length they w^andered, without perceiving it, from the beaten path in which they had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees, and rocks, which appeared to have no opening. Paul mlide Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, half frantic, in search of a path w^ljich might lead them out of this thicl^ wood ; but all his researches were vain. He climbed to the top of a tree, from whence he hoped at least to discern the mountain of the Three Peaks ; but all he could perceive around him, were the tops of trees, some of which were gilded by the last beams of the setting sun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spread over the forests in the valleys. The wind ceas- ed, as it usually does, at the evening hour. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 hour. The most profound silence reigned in those awful solitudes, which was only interrupted by the cry of the stags, who came to repose in that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that some hunter would hear his voice, called out as loud as he was able, '' Come, come to the help of Virginia." But the echoes of the forests alone answered his call, and repeated •again and again, '"' Virginia, , — Virginia." Paul at length descended from the tree overcome with fatigue and vexa- tion, and reflected how they might best contrive to pass the night in that desert. But he could find nei- ther a fountain, a palm-tree, or evert a branch of dry wood to kindle a fire. He then felt, by experience, the sense of his own weakness, and be- I 3 gaa 68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. gan to weep. Virginia said to him, '' Do not weep, my dear brother, or I shall die with grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers suffer at this mo- ment. I find we onght to do no- thing, not even good, without con- sulting our parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent !" — and she be- gan to shed tears. She then said to Paul, "• Let us pray to God, my dear brother and he will hear us." Scarcely had. they finished their prayer, when they heard the barking of a dog. '■'■ It is the dog of some hunter," said Faul, "• who comes here at night co lay in wait for the stags:" Soon after the dog barked again with more violence- '^ Surely," said Virginia, '' it is Fidèle, our own dog ; — yes, I know his voice — are we then PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 6g then so near home ? at the foot of our own mountain?" A moment after Fidèle was at their feet, 'barking, howling, crying, and devouring them with his caresses. — Before they had recovered their surprise, they saw Domingo running towards them. At the sight of this good old negro, who wept with joy, they began to weep too, without being able to utter one word. When Domingo had recovered himself a little, "■ Oh, my dear children," cried he, '' how miserable have you made your mothers ! How much were they astonished when they returned from mass, where I went with them, at not finding you. Mary, who w^as at work at a little distance, could not tell us where you were srone. I ran backwards and forwards about the plantation, not knowing where to look for you. At last 70 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. last I took some of your old cloaths, and shewing them to Fideie, the poor animal, "^s if he understood me, imme- diately began to scent your path; and conducted me, continually wagging Lis tail, to the black lUver. It was there a planter told me that you Lad brought back a negro woman, Lis slave, and that he had granted you her pardon. But w^hat pardon ! Le shewed her to me with her feet chained to a block of wood, and an iron collar with three Looks fastened round her ricck ! From thence Fidèle, still on the scent, led me up the .precipice of the Black River, w^here he again stopped and barked with all his mivhich. bind us to our native country, M îind / go PAUL AND VIRGINIA. and softened their regrets in a foreign land. Alas ! I have seen, animated by a thousand soothing appellations, those trees, those fountains, those stones, which are now overthrown, which now, like the plains of Greece, present nothing but ruins and af- fecting remembrances. Neither the neglect of her European friends, nor the delightful roman- tic spot which she inhabited, could banish from the mind of Madame de la Tour this tender attachment to her native country. "^'^hile the luxurious fruits of this climate grati- fied the taste of her family, she de- lighted to rear those which were more grateful, only because they were the production of her early home. Among other little pieces addressed to flowers and fruits of northern climes, I found the following sonnet to the strawberry. V PAUL AND VIRGINIA, gi SONNET. TO THE STRAWBERRY. THE Strawberry blooms upon its lowly bed, Plant of my native soil ! — the lime may fling More potent fragrance on the zephyr's wing ; The milky cocoa richer juices shed; The white Guava lovelier blossoms spread—— But not like thee to fond remembrance bring The vanished hours of life's enchanting spring. Short calendar of joys for ever fled ! — Thou bidst the scenes of childhood rise to view, The wild-wood path which fancy loves to trace; Where veifd in leaves, thy fruit of rosy hue Lurk'd on its pliant stem with modest grace — But ah! when thought would later years renew, Alas, successive sorrows croud the space! M 2 But / 92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. But perhaps the most charming- spot of this inclosLire was that which was called the Repose of Virginia. At the foot of the rock, which bore the name of the Discovery of Friendships is a nook from whence issues a foun- tain, forming near its source a little spot of marshy soil in the midst of a field of rich grass. At the time Margaret was delivered of Paul, I made her a present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which she planted on the border of this fenny ground, in order that the tree might one day serve to mark the epocha of her son's birth. Madame de la Tour planted another cocoa, with the same view, at the birth of Virginia. Those fruits produced two cocoa-trees, which formed all the records of the two families ; one was called the tree of Paul, the other the tree PAUL AND VIRGINIA. g3 tree of Virginia. They grew in the same proportion as the two young persons of an unequal height ; but they rose at the end of twelve years above the cottages. Already their tender stalks were interwoven, and their young branches of cocoas hung over the bason of the foun- tain. Except this little plantation, the nook of the rock had been left as it was decorated by nature. On its brown and humid sides large plants of maiden hair glistened with their green and dark stars, and tufts of wave-leaved harts-tongue, suspended like long ribbands of purpled green, floa;ted on the winds. Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar peri- winkle, the flowers of which re^ semble the red gilli-flower; and the long podded capsacum, the cloves of which are of the colour of blood, and / 94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. and more glowing than coral. The herb of balm with its leaves within the heart, and the sweet basil, which has the odour of the gilli-flower, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. From the steep summit of the moun- tain hung the graceful lianas, like a floating drapery, forming magnificent canopies of verdure upon the sides of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured by the stilness of those retreats, re- sorted thither to pass the night. At the hour of sun-set we perceived the curlew and the stint skimming along the sea-shore^ the cardinal poized high in air, and the white bird of the tropic which abandons, with the star of day, the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia loved to repose upon the border of this fountain, decorated with wild and sublime magnificence. She often seated \ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. g5 seated herself beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, and there she sometimes led her goats to graze. While she prepared cheeses of their milk, she loved to see them browse on the maiden hair which grew upon the steep sides of the rock, and hang suspended upon one of its Cornishes as on a pedestal. Paul observing that Virginia was fond of this spot, brought thither from the neighbouring forest a great variety of birds-nests. The old birds following their young, established themselves in this new colony. Virginia at stated times distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon as she appeared, the whistling black- bird, the amadavid-bird, the note of which is so soft, the cardinal, the black frigate bird, with its plumage the colour of flame, forsook their bushes ;. / 96 PAUL AND VIRGINIA* bushes ; the peroquet, green as an emerald, descended from the neigh- bouring fan-palms, the partridge ran along the grass, all advanced pro- miscuously towards her like a brood of chickens : and she and Paul delight- ed to observe their sports, their re- pasts, and their loves. Amiable children, thus passed your early days in innocence and in the exercise of benevolence. How many times on this very spot have your mothers, pressing you in their arms^ blessed heaven for the consolations your unfolding virtues prepared for their declining years ; while already they enjoyed the satisfaction of see- ing you begin life under the most happy auspices Î How many times beneath the shade of those rocks have I partaken with them of your rural PAUL AND VIRGINIA, g? tural repasts which cost no animal its life ! Gourds filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice placed upon plan- tain leaves, baskets loaded with mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegra- nates, pine-apples, furnished at the same time the most wholesome food* the most beautiful colours, and the most delicious juices* The conversation was gentle and innocent as the repasts. Paul often talked of the labours of the day, and those of the morrow. He was con* tinually forming some plan of ac- commodation for their little society. Here, he discovered that the paths were rough ; there, that the family circle was ill-seated: sometimes the young arbours did not afford suffi- cient shade, and Virginia might be better placed elsewhere. N In 98 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. In the rainy seasons the two fa- milies assembled together in the hut, and employed themselves in weav- ing mats of grass, and baskets of bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets, were ranged along the walls in the most perfect order, and near those instruments of agriculture were placed the productions which were the fruits of labour; sacks of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of the plantain fruit. Some degree of luxury is usually united with plenty, and Vir- ginia was taught by her mother and Margaret to prepare sherbet and cor- dials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the orange and the citron. When night came, those families supped together by the light of a lamp ; after which, Madame de la Tour or Margaret related histories of PAUL AND VIRGINIA, gg of travellers lost during the night in such of the forests of Europe as are infested by banditti ; or told a dis- mal tale of some ship-wrecked ves- sel thrown by the tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. To these recitals their children listened with m eager sensibility, and earnestly beg- ged that heaven would grant they might one day have the joy of shewing their hospitality towards such unfortunate persons. At length the two families separated and re- tired to rest, impatient to meet again the next morning. Sometimes they were lulled to repose by the beating ruins which fell in torrents upon the roof of their cottages ; and some- times by the hollow winds, which brought to their ear the distant murmur of the waves breaking upon the shore. They blessed God for •N ^ their loo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. their personal safety, of which their feeling became stronger from the idea of remote danger. Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting history of the old or new testament. Her au» ditors reasoned but little upon those sacred books, for their theology con- sisted in sentiment, like that of na- ture ; and their morality in action^ like that of the gospel. Those fa- milies had no particular days devoted to pleasure and others to sadness. Every day was to them a holiday, and all which surrounded them, one holy temple, where they for ever adored an infinite intelligence, the friend of human kind. A sentiment of confidence in his supreme power filled their minds witli consolation under the past, with fortitude for the V PAUL AND VIRGINIA, loi the present, and with hope for the future. Thus compelled by misfor- tune to return to a state of nature, those women had unfolded in their own bosoms and in those of their children, the feelings which are most natural to the human mind, and which are our best support under evil. But as clouds sometimes arise which cast a gloom over the best regulated tempers, whenever melancholy took possession of any member of this little society, the rest endeavoured to banish painful thoughts rather by sentiment than by arguments. Mar- garet exerted her gaiety. Madame de la Tour employed her mild theo- logy. Virginia, her tender caresses. Paul, his cordial and engaging frank- ness. Even Mary and Domingo hastened / 102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. hastened to offer their succour, and to weep with those that wept. Thus weak plants are interwoven in order to resist the tempests. During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the church of the Shaddock Grove, the steeple of which you see yonder upon the plain. After service the poor often came to require some kind office at their hands. Sometimes an unhappy crea- ture sought their advice, sometimes a child led them to its sick mother in the neighbourhood. They always took with them remedies for the or- dinary diseases of the country, which they administered in that soothing manner which stamps so much value upon the smallest favours. Above all they succeeded in banishing the disorders of the mind, which are so in- \ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. io3 intolerable in solitude, and under the infirmities of a weakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence of the divinity, that the sick, while listening to her, believed that he was present. Vir- ginia often returned home, with her eyes wet with tears, and her heart overflowing with delight, having had an opportunity of doing good. After those visits of charity they sometimes prolonged their way by the sloping mountain, till they reached my dwel- ling, where I had prepared dinner for them, upon the banks of the little river which glides near my cottage. I produced on those occasions some bottles of old wine, in order to heighten the gaiety of our Indian re- past by the cordial productions of Europe. Sometimes we met upon the sea shore, at the mouth of little rivers, / / / \ 104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, rivers, which are here scarcely larger than brooks. We brought from the plantation our vegetable provisions, to which we added such as the sea furnished in great variety. Seated upon a rock beneath the shade of the velvet sun-flower, we heard the mountain billows break at our feet with a dashing noise, and sometimes on that spot we listened to the plain- tive strains of the water-curlew. Ma- dame de la Tour answered his sor- rowful notes in the follov/ing sonnet. SON- \^ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. io5 SONNET, ^TO THE CURLEW. SOOTH^'D by tlie murmurs on the sea-beat shore, His dun- grey plumage floating to the gale, The Curlew blends his melancholy wail. With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour— * Like thee, congenial bird! my steps explore The bleak lone sea-beach, or the rocky dale. And shun the orange bower, the myrtle vale, Whose gay luxuriance suits my soul no more. I love the ocean*s broad expanse, when drest In limpid clearness, or when tempests blow ; When the smooth currents on its placid breast Flow calm as my past moments usM to flow; Or, when its troubled waves refuse to rest, And seem the symbol of my present woe. O Our / / / \ 106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and dances of the two young people. Virginia sung the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of those who were impelled by avarice to cross the furious ocean rather than cultivate the earth and enjoy its peaceful bounties. Sometimes she performed a pantomime with Paul in the manner of the negroes. The first language of men is pantomime; it is known to all nations, and is so na- tural and so expressive, that the children of the European inhabitants catch it with facility from the ne- groes. Virginia recalling amongst the histories which her mother had read to her, those which had affected her most, represented the principal events with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo's tamtam» she appeared upon the green- sward, \ V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 sward, bearing a pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a timid step towards the source of a neighbouring fountain, to draw water. Domingo and Mary, who personated the shep- herds of Midian, forbade her to ap* proach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon which Paul flew to her succour, beat away the shepherds, filled Vir- ginia's pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound her brows at the same time with a wreath of the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which served to heighten the delicacy of her skin .Then joining in their sports, I took upon me the part of Raguel„ and bestowed upon Paul my daugh- ter Zephora in marriage. Sometimes Virginia represented the unfortunate Ruth, returning poor and widowed to her own country, where, O a after io8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. after so long an absence, she found herself as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary personated the reapers. Virginia followed their steps, gleaning here and there a few ears of corn. She was interrogated by Paul with the gravity of a patriarch, and an- swered, with a faultering voice, his questions. Soon touched with com- passion, he granted an asylum to in- nocence, and hospitality to misfor- tune. He filled Virginia's lap with plenty, and, leading her towards us as before the old men of the city, declared his purpose to take her in marriage. At this scene, Madame dc la Tour recalling the desolate situa- tion in which she had been left by her relcftions, her widowhood, the 'kind reception she had met with from Margaret, succeeded by the soothing hope of a happy union between their children. V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 children, could not forbear weeping; and the sensations which such re- collections excited, led the whole audience to pour forth those luxu- rious tears, which have their mingled source in sorrow and in joy. These dramas were performed with such an air of reality, that you might have fancied yourself transported to the plains of Syria or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished with either decorations, lights, or an orchestra suitable to the repre'sentation. The scene was generally placed in an opening of the forest, where such parts of the tvood as were penetrable, formed around us numerous arcades of foliage, beneath which we were sheltered from the heat during the whole day; but when the sun de- scended towards the horizon, its rays, broken ^ ) V 110 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. broken upon the trunks of the trees^ diverged amongst the shadows of the forest in long lines of light which produced the most sublime effect. Sometimes the whole of its broad disk appeared at the end of an ave- nue, spreading one dazzling mass of brightness. The foliage of the trees- illuminated from beneath by its saf- fron beams, glowed with the lustre of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and mossy trunks appeared transformed into columns of antique bronze, and the birds who had re- tired in silence to their leafy shades to pass the night, surprised to see the radiance of a secofid mornings hailed the star of day with innume- rable carols. Night often overtook us during those rural entertainments ; but the purity ê PAUL AND VIRGINIA, m purity of the air, and the mildness of the climate, admitted of our sleep- ing in the woods, secure from the in- juries of the weather, and no less secure from molestation from robbers. At our return the following day to our respective habitations, wc found them exactly in the same state in which they had been left. In this island, which then had no commerce, there was so much simplicity and good faith, that the doors of several houses were without a key, and a lock was an object of curiosity to many of the natives. Amidst the luxuriant beauty of this favoured climate, Madame de la Tour often regretted the quick suc- cession, from day to night, which takes place between the tropics, and which deprived her pensive mind of that J 112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA; that hour of twilight, the softened gloom of which is so soothing and sacred to the feelings of tender me- lancholy. This regret is expressed in the following souuet. SON- V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ii3 SONNET, TO THE TORRID ZONE. PATHWAY of light! o'er thy empurpled zone. With lavish charms perennial summer strays ; Soft 'midst thy spicy groves the zephyr plays, While far around the rich perfumes are thrown; The amadavid-bird for thee alone, Spreads his gay plumes that catch thy vivid rays; For thee the gems with liquid lustre blaze, And nature's various wealth is all thy own. But ah ! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom, Those m-ild gradations, mingling day with night; Here, instant darkness shrouds thy genial bloom. Nor leaves mv pensive soul that ling' ring light. When musing mcm'rv would each trace resume Of fading pleasures in successive flight. P Paul y 114 PAUL AND VIRGIiNIA. Paul and Virginia had neither clock or almanack, or books of chronology, history, or philosophy. The periods of their lives were regulated by those of nature. They knew the hours of the day by the shadows of the trees, the seasons by the times, when those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years by the number of their har- vests. These soothing images diffused an inexpressible charm over their conversation. " It is time to dine," said Virginia, '' the shadows of the plantain-trees are at their roots, "---or, '■'■ night approaches, the tamarinds close their leaves." '•* -When will you come to see us?" enquired some of her companions in the neighbour- hood. "■ At the time of the sugar- canes," answ^ered Virginia. '' Your visit will be then still more delight- ful," resumed her yr>ung acquaint- ances. V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ii5 ances. When she was asked what was her own age, and that of Paul ; " my brother," said she, '' is as old as the great cocoa-tree of the foun- tain ; and I am as old as the little cocoa-tree--- the mangoes have borne fruit twelve times, and the orange- trees have borne flowers four and twenty times, since I came into the world." Their lives seemed linked to the trees like those of fauns or dryads. They knew no other historical epochas than that of the lives of their mothers, no other chronology than tuat of their orchards, and no other philosophy than that of doing good, and resigning themselves to the will of heaven. Thus grew those children of nature. No care had troubled their peace, no intemperance had corrupted their P 2 blood. J ii6 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. blood, no misplaced passion had de- praved their hearts. Love, innocence* and piety possessed their souls, and those intellectual graces unfolded themselves in their features, their at- titudes, and their motions. Still in the morning of life, they had all its blooming freshness ; and surely such in the garden of Eden appeared our first parents when, coming from the hands of God, they first saw, ap- proached, and conversed together, like brother and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve ; and Paul, like Adam, united the fi- gure of manhood wiih the simplicity of a child. When alone with Virginia, he has a thousand times told me he used to say to her at his return from la- bour, '' when I am wearied, the sight of V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the mountain I perceive you below in the valley, you appear to me in the midst of our orchard like a blushing rose bed. If you go towards our mother's house, the par- tridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape less beautiful, and a step less light. When I lose sight of you tlirough the trees, I have no need to see you in order to find you again. Something of you, I know not how, remains for me in the air v/here you have passed, in the grass where you have been seated. When I came near you, you delight all my senses. The azure of heaven is less charming than the blue of your eyes, and the song of the amadavid- bird less soft than the sound of your voice. If I only touch you V\dth my finger, my whole frame trembles with pleasure. J ii8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. pleasure. Do you remember the clay when we crossed over the great stones of the river of the Three Peaks ? I was very much tired before we reached the bank, but as soon as I had taken you in my arms, I seemed to have wings like a bird. Tell me by what charm you have so enchanted me ? Is it by your wisdom ? Our mothers have more than either of us. Is it, by your caresses? They embrace me much oftener than you. I think it must be by your goodness. I shall never forget how you walked bare-footed to the Black River, to ask pardon for the poor wandering slave. Here, my beloved ! take this flowering orange - branch, which I have culled in the forest ; you will place it at night near your bed. Eat this honey-comb which I have taken for you from the top of a rock. But first V PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 119 first lean upon my bosom and I shall be refreshed" Virginia then answered, " O, my dear brother, the rays of the sun in the morning at the top of the rocks give me less joy than the sight of you. I love my mother, I love yours ; but when they call you their son, I love them a thousand times more. When they caress you, I feel it more sensibly than when I am ca- ressed myself. You ask me why you love me. Why ? all creatures that are brought up together love one another. Look at our birds reared up in the same nests----they love like us — they are always together like us. Hark! how they call and answer from one tree to another. -So when the echoes bring to my ear the airs which you play upon your flute at the top of / V 120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. of the mountain, I repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. Above all, you are dear to me since the day when you wanted to fight the master of the slave for me. Since that time how often I have said to myself, *' Ah, my brother has a good heart; but for him I should have died of terror. I pray to God every day for my mother and yours ; for you, and for our poor servants : but when I pronounce your name, my devotion seems to increase. I ask so earnestly of God, that no harm may befall you ! Why do you go so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and .flowers for me ? How much -you are fatigued ! "--- and with her little white handkerchief she wiped the damps from his brow. For some time past, however, Vir- ginia, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 ginia had felt her heart agitated by new sensations. Her fine blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek its fresh- ness, and her frame was seized with universal languor. Serenity no lon- ger sat upon her brov/, nor smiles played upon her lips. She became suddenly gay, without joy, and me- lancholy without vexation. She fled her innocent sports, her gentle la- bours, and the society of her beloved family ; wandering along the most unfrequented parts of the plantation, and seeking every where that rest which she could no where find. Sometimes at the sight of Paul she advanced sportively towards him, and v>/hen going to accost him, was seized with sudden confusion ; her pale cheeks were overspread with blushes, and her eyes no longer dared to meet those of her brother. Paul said to O her, ) V 122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. her, *' the rocks are covered with verdure, our birds begin to sing when you approach, every thing around you is gay, and you only are unhappy." He endeavoured to sooth her by his embraces, but she turned away her head, and fled trembhng towards her mother. The caresses of her brother excited too much emotion in her agi- tated heart. Paul could not com- prehend the meaning of those new and strange caprices. One of those summers, w^hich some- times desolate the countries situated between the tropics, now spread its ravages over this island. It was near the end of December, when the sun at Capricorn darts over the Mauritius during the space of three weeks its vertical fires. The south-wind, which prevails almost throughout the whole year, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 120 year, no langer blew. Vast Golumns of dust arose from the highways, and hung suspended in the air; the ground was every where broken into clefts ; the grass was burnt ; hot ex- halations issued from the sides of the mountains, and their rivulets for the most part became dry ; fiery vapours during the day ascended from the plains, and appeared at the setting of the sun like a conflagration: night brought no coolness to the heated atmosphere : the orb of the moon seemed of blood, and, rising in a misty horizon, appeared of superna- tural magnitude. The drooping cattle on the sides of the hills, stretching out their necks towards heaven, and panting for air, made the valleys re- echo with their melancholy lowings ; even the caifre, by whom they were led, threw himself upon the earth in Q^ 5 search / 124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. search of coolness, but the scorching sun had every where penetrated, and the stifling atmosphere resounded with the buzzing noise of insects, who sought to allay their thirst in the blood of men and of animals. On one of those sultry days Vir- ginia, restless and unhappy, arose, then went again to rest, but could find in no attitude cither slumber or repose. At length she bent lier way by the light of the moon towards lier fountain, and gazed at its spring» ivhich, notwithstanding the drough.t, still Plowed like silver threads dov.'n the brown sides of the rock. She flung herself into the bason, its cool- ness re-animated her spirits, and a thousand soothing remembrances pre- sented' themselves to her- mind. She recollected that in her infancy her mother \ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i25 mother and Margaret amused them- selves by bathing her with Paul in this very spot. That Paul afterwards reserving this bath for her use only, had dug its bed, covered the bot- tom with sand, and sov>^n aromatic herbs round the borders. She saw reflected through the water upon her naked arms and bosom, the tVv^o cocoa-trees wdiich w'ere planted at her birth and that of her brother, and which intemove above her head their green branches and young fruit. She thought of Paul's friendship sweeter than the odours, purer than the waters of the fountain, stronger than the» interwining palm-trees, and she sighed. Reflecting upon- the hour of the night, and the profound solitude, her imagination again grew disordered. Suddenly she flew af- frighted from those dangerous shades, and / 126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, and those waters which she fancied hotter than the torrid sun-beam, and ran to her mother in order to find a refuge from herself. Often, wishing to unfold her sufferings, she pressed her mother's hands within her own, often she was ready to pronounce the name of Paul ; but her oppressed heart left not her lips the power of utterance ; and leaning her head on her mother's bosom, she could only bathe it with her tears. Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source of her daughters uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to her on that sub- ject. "■ My dear child," said she, '' address yourself to God, who dis- poses at his will of health and of life. He tries you now in order to recompense you hereafter. Pvemeraber that \ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 127 that we are only placed upon earth for the exercise of virtue." The .excessive heat drew vapours from the ocean, which hung over the island like a vast awning, and ga- thered round the summits of the mountains, v/hile long flakes of fire occasionally issued from their misty peaks. Soon after, the most terrible thunder re-echoed through the woods, the plains, and the valleys ; the rains fell from the skies like cataracts ; foaming torrents rolled down the sides of this mountain ; the bottom of the valley became a sea ; the plat of ground on v;hich the cottages were built, a little island ; and the entrance of this valley a sluice, along which rushed precipitately the moaning wa- ters, earth, trees, and rocks. Mean- 12S PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Meantime the trembling family ad- dressed their prayeis to God in the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which cracked horribly from the struggling winds. So vivid and frequent were the lightnings, that al- thoua:h the doors and window- shiK- ters were well fastened, every object without was distinctly seen through the jointed beams. Paul, followed by Domingo, went with intrepidity from one cottage to another, notwithstand- ing the fury of the tempest ; here supporting a partition with a buttress, there driving in a stake, and only re- turning to tlie family to calm their fears by the hope that the storm was passing away. Accordingly, in the evening the rains ceased, the trade- W'inds of the south pursued their or- dinary course, the tempestuous clouds were thrown towards the north-east, and PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 429 and the setting-sun appeared in the horizon. Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot called her repose. Paul approached her with a timid air, and offered her the assistance of his arm, which she accepted, smiling, and they left the cottage together. The air was fresh and clear, white vapours arose from, the ridges of the mountains, fur- rowed here and there by the foam of the torrents which were now be- coming dry. The garden was alto- gether destroyed by the hollows which the floods had worn, the roots of the fruit-trees were for the most part laid bare, and vast heaps of sand covered the chain of meadows, and choaked up Virginia's bath. The two cocoa- trees, however, were still erect, and still retained their freshness, but they R were i3o PAUL AND VIRGINIA, were no longer surrounded by turf, or arbours, or birds, except a few amadavid-birds, who, upon the point of the neighbouring rocks, lamented in plaintive notes the loss of their young. At the sight of this general deso- lation, Virginia exclaimed to Paul, *' You brought birds hither and the hurricane lias killed them. — You planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. — Every thing then upon earth perishes, and it is only heaven that is not subject to change." '' Why," answered Paul, "■ why can- not I give you something which be- longs to heaven ? but I am possessed of nothing even upon earth." Vir- ginia blushing resumed, '' You have the picture of Saint Paul." Scarcely had she pronounced the words, when he PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i3i he flew in search of it to his mo- ther's cottage. This picture was a small miniature representing Paul the hermit, and which Margaret, who was very pious, had long worn hung at her neck, when she was a girl, and which, since she became a mo- ther, she had placed round the neck of her child. It had even happened, that being, while pregnant, abandoned by the whole world, and continually employed in contemplating the image of this benevolent recluse, her off- spring had contracted, at least so she fancied, some resemblance to this revered object. She therefore bestowed upon him the name of Paul, giving him, for his patron, a saint who had passed his life far from mankind by whom he had been first deceived, and then forsaken. Virginia upon receiving this little R 2 picture i32 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. picture from tht hands of Paul, said to him, with emotion, '' IMy dear brother, I will never part with this while I live, nor will I ever forget that you have given me the only thing which you possess in the world." At this tone of friendship, this un- hoped-for return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul attempted to em- brace her; but light as a bird she fled, and left him astonished, and un- able to account for a conduct so ex- traordinary. Meanwhile Magaret said to Madame de la Tour, '■'■ why do v,'e not unite our children by marriage ? they have a tender attachment for each«other." Madame de la Tour replied, '' they are too young and too poor. What grief would it occasion us to see Virginia bring into the world unfor- tunate # PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i33 tunate children, whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to rear! Your negro Domingo is ahiiost too old to labour ; Mary is infirm ; as for myself, my dear friend, in the space of fifteen years, I find my strength much failed ; age advances rapidly in hot climates, and, above all, under the pressure of misfor- tune. Paul is our only hope : let us wait till his constitution is strengthen- ed, and till he can support us by his labour ; at present you v/ell know that w^e have only sufficient to supply the wants of the day : but were we to send Paul for a short time to the Indies, commerce would furnish him with the means of purchasing a slave; and at his return we will unite him to Virginia ; for I am persuaded no one, on earth can render her so happy as i34 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. as your son. We will consult our neighbour on this subject." They accordingly asked my advice, and I was of their opinion. " The Indian seas, " I observed to them, *' are calm, and, in clausing a fa- vourable season, the voyage fs sel- dom longer than six weeks. We will furnish Paul with a little venture in my neighbourhood, w^here he is much beloved. If we were only to supply him with some raw cotton, of which we make no use, for want of mills to work it, some ebony, which is here so common that it serves us for firing, and some rosin, which is found in our woods, all those articles will sell ad- vantageously in the Indies, though to us they are useless." I PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i35 I engaged to obtain permission from Monsieur de ia Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; but I deter- mined previously to mention the affair to Paul ; and my surprize was great when this young man said to me, with a degree of good sense above his age, "■ and why do you wish me to leave my family for this pre- carious pursuit of fortune ? Is there any commerce more advantageous than the culture of the ground, which yields sometimes fifty or an hundred fold ? If we wish to engage in com- merce we can do so by carrying our superfluities to the town, with- out my wandering to the Indies. Our mothers tell me, that Domingo is old and feeble, but I am young, and gather strength every day. If any accident should happen during my absence, above all, to Virginia, who i36 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. who aLready suffers. --- Oh, no, no ! — I cannot resolve to leave ihem." This answer threw mc into great perplexity ; for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the situa- tion of Virginia, and her desire of se- parating those young people fora few years. These ideas I did not dare to suggest to Paul. At this period a ship, which ar- rived from France, brought Madame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. Alarmed by the terrors of ap- proaching death, which could alone penetrate a heart so insensible, re- covering from a dangerous disorder which had left her in a state of weak- ness, rendered incurable by age, she desired that her niece Avoidd return to France, or if her health forbade her PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 her to undertake so long a voyage, she conjured her to send Virginia, on whom she would bestow a good education, procure for her a splendid marriage, and leave her the inheritance of her whole fortune. The perusal of this letter spread general conster- nation through the family. Domingo and ]\îary began to weep. Paul,, motionless with surprize, appeared as if his heart were ready to burst with indignation, while Virginia, fix- ing her eyes upon her mother, had not power to utter a word. '' And can you now leave us?" cried Margaret to Madame de la Tour. '' No, my dear friend, no, my be- loved children," replied Madame de la Tour, "' I will not leave you— -I have lived with you, and with you I will die— -I have known no happiness S • but i3S PAUL AND VIRGINIA. but in your affection — if my health be deranged, my past misfortunes are the cause : — my heart deeply "wounded by the cruelty of a rela- tion, and the loss of my husband, has found more consolation and felicity with you beneath those hum- ble huts, than all the wealth of my family could now give me in ray own country. At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears of delight. Paul pressing Madame dc la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, '' neither w^ill I leave you! — I will not go to the Indies — we will all labour for you, my dear mother, and you shall never feel any wants with us." But of the whole society, the person who dis- played the least transport and who probably felt the most, was Virginia; and m PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i3g and during the remainder of the day, that gentle gaiety which flowed from, her heart, and proved that her peace was restored, compleated the general satisfaction. The next day at sun-rise, while they were offering up as usual their morning sacrifice of praise, which preceded their breakfast, Domingo informed them that a gentleman on horseback, followed by two slaves, was coming towards the plantation. This person was Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. He entered the cottage, where he found the family at break- fast. Virginia had prepared, accord- ing to the custom of the country, coffee and rice boiled in water ; to which she added hot yams, and fresh cocoas. The leaves of the plantain- tree supplied the want of table linen, S 2 and 140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. and calbassia - shells, split . in two, served for utensils. The governor expressed some surprize at the home- liness of the dwelling : then, ad- dressing himself to Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although public affairs drew the attention too much from the concerns of indivi- duals, she had many claims to his good offices. "" You have an aunt at Paris, m.adam, he added, *■' a woman of quality, and immensely rich, who expects that you wûU hasten to see her, and who means to bestow upon you her whole fortune." Madame de la Tour replied, that the state of her health would not permit her to un- dertake so long a voyage. " At least," resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, *' you cannot, without injustice, de- prive this amiable young lady, your daughter, of so noble an inheritance. I PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 I will not conceal from you, that your aunt has made use of her in- fluence to oblige you to return, and that I have received official letters^ in which I am ordered to exert my authority, if necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish to employ my power for the purpose of rendering the inhabitants of this colony happy, I expect from your good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few years, upon which depend your daughter's establishment in the world, and the welfare of your whole life. Where- fore do we come to these islands? Is it not to acquire a fortune ? And will it not be more agreeable to return and find it in your own country ?" He then placed a great bag of piasters, v/hich had been brought hither 142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. hither by one of his slaves, upon the table. '' This," added he, '' is allotted by your aunt for the prepa- rations necessary for the young lady's voyage." Gently reproaching Ma- dame de la Tour for not having had recourse to him in her dilhculties, he extolled at tlie same time her noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor, " my mother did address herself to you Sir, and you received her ill." '■'■ Have you ano- ther child. Madam ?" said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame de la Tour. '' No, Sir," she replied, '■'■ this is the child of my friend, but he and Virginia are equally dear to us." *' Young man," said the governor to Paul, '' when you have acquired a little experience of the world, you will know that it is the misfortune of people in place to be deceived, and thence PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 thence to bestow upon intriguing vice, that which belongs to modest raerit." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of Madame de la Tour, placed himself next her at table, and breakfasted in the manner of the Creoles, upon coffee mixed with rice, boiled in water. He was delighted with the order and neatness which prevailed in the little cottage, the harmony of the two interesting fa- milies and the zeal of their old servants. " Here," exclaimed he, *' I discern only wooden furniture, but I find serene countenances, and hearts of gold." Paul, enchanted with the affability of the governor, said to him, " I wish to be your friend, you are a good man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received with pleasure this 144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. this insular compliment, and taking Paul by the hand, assured him that he might rely upon his friendship." After breakfast he took Madame de la Tour aside, and informed her that an opportunity presented it- self of sending her daughter to France in a ship which was going to sail in a short time ; that he would recom- mend her to a lady a relation of his own, who would be a passenger, and that she must not think of renounc- ing an immense fortune, on account of being separated from her daugh- ter a few years. "■ Your aunt," he added, '' cannot live more than two years : of this I am assured by her friends. Think of it seriously. For- tune does not visit us every day. Consult your friends. Every person of good sense will be of my opinion." She PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 She answered, '' That desiring no other happiness henceforth in the world than that of her daughter, she Ys^ould leave her departure for France entirely to her own incli- nation." Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for a short time, and providing by this means for their mutual felicity at a future pe- riod. She took her daughter aside» and said to her, '■'■ My dear child, our servants are now old—Paul is still very young — Margaret is advanced in years, and I am already infirm. If I should die, what will become of you, without fortune, in the midst of these deserts ? You will then be left alone, without any person who can afford you much succour, and forced to la- T bour 146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. hour without ceasing, in order to sup- port your wretched existence. This idea fills my soul with sorrow." Vir- ginia answered, " God has appointed us to labour ---you have taught me to labour, and to bless him every day. He never has forsaken us, he never will forsake us. His providence peculiarly watches over the unfortu- nate. You have told me this so often, my dear mother! ---I cannot resolve to leave you." --- Madame de la Tour replied with much emotion, " I have no other aim than to render you happy, and to marry you one day to Paul, who is not your brother: reflect at present that his fortune de- pends upon you." A young girl who loves, believes that all the world is ignorant of her passion ; she throws over her eyes the veil PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 veil which she has thrown over her heart : but when it is lifted up by some cherished hand, the secret in- quietudes of passion suddenly burst their bounds, and the soothing over- flowings of confidence succeed that reserve and mystery, with which the oppressed heart had enveloped its feelings. Virginia, deeply aflfected by this new proof of her mother's ten- derness, related to her how cruel had been those struggles, which heaven alone had witnessed ; declared that she saw the succour of Providence in that of an affectionate mother, who approved of her attachment, and would guide her by her counsels ; that being now strengthened by such support, every consideration led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety for the present, and without apprehension for the future. Madame 148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this confidential conversation had pro- duced an effect altogether different from that which she expected, said, " My dear child, I will not any more constrain your inclination, deliberate at leisure, but conceal your feelings from Paul." Towards evening, when Madame de la Tour and Virginia w^ere again together, their confessor, who was a missionary in the island, entered the room, having been sent by the go- vernor. '■'- My children," he exclaimed as lie entered, '' God be praised! you are now rich. You can now listen to the kind suggestions of your ex- cellent hearts, and do good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has said to you, and what you have answered. Your health, dear PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 149 dear Madam, obliges you to remain here ; but you, young lady, are with- out excuse. We must obey the will of Providence, and we must also obey our aged relations, even when they are unjust. A sacrifice is required of you ; but it is the order of God. He devoted himself for you, and you in imitation of his example, must de- vote yourself for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will have a happy termination. — You will surely consent to go, my dear young lady ?" Virginia, with down-cast eyes, an- swered trembling, "■ if it be the com- mand of God, I will not presume to oppose it. Let the v;ill of God be done !" said she, weeping. The priest went away, and inform- ed i5o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ed the governor of the success of his mission. In the mean-time Madame de la Tour sent Domingo to desire I would come hither, that she might consult me upon Virginia's depar- ture. I was of opinion that she ought not to go. I consider it as a fixed principle of happiness, that we ought to prefer the advantages of nature to those of fortune, and never go in search of that at a distance, which we may find within our own bosoms. But what could be expected from my moderate counsels,' opposed to the illusions of a splendid fortune, and my simple reasoning, contradicted by the prejudices of the world, and an authority which Madame de la Tour held sacred? This lady had only con- sulted me from a sentiment of re- spect, and had in reality ceased to deliberate, since she had heard the decision PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i5i decision of her confessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the ad- vantages she hoped for her son, from the possession of Virginia's fortune, had hitherto opposed her departure, made no further objections. As for Paul, ignorant of what was decided, and alaimed at the secret conversa- tions which Madame de la Tour held ivith her daughter, he abandoned himself to deep melancholy. " They are plotting something against ray peace," cried he, '' since they are so careful of concealment." A report having in the mean-time been spread over the island, that for- tune had visited those rocks, we be- held merchants of all kinds climbing their steep ascent, and displaying in those humble huts the richest stuffs of India. The fine dimity of Gon- i52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Gondelore, the handkerchiefs of Pel* licate and Mussulapatan; the plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of Dacca, clear as tlie day. Those merchants unrolled the gorgeous silks of China, white satin-damasks, others of grass-green and bright red ; rose-coloured taffetas, a profusion of satins, pelongs, and gawze of Ton- quin, some plain, and some beauti- fully decorated with flowers ; the soft pekins, downy like cloth ; white and yellow nankeens, and the callicoes of Madagascar. Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase every thing she liked, and Virginia made choice of whatever she believed would be agreeable to her mother, Margaret, and her son. '■' This," said she, " will serve for furniture, and that will PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i53 will be useful to Mary and Domingo." In short the bag of piasters was emptied before she had considered her own wants ; and she was obliged to receive a share of the presents which she had distributed to the fa- mily circle. Paul, penetrated with sorrow at the sight of those gifts of fortune, which he felt were the presage of Virginia's departure, came a few days after to my dwelling. With an air of despondency he said to me, '' my sister is going : they are already making preparations for her voyage. I conjure you to come and exert your influence over her m jther and mine, in order to detain her here.'* I could not refuse the young man's Solicitations, although well convinced U thac t i54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. that my representations would be unavailing. If Virginia had appeared to me charming, when clad in the blue cloth of Bengal, with a red hand- kerchief tied round her head, how much was her beauty improved, when decorated with the graceful or- naments worn by the ladies of this country ! She was dressed in white muslin lined with rose-coloured taf- feta. Ker small and elegant shape was displayed to advantage by her corset, and the lavish profusion of her light tresses were carelessly blended with her simple head-dress. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an expression of melancholy, and the struggles of passion, with which her heart was agitated, flushed her cheek. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i55 cheek, and gave her voice a tone of emotion. The contrast between her pensive look, and her gay habiliments, rendered her more interesting than ever, nor was it possible to see or hear her, unmoved. Paul became more and more melancholy ; and at length Margaret, distressed by the situation of her son, took him aside, and said to him, '' why, my dear son, will you cherish vain hopes which will only render your disappoint- ment more bitter ? it is time that I should make known to you the secret of your life and of mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs by her mother to a rich and noble family, while you are but the son of a poor peasant-girl, and what is worse, you are a natural child." Paul, who had never before heard U 2 this i56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. this last expression, enquired with eas;erness its mcaiiinGf. His mother replied, '' you had no legitimate fa- ther. When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness of "U'hich you are the ofifspring. My fault deprived you of the protection of a father's family, and my flight from home of that of a mother's family. Unfor- tunate child ! you have n j relation in the world but me !" and she shed a flood of tears. Paul pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, '■'■ Oh, my dear mother ! since I have no relation in the world but you, I will love you still more ! But what a secret have you disclosed to me ! I now see the reason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself from me for two months past, and why she has , determined to go. Ah ! I perceive too ^ w^ell that she despises me 1" The PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 157 The hour of supper being arrived, we placed ourselves at table, but the different sensations with which we were all agitated, left us little incli- nation to eat, and the meal passed in silence. Virginia first went out, and seated herself on the very spot where we now are placed. Paul hastened after her, and seated him- self by her side. It was one of those delicious nights, which are so common between the tropics, and the beauty of which no pencil can trace. The moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, curtained in clouds, which her beams gradually dispelled. Her light insensibly spread itself over the mountains of the island, and their peaks glistened with a silvered- green : the winds were perfectly still : we heard along the woods, at the <» bottom of the valleys, and on the summits -s y C i58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. summits of the rocks, the weak crv, and the soft murmurs of the birds, exulting in the brightness of the night, and the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard in the grass; the stars sparkled in the heavens, and their trembling and lucid orbs were reflected upon the bosom of the ocean. Virginia's eyes wan- dered o\er its vast and gloomy hori- zon, distinguishable from the bay of the island by the red files in the fishing-boats. She perceived at the entrance of the harbour a light, and a shadow : these were the watch- light and the body of the vessel, in "which she was to embark for Europe, and which, ready to set sail, lay at anchor, waiting for the wind. Af- fected at this sight, she turned away her head, in order to hide her tears from Paul. Madame PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i5g Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and myself were seated at a little distance beneath the plantain-trees, and a- midst the stillness of the nisfht we distinctly heard their conversation, which I have not forgotten. Paul said to her, '' you are going, they tell me, in three days. You do not fear then to .encounter the dan- gers of the sea, at which you are so much territied." "■ I must fulfil my duty," answered Virginia, '' by obey- ing my parents." "" You leave us," resumed Paul," for a distant relation "whom you have never seen." '' Alas !" cried Virginia, /' I would have re- mained my whole life here, but my mother would not have it so : my confessor told me that it was the will of God I should go, and that life was > a trial I" *' What!" i6û PAUL AND VIRGINIA. '' What !" exclaimed Paul, " you have found so many reasons then for going, and not one for remain- ing here ! Ah ! there is one reason for your departure which you have not mentioned. Riches have great attractions. You will soon find in the ncvV woild, to which you are going, another, to whom you will give the name of brother, which you will bestow on me no more. You will chuse that brother from amongst persons who are worthy of you by their birth, and by a fortune, which I have not to offer. But where will you go in order to be happier? On what shore will you land which will be dearer to you, than the spot which gave you birth ? Where will you find a society more interesting to you than this by which you are so beloved? How will you bear to live without your PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i6i your mother's caresses to which you are so accustomed ? What wiil become of her already advanced m years, when she will no longer see you at her side at fable, in the house, in the walks where she used to lean upon you ? What wiil become of my mo- ther, who loves you with the same affection ? What shaj^I say to com- fort them when I see them weeping for your absence? Cruel! I speak not to you of myself, but what will be- come of me when in the morning I shall no more see you, when the evening will come and will not re- unite us ! when I shall gaze on the two palm-trees, planted at our birth, and so long the witnesses of our mu- tual friendship ? Ah ! since a new destiny attracts you, since you seek in a country, distant from your own,^ other possessions than those wldch X were ^ i62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. were the fruits of my labour, let me accompany you in the vessel in which you are going to embark. I will ani- mate your courage in the midst of those tempests at which you are so terrified even on shore. I will lay your head upon my bosom. I will warm your heart upon my own, and in France, whe^ you go in search of fortune and of grandeur, I will at- tend you as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will find me in those palaces where I shall see you cherished and adored, at least sufficiently noble to make for you the greatest of all sacrifices by dying at your feet." The violence of his emotion stifled his voice, and we then heard that of Virginia, which, broken by sobs, ut- tered these words, "- It is for you I go : . PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i63 go : for you whom I see every day bent beneath the labour of sustaining two infirm families. IF I have ac- cepted this opportunity of becoming rich it is only to return you a thou- sand-fold the good which you have done us. Is there any fortune wor- thy of your friendship ? Why do you talk to me of your birth? Ah! if it was again possible to give me a bro- ther, should I make choice of any other than you? Oh, Paul! Paul! you are far dearer to me than a bro- ther ! How much has it cost me to avoid you ! Help me to tear myself from what I value more than ex- istence, till heaven can bless our union. But I will stay or go, I will live or die, dispose of me as you will. Unhappy, that I am ! I could resist your caresses, but I am unable to^. support your alHiction." ^ At / J f 164 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. At those words Paul seized her in his arms, and holding her pressed •fast to Lis bosom, ciied in a piercing tone, '' I will go with her, nothing shall divide us." We ran towards him, and Madame de la Tour said to him '•'• my son, if you go what will become of us ?" He trembling repeated the words, *' my son — my son — you my mother," cried he; "• you, who would separate th^brother from the sister! We have bot been nourished at your bosom : we have both been reared upon your Icnees : we have learnt of you to lo^e each other; we have said so a thou- sand times ; and now you would se- parate her from me ! You send her to Europe, that barbarous country "which refused you an asylum, and to relations by whom you were aban- doned. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i65 doned. You will tell me that I have no rights over her, and that she is not my sister. She is every thing to me, riches, birth, family, my sole good Î I know no other. We Lave had but one roof, one cradle, and we will have but one grave. If she goes I will follow her. The governor will prevent me ? Will he prevent me from flinging myself into the sea ? Will he prevent me from following her by swimming? The sea cannot be more facal to me than the land. Since I cannot live with her, at least I will die before her eyes ; far from you, inhuman mother ! woman with- out compassion ! may the ocean to which you trust her restore her to you no more ! may the waves rolling back our corp% amidst the stones of the beach, gi?e you in the loss of '"^ _ your ) i66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. your two children, an eternal subject of remorse." At these words I seized him in my arm5, for despair had deprived him of reason. His eyes flashed fire, big drops of sweat hung upon his face, his knees trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently against his burning bosom. Virginia, affrighted, said to him, '' Oh, my friend ! I call to witness the pleasures of our early age, your sor- row and my own, and every thing that can for ever bind two unfor- tunate beings to each other, that if I remain, I will live but for you, that if I go, I will one day return to be yours. I call w)u all to wit- ness, you who have %eared my in- fancy» PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 167 fancy, who dispose of my life, who see my tears. I swear by that heaven \vhich hears me, by the sea which I am going to pass, by the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a fals- hood." As the sun softens and dissolves an icy rock upon the summit of the Ap- pennines, so the impetuous passions of the young man were subdued by the voice of her he loved. He bent his head, and a flood of tears fell from his eyes. His mother, mmgling her tears with his, held him in her arms, but was unable to speak. Ma- dame de la Tour, half distracted, said to me, '' I can bear this no longer. My heart is broken. This unfortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take my son home with you. "^-^^^^N. i68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. you. It is eight days since any one here has slept." I said to Paul, '■'■ my dear friend, your sister will remain. To-morrow we will speak to the governor, leave your family to take some rest, and come and pass the night with me." He suffered himself to be led away in silence; and, after a night of great agitation, he arose at break of day, and returned home. But why should I continue any longer the recital of this history ? There is never but one aspect of human life which we can contemplate with pleasure. Like the globe upon which we revolve, our fleeting course i^ is but a day, and if one part of that PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i6g that day be visited by light, the other is thrown into darkness. " Father," I answered^ " finish, I conjure you, the history which you have begun in a manner so interest- ing. If the images of happiness are most pleasing, those of misfortune are most instructive. Tell iiie what be- came of the unhappy young man." The first object which Paul beheld in his way home, was Mary, who, mounted upon a roc^ was earnestly looking towards the sea. As soon as he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, '' wdiere is Virginia ?" Mary turned her head towards her young master, and began to xveep. Paul; distracted, and treading back his steps, rin to the harbour. He was^ tîlere informed, that Virginia had em- Y barked ) lyo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. barked at break of day, that the vessel had immediately after set sail, and could no longer be discerned. He instantly returned to the plantation, which he crossed without uttering a word. Although the pile of rocks behind us appears almost perpendicular, those green platforms which separate their summits, are so many stages, by means of which you may reach, through some difficult paths, that cone of hanging and inaccessible rocks, called tlil Thumb. At the foot of that cone is a stretching slope of ground, covered with lofty trees, and which is so high and steep, that it appears like a forest in air, sur- rounded by tremendous precipices. The clouds, which are attracted round the summit of those rocks, supply in,- numerable rivulets which rush from so PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 171 so immense a height into that deep valley situated behind the mountain, that from this elevated point we do not hear the sound of their fall. On that spot you can discern a considerable part of the island with its precipices crowned with their ma- jestic peaks; and, amongst others, Peterbath, and the Three -Peaks, with their valley filled with woods ; you also command an extensive view of the ocean, and even perceive the Isle of Bourbon forty-leagues towards the west. From the summit of that stupendous pile of rocks, Paul gazed upon the vessel which had borne away Virginia, and which now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He remained a great part of the day with his eyes fixed upon this object ; '^" when it had disappeared, he still Y 5 fancied ) ( 172 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. fancied he beheld it ; and when, at length, the traces which clung to his imagination were lost amidst the gathering mists of the horizon, he seated himself on that wild point, for ever beaten by the winds which never cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum-trees, and the hoarse and moaning murmurs of which, similar to the distant sound of organs, in- spire a deep melancholy. On that spot I found Paul, with his head reclin- ed on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I had followed him since break of day, and after much impor- tunity, I prevailed with him to de- scend from the heights and return to his family. I conducted him to tlie plantation, where the first impulse of his mind, upon seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bit- terly for having deceived him. --- Madame PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 173 Madame de la Tour told us, that a favourable wiii'd having arose at three o'clock in the morning, and the vessel being ready to set sail, the governor, attended by his general officers, and the missionary had come with a pa- lanquin, in search of Virginia ; and that, notwithstanding her own ob- jections, her tears, and those of Margaret, all the world exclaiming that it was for the general welfare, they had carried away Virginia almost dying. "■ At least," cried Paul, "■ if I had bid her farewel, I should now be more calm. I would have said to her, 'Virginia, if during the time we have lived together, one word may have" escaped me which has offended you, before you leave me for ever, tell me that you forgive me.' I v/ould have said to her, since I am destined to see you no more, Farewell, my dear ( 174 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. dear Virginia, farewell ! live far from me contented and happy !" When he saw that his mother and Madame de la Tour w^ere w^eeping, '' You must now,' said he, seek some other than me to wipe away your tears !" and then rushing out of the house, he wandered up and down the plantation. He flew eagerly to those spots which had been most dear to Virginia. He said to the goats and their kids, who followed him bleating, '•'■ What do you ask of me ? you will see her no more who used to feed you with her own hand." He went to the bower called the Repose of Virginia ; and, as° the birds flew around him, exclaimed, '' poor little birds ! you will fly no more to meet her who cherished you !" and observing Fidèle running back' PAUL and' VIRGINIA. 176 backwards and forwards in search of her, he heaved a deep sigh and cried, '' ah ! you will never find her again." At length he went and seated him- self upon the rock where he had con- versed with her the preceding even- ing, and at the view of the ocean upon which he had seen the vessel disappear which bore her away, he wept bitterly. We continually watched his steps, apprehending some fatal consequence from the violent agitation of his mind. His mother and Madame de la Tour conjured him in the most tender manner not to increase their affliction by his despair. At length Madame de la Tour soothed his mind by lavishing upon him such epithets as were best calculated to revive his hopes. She called him her \. 176 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. her son, her dear son, whom she destined for her daughter. She pre- vailed with him to return to the house and receive a little nourish- ment. He seated himself with us at table, next to the place which used to be occupied by the companion of his child-hood, and, as if she had still been present, he spoke to her, and offered whatever he knew was most agreeable to her taste, and then starting from this dream of fancy, he began to weep. For some days he employed himself in gather- ing together every thing which had belonged to Virginia ; the last nose- gays she had worn, the cocoa-shell, in wliich she used to drink, and after kissing a thousand times those relics of his fiiend, to him the most pre- cious treasures which the world con- tained, he hid them in his bosom. Ine PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 177 The spreading perfumes of the amber are not so sweet as the objects which have belonged to those we love. At length, perceiving that his anguish increased that of his mother and Madame de hi Tour, and that the wants of the family required con- tinual labour, he began, with the assistance of Domingo, to repair the garden. Soon after, this young man, 'till now indifferent as a créole with re- spect to what was passing in the world, desired I would teach him to read and write, that he might carry on a corresDondence with Virginia. He then wished to be instructed in geography, in order that he might form a just idea of the country where she had disembarked, and in history, V that he might know the manners of Z the lyS PAUL AND VIRGINIA. the society in which she was placed. The powerful sentiment of love which directed liis present studi-es, had al- ready taught him the arts of agricul- ture, and the manner of laying out the most irregular grounds with ad- vantage and beauty. It must be ad- mitted tliat to the fond dreams of this restless, and ardent passion, mankind are indebted for a great number of arts and sciences, while its disappointments have given birth to pliiiosophy, wdiich teaches us to bear the evils of life with resignation. Thus, nature having made love, the general link wliich binds ail beings, has rendered it the first spring of society, the first incitement to know- ledge as well as pleasure. fi^T- ^^ Paul found little satisfaction xw the ^ study of geography, which instead of describing PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 179 describing the natural history of each country, only gave a \ iew of its po- liiical boundaries. History, and es- pecially modern history, interested him little more. He there saw only general and periodical evils, of which he did not discern the cause ; wars for which there was no reason, and no object; nations without prinbciple, and princes without humanity. He preferred the reading of romances, which being fdled with the particular feelings and interests of men, repre- sented situations similar to his own. No book gave him so much pleasure as Telemachus, from the pictures which it draws of pastoral life, and of those passions which are natural to the human heart. He read aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour, those parts which aiFected hin^' most sensibly, when sometimes *"> Z 3 touched ■» J^ f ( iSo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. touched by the most tender remem- brances, liis emoiion choaked his ut- terance, and his eyes were bathed in tears. He fancied he had found in Virginia, the wisdom of Antiope, with the misfortunes and the ten- derness of Eucharis. With very dif- ferent sensations he perused our fashionable novels, filled with licen- tious maxims and manners. And when he was informed that those romances drew a just picture of Eu- ropean society, he trembled, not without reason, lest Virginia should becoine corrupted and should forget liim. More than a year and a half had indeed passed away, before Madame de la Tour received any tidings of ..-' her daughter. During that period she had only accidentally heard that Virginia o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 181 Virginia had arrived safely in France. At length a vessel which stopped in its way to the Indies, conveyed to Madame de la Tour a pacquet and a letter, written with her own hand. Althousrh this amiable young woman had written in a guarded manner, in order to avoid wounding the feelings of her mother, it was easy to discern that she was unhappy. Her letter points so naturally her situation and her character, that I have retained it al- most word for word. '■^ My dearest and most beloved mother, I have already sent you se- veral letters written with my own hand, but having received no answer, I fear they have not reached you; I have better hopes for this, from the means I have now taken of sending^ you tidings of myself, and of hearing from iSa PAUL AND VIRGINIA. from you. I have shed many tears since our separation, I, who never used to weep, but for the misfor- tunes of others ! My aunt was much astonished when, having upon my ar- rival, enquired what accomplishments I possessed, I told her that I could neither read nor write. She asked me what then I had learnt since I came into the world; and \j,'hen I answered that I had been taught to take care of the houshold affairs, and obey your will, she told me, that I had received the education of a servant. The next day she placed me as a boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I ha^ e masters of ail kinds, who teach me, among other things, history, geogra- phy, grammar, mathematics, and riding. But I have so little capacity ^f^^ for all those sciences, that I make but small progress with my masters. .; My PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i83 ,, My aunt's kindness, however, does not abate towards me. She gives me new dresses for each season, ^ and she has placed two waiting- women with me, who are both dressed like fine ladies. She has made me take the title of countess, but has obli2:ed me to renounce the name of La Tour, which is as dear to me as it is to you, from all you have told me of the sufferings my father en- dured, in order to marry you. She has replaced your name by that of your family, which is also dear to me, because it was your name when a girl. Seeing myself in so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send you some assistance. But how shall I repeat her answer ? Yet you have desired me always to tell you the truth. She told me then,\ that a little would be of no use to you, i84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. you, and that a great deal would only encumber you in the simple life you led. *' I endeavoured, upon my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by an- other hand ; but finding no person here in whom I could place confi- dence, I applied night and day to reading and writing ; and heaven, who saw my motive for learning, no doubt assisted my endeavours ; for I acquired both in a short time. I en- trusted my first letters to some of the ladies here, who I have reason to think carried them to my aunt. This time I have had recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you her direction, by means of which I shall receive your answer. My aunt ^'has forbid my holding any corres- pondence whatever, which might, she says, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i85 ^ays, become an object to the great views she has for my advantage. No person is allowed to see me at thé grate but herself, and an old noble- man, one of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased with me. I anl sure I am not at all so with him, tior should I, even if it were possible for me to be pleased with any one àt present. " I live in the midst of affluence, and have not a livre at my disposal. They say I might make an improper use of money. Even my cloaths belong to my waiting- women, who quarrel about them, before I have left them off. In the bosom of riches I am poorer than when I lived with you ; for I have nothing to give. When I found that the great accom- plishments they taught me, would not A a procure iS6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. procure me the power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, of which happily you had learnt me the use. I send several pair of stockings of my own making for you and my mama Margaret, a cap for Domingo, and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this pacquet some kernels, and seeds of various kinds of fruit, which I gathered in the fields. There are much more beautiful flowers in the meadows of this country than in ours, but nobody cares for them. I am sure that you and my mama Margaret will be better pleased with this bag of seeds, than you were with the bag of piasters, which was the cause of our separation, and of my tears. It will give me great delight if you ^^bhould one day see apple-trees grow- ing at the side of the plantain, and elms PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 1S7 elms blending their foliage with our cocoa-trees. You will fancy yourself in Normandy, which you love so much. '' You desired me to relate to you my joys and ray griefs. I have no joys, far from you. As for my griefs I endeavour to socth them by re- flecting that I am in the situation in which you placed me by the will of God. But my greatest affliction is that no one here speaks to me of you, and that I must speak of you to no one. My waiting-women, or ra- ther those of my aunt, for they be- long more to her than to me, told ijie the other day, when I wished to turn the conversation upon the ob- jects most dear to me ; ' remember^. Madam, that you are a French woman, and must forget that country of A a 2 savages J i8$ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. gavages.' Ah! sooner will I forget myself, than forget the spot on which I was born, and which you inhabit ! It is this country, which is to me a land of savages, for I live alone, having no one to whom I can impart those feelings of tenderness for you, which I shall bear with me to the grave. " I am, " My dearest and beloved mother^ '' Your affectionate and '* Dutiful daughter, - VIRGINIA DE LA TOUR." " I recommend to your goodness, Mary and Domingo, who took so .^much care of my infancy. Caress Fidèle for me who found me in the wood," Paul PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 189 Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one word of him, she, who had not forgotten even the house-dog. But Paul was not aware that, however long may be a woman's letter, she always puts the sentiments most dear to her at the end. In a postscript, Virginia recom- mended particularly to Paul's care, two kinds of grains; those of the violet and the scabious ; she gave him some instructions upon the na- ture of those plants, and the spots most proper for their cultivation. "■ The first," said she, '' produces a little flower of a deep violet, which loves to hide itself beneath the bushes, but it is soon discovered by its de- lightful odours." She desired those seeds might be sown along the bor-V ders of the fountain, at the foot of her igo PAUL AND VIRGINIA. her cocoa-tree. '' The scabious," she added, " produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground spotted with white. You might fancy it was in mourning; and for this reason it is called the widows- Rower. It delights in bleak spots beaten by the winds." She begged this flower might be sown upon the rock, where she had spoken to him for the last time, and that for her sake, he would henceforth give it the name of the farewell rock. ' She had put those seeds into a little purse, the tissue of which was extremely simple ; but w^hich appear- ed above all price to Paul, v.hen he perceived a P. and a V. intertwined together, and knew that the beautiful ^hair which formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia. The PAUL AND VIRGINIA, igi The whole family listened with tears to the letter of that amiable and virtuous young woman. Her mother, answered it in the name of the little society, and desired her to remain or return as she thought proper; as- suring her, that happiness had fled from their dwelling since her depar- ture, and that as for herself she was inconsolable. Paul also sent her a long letter, in which he assured her that he would ar- range the garden in a manner agree- able to her taste, and blend the plants of Europe with those of Africa. He sent her some fruit culled from the cocoa -trees of the fountain, which were now arrived at maturity : tell- ing her that he would not add any of the other seeds of the island, that the desire of seeing those productions again 192 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. again might hasten her return. Hé conjured her to comply without de-' lay with the ardent wishes of her family, and, above all, with his own, since he was unable to endure the pain of their separation. With a careful hand Paul sowed the European seeds, particularly the violet and the scabious, the flowers of which seemed to bear some ana- logy to the character and situation of Virginia, by whom they had been re* commended ; but whether they were injured by the voyage, or whether the soil of that part of Africa was unfavourable to their growth, a very small number of them blew, and none came to perfection. Mean-while that envy, which pursues human happiness, spread reports over the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 193 the island, which gave great uneasi- ness to Paul. The persons who had brought Virginia's letter, asserted that she was upon the point of being married^ and named the nobleman of the courts with whom she was go- ing to be united. Some even de^ clared that she was already married^ of which they were witnesses. Paul at first despised this report, brought by one of those trading ships, which often spread erroneous intelligence in their passage; but some il:-naturcd persons, by their insulting pity, led him to ffive some deerree of credit to o o this cruel intelligence. Besides, he had seen in the novels which he had lately read, that perfidy w^as treated as a subject of pleasantry, and know- ingj that those books were faithfal îeprescnt^tions of European manners, he feared that the heart of Virp;inia B b \>às 194 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. was corrupted, and had forgotten its former engagements. Thus his ac- quirements only served to render him miserable ; and what increased his ap- prehensions was, that several ships arrived from Europe, during the space of six months, and not one brought any tidings of Virginia. This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by the most cruel agi- tation, came often to visit me, that I might confirm or banish his in- quietude, by my experience of the world. I live, as I have already told you, a league and a half from hence, upon the banks of a little river, w^hich glides along the sloping mountain ; there I lead a solitary life, with- out wife, children or slaves. After PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ig5 After having enjoyed, and lost the rare felicity of living with a congenial mind, the state of life which appears the least wretched, is that of soli- tude. It is remarkable that all those nations, which have been rendered unhappy by their political opinions, their manners, -or their forms of o^o- vernment, have produced numerous classes of citizens, altogether devoted to solitude and celibacy. Such were the Egyptians in their decline, the Greeks of the lower empire ; and such in our days are the Indians, the Chinese, the modern Greeks, the Ita- lians, and most part of the eastern and southern nations of Europe. Thus I pass my days far from mankind, whom I wished to serve, and by whom I have been perse-^ cuted. After haviuGC travelled over B b ^ many ig6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. many countries of Europe and some parts of America and Africa, I at length pitched my tent in this thinly-peopled island, allured by its mild temperature and its solitude. A cottage which I built in the woods, at the foot of a tree, a little field which I cultivated with my own hands, a river which glides be- fore my door, suffice for my wants and for my pleasures : I blend with those enjoyments, that of some chosen books, which teach me to become better. They make that world, which I have abandoned, siill contribute to my satisfaction. They place before me pictures of those passions, which render its inhabitants so miserable ; and the comparison v;hich I make between their destiny, and my own, leads me to feel a sort of ncgati^'e happiness. Like a man, whom ship- wreck. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 197 wreck has thrown upon a rock, I contemplate, from my solitude, the storms which roll over the rest of the world, and my repose seems more profound from the distant sounds of the tempest. I suffer myself to be led calmly d,own the stream of time to the ocean of futurity, which has no boundaries ; while in the contemplation of the present harmony of nature, I raise my soul towards its supreme author, and hope for a more happy destiny in another state of existence. Although you do not descry from my hermitage, which is situated in the midst of a forest, that immense va- riety of objects which this elevated spot presents, the grounds are disJ posed with particular beauty, at least to igS PAUL AND VIRGINIA. to one, who,, like me, loves rather the seclusion of a home-scene, than great and extensive prospects. The river which glides before my door, passes in a straight line across the woods, and appears like a long canal shaded by trees of all kinds. There are black date plum-trees, what we here call the narrow-leaved dodonea, olive-v;ood, gum-trees, and the cinna- mon-tree, while in some parts the cabbage - trees raise their naked co- lumns, more than an hundred feet high, crowned at their summits with clustering leaves, and towering above the wood like one forest piled upon another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining among the woods, form arcades of flowers, and verdant ca- nopies: those trees for the most part *shed aromatic odours of a nature so powerful, that the garments of a^ tra- veller. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 199 veller, who has passed through the forest, retain for several hours the de- licious fragrance. In the season when those trees produce their lavish blos- soms, they appear as if covered with snow. One of the principal orna- ments of our woods is the calbassia, a tree not only distinguished for its beautiful tint of verdure, but for other properties, which Madame de la Tour has described in the follow- ing sonnet, written at one of her first visits to my hermitage. SON- 200 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. SONNET, TO THE CALBASSIA-TREE* SUBLIME Calbassia ! luxuriant tree, How soft the gloom thy bright - hu'd foliage throws. While from thy pulp a healing balsam flows, Whose power the suffering wretch from pain can free : My pensive foot-steps ever turn to thee ! Since oft' while musing on my lasting woes, Beneath thy flow'ry white-bells I repose. Symbol of friendship, dost thou seem to me ; — . For thus has friendship cast her soothing shade O'er my unsheltered bosom's keen distress ; Thus sought to heal the wounds which love has made, And temper bleeding sorrow's sharp excess! Ah! not in vain she lends her balmy aid — ' The agonies she cannot cure, are less ! i Tov/ards PAUL AND VIRGINIA, soi Towards the end of summer, va- rious kinds of foreign birds hasten, impelled by an inexplicable instinct, from unknown regions, and across immense oceans, to gather the pro- fuse grains of this island ; and the brilliancy of their expanded plumage» forms a contrast to the trees, em- browned by the sun. Such among others, are various kinds of pero- quets, the blue pigeon, called here the pigeon of Holland, and the wan- dering and majestic white bird of the Tropic, which Madame de la Tour thus apostrophized. Cc SON^ 202 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. S O iN N E T, TO THE WHITE BIRD OF THE TROPIC. BIRD of the Tropic ! thou, who lov'st to stray, Where thy long pinions sweep the suhry line, Or mark'st the bounds which torrid beams confine By thy averted course, that shuns the ray Oblique, enamour'd of sublimer dav — Oft' on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline, And drop those snowy feathers Indians twine, To crown the warrior's brow with honors gay— O'er trackless oceans what impells thy wing? Does no soft instinct in thy soul prevail ? No sweet affection to thy bosom cling. And bid thee oft thy absent nest bewail? — Yet thou again to that dear spot can'st spring- But 1 my long-lost home no more shall hail ! ( The J PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 2o3 The domestic inhabitants of our forests, monkeys, sport upon the dark branches of the trees, from which they are distinguished by their grey and greenish skin, and their black visages. Some hang suspended by the tail, and balance themselves in air ; others leap from branch to branch, bearing their young in their arms. The murderous gun has never af- frighted those peaceful children of nature. You sometimes hear the warblings of unknown birds from the southern countries, repeated at a dis- tance by the echoes of the forest. The river, which runs in foaming cataracts over a bed of rocks, reflects here and there upon its limpid waters, venerable masses of woody shade, together with the sports of its^ hap- py inhabitants. About a thousand paces from thence, the river precipi-^ C c 2 tates 204 PAUL AND VIRGINIA tates itself over several piles of rocks and forms in its fall a sheet of water smooth as crystal, but which breaks at the bottom into frothy surges. In- numerable confused sounds issue from those tumultuous waters, which, scattered by the winds of the forest, sometimes sink, sometimes swell, and send forth a hollow tone, like the deep bells of a cathedral. The air for ever renewed by the circula- tion of the waters, fans the banks of that river with freshness, and leaves a degree of verdure, notwithstanding the summer-heats, rarely found in this island, even upon the summits of the mountains. At some distance is a rock placed far enough from the cascade to pre- vent the ear from being deafened by the noise of its waters, and suffici- ently PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 2o5 ently near for the enjoyment of their view, their coolness, and their mur- murs. Thither, amidst the heats of summer, Madame de la Tour, Mar- garet, Virginia, Paul, and myself, sometimes repaired, and dined be- neath the shadow of the rock. Vir- ginia, who always directed her most ordinary actions to the good of others, never eat of any fruit with- out planting the seed or kernel in the ground. " From this," said she, " trees will come, which will give their fruit to some traveller, or at least to some bird." One day, having eaten of the papaw-fruit, at the foot of that rock she planted the seeds. Soon after several papaws sprung up, amongst which was one which yielded fruit. This tree had risen but a little from the ground at the time of Vir- ginia's departure ; but its growth being rapid, 2o6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. rapid, in the space of two years it had gained twenty feet of height, and the upper part of its stem was en- circled wâth several layers of ripe fruit. Paul having wandered to that spot, was delighted to see that this lof- ty tree had arisen from the small seed planted by his beloved friend ; but that emotion instantly gave place to deep melancholy, at this evidence of her long absence. The objects which we see habitually, do not remind us of the rapidity of life ; they decline insensibly with ourselves ; but those which we behold again, after having for some years lost sight of them, impress us powerfully with the idea of that swiftness with which the tide of our davs flows on. Paul was no less overwhelmed and affected at the sight of this great papaw-tree, loaded with fruit, than is the traveller when, after PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 207 after a long absence from his own country, he finds not his contempo- raries, but their children whom he left at the breast, and whom he sees are become fathers of families. Paul sometimes thought of hewing down the tree, which recalled too sensibly the distracting image of that length of time which had elapsed since the departure of Virginia. Sometimes contemplating it as a monument of her benevolence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophized it in terms of the most passionate regret : and indeed I have myself gazed upon it with more emotion and more veneration than upon the triumphal arches of Rome. At the foot of this papaw^ I was always sure to meet with Paul when he came into our neighbourhood. One \ ^ 2o8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. One day, when I found him ab- sorbed in melancholy, we had a conversation which I will relate to you, if I do not weary you by my long digressions, perhaps pardonable to my age and my last friendships. Paul said to me, "■ I am very unhappy^ Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been gone two years and two months, and we have heard no tidings of her for eight months and two weeks. She is rich and I am poor. She has forgotten me. I have a great mind to follow her. I will go to France, I will serve the king, make a for- tune, and then Mademoiselle de la Tours aunt will bestow her niece upon me when 1 shall have become a great lord." '' But, my dear friend," I answered, '^ have PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 209 '* have you not told me that you are tiot of noble birth ?" '' My mother has told me so, said Paul ; ''as for myself, I know not what noble birth means." *' Obscure birth," I replied ; *' in France shuts out all access to great employments, nor can you even be received among any distinguished body of men." *' How unfortunate î am!" resumed Paul, " every thing repulses me --- 1 am condemned to waste my wretched life in labour, far from Virginia"--* and he heaved a deep sighi , '' Since her relation," he addcdj *' will only give her in marriage to some one with a great name, by the aid of D d study 210 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. study we become wise and celebrated. I will fly then to study ; I will acquire sciences ; I will serve my country usefully by my attainments ; I shall be independent ; I shall become re- nowned ; and my glory will belong only to myself." "■ My son ! talents are still more rare than birth or riches, and are undoubtedly an inestimable good, of which nothing can deprive us, and which every where conciliate public esteem. But they cost dear; they are generally allied to exquisite sen- sibility, which renders their possessor miserable. But you tell me that you would serve mankind. He who, from the soil which he cultivates, draws forth one additional sheaf of corn, serves mankind more than he who presents them with a book." *' Ohl : '\i/' the unfor- tunate Paul far upon the beach, his legs PAUL AND VIRGINIA. sSy legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The moment he had recovered his senses, he. arose, and returned with new ardor towards the vessel, the parts of which now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the bil- lows. The crew then despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crouds into the sea, upon yards^ planks, bird-cages, tables, and bar- rels. At this moment we belield an object fitted to excite eternal sym- pathy ; a young lady in the gallery of the stern of the Saint Geran stretching out lier arms towards him who made so many eSorts to join her. It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover by his intre- pidity. The sight of this amiable young wx-man, exposed to such hor- rible danger, filled us with unutterable despair. 238 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. despair. As for Virginia, with a firm and digniiied mien, she waved her hand as if bidding us an eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung themselves into the sea, except one who still remained upon the deck, and who was naked and stronsr as Hercules. This man approached Virginia with respect, and kneeling at her feet, attempted to force her to throw off her cloaths, but she repulsed him with modesty, and turned away her head. Then was heard redoubled cries from the spec- tators, ''save her! save her! do not leave her !" but at that moment a mountain - billow of enormous mag- nitude ingulphed itself between the isle of Amber and the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel tov;ards which it rolled bellowing, with its black sides and foaming head. At this PAUL AND VIRGINIA. sBg this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into the sea, and Virginia seeing death inevitable, placed one hand upon her cloaths, the other on her heart, and lifting up her lovely eyes, seemed an angel prepared to tak:^ her flight to heaven. Oh, day of horror ! alas ! every thing was sw^allowed up by the re- lentless billows. The surge threw some of the spectators far upon the beach, whom an impulse of hu- manity prompted to advance towards Virginia, and also the sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This man who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, '' Oh, my God! Thou hast saved my life, but I would have given it willingly for that poor young wo- man!" Domingo 240 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Domingo and myself drew Paul senseless to the shore, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears : the governor put him into the hands of a surgeon, while we sought along the beach for tlie corpse of Virginia ; but the wind having suddenly chang- ed, which frequently happens during hurricanes, our search was vain, and we lamented that we could not even pay this unfortunate young woman the last sad sepulchral duties. We retired from the spot, over- whelmed with dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had perished in the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed tempted from the fatal destiny of this virtuous young woman, to doubt the existence of Providence. Alas ! there are in life such terrible, m. such à PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 241 such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken. In the mean-time Paul, who benran to recover*his senses, was taken to a house in the neighbourhood, till he Was able to be removed to his own habitation. Thither I bent ray way with Domingo, and undertook the sad task of preparing Virginia's mother and her friend for the melancholy event which had happened. When we reached the entrance of the valley of the river of Fan-Palms, some ne- groes informed us that the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the opposite bay : we descended towards it; and one of the first ob- jects which struck my sight upon the beach, was the corpse of Virginia. The body was half covered with sand, and in the attitude in which v/e had li h seen 242 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. seen her perish. Her features were not changed, her eyes were closed, her countenance was still serene ; but the pale violets of death were blended on her cheek, witii the blush of virgin modesty. One of her hands was placed upon her cloaths, and the other which she held on her heart was fast-closed, and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty I took from its grasp a small box : how great was my emotion, when I saw it con- tained the picture of Paul, which she had promised him never to part with while she lived ! At the sight of this last mark of the fidelity and tender- ness of that unfortunate girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo he beat his breast, and pierced the air with his cries. We carried the body of Vir- ginia to a fishers hut, and gave it in charge of some poor Malabar w^omen, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 243 women, who carefully washed away the sand. While they were employed in this melancholy office, we ascended with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madame de la Tour and Mar- garet at prayer, while waiting fof tidings from the ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, '' Where is my child^ my dear child ?" My silence and my tears apprized her of her misfortunes. She was seized with convulsive sti- flings, with agonizing pains, and her voice was only heard in groans. Margaret cried, "■ where is my son ? I do not see my son !" and fainted^ We ran to her assistance; in a short time she recovered, and being assured that her son was safe and under the care of the governor, she only thought. H h 2 of 5244 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. of succouring her friend, who had long successive faintings. Madame de la Tour passed the night in sufTeiings so exquisite, that I became convinced there was no sorrow» like a mother's sorrow. When she recovered her senses, she cast her languid and sted- last looks on heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her hands in ours, in vain we called upon her by the most tender names; she ap- peared wholly insensible, and her oppressed bosom heaved deep and hollow moans. In the morning Paul w^as brought home in a palanquin. He was now restored to reason, but unable to utter a word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, produced a better* effect than ail my cares. A ray PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 24^ ray of consolation gleamed upon the countenances of those unfortunate mo- thers. They flew to meet him, clasped him in their arms, and bathed him with tears, which excess of anguish had till now forbidden to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs ; and, na- ture having thus found relief, a Ion stupor succeeded the convulsive pangs they had suff^ered, and gave them a lethargic repose like that of death. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprize me secretly, that the corpse of Virginia had been borne to the town by his order, from whence it was to be transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. I hastened to Port Louis, and found a multitude assembled from all parts, in order to be present at the funeral so- 246 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, solemnity, as if the whole island had lost its fairest ornament. The ves- sels in the harbour had their yards crossed, their flags hoisted, and fired guns at intervals. The grenadiers led the funeral procession, with their musquets reversed, their drums muf- fled, and sendiiig forth slow dismal sounds. Eight young ladies of the most considerable families of the island, dressed in wdiite, and bear- ing palms in their hands, supported the pall of their amiable companion, which was strewed with flowers. They were followed by a band of children chanting hymns, and by the governor, his field officers, all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an immense croud of people. This funeral solemnity had been ordered by the administration of the country. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 247 country, who were desirous of ren- dering honors to the virtue of Vir- ginia. But when the procession ar- rived at the foot of this mountain, at the sight of those cottages, of which she had so long been the or- nament and happiness, and which her loss now filled with despair, the funeral pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthems ceasfed, and the plain resounded with sighs and^ la- mentations. Companies of young girls ran from the neighbouring plan- tations, to touch the coffin of Vir- ginia with their scarfs, chaplets, and crowns of flowers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked of heaven a child like \irginia ; lovers, a heart as faithful ; the poor, as tender a friend ; and the slaves, as kind a mistress. When 248 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. When the procession had reached the place of interment, the négresses of Madagascar, and the cattres of Mosambiac placed baskets of fruit around the corpse, and hung pieces of stuff upon the neighbouring trees according to the custom of their country. The Indians of Bengal, and of the coast of Malabar, brought cages filled with birds, which they set at libejrty upon her coffin. Thus did the loss of this amiable object affect the natives of different countries, and thus was the ritual of various reli- gions breathed over the tomb of un- fortunate virtue. She was interred near the church of the Shaddock Grove, upon the "western side, at the foot of a copse of bamboes, where, in coming from mass with her mother and D/Iargaret, she PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 24g she loved to repose herself, seated by him whom she called her brother. On his return from the funeral so- lemnity, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came hither, followed by part of his numerous train. He offered Madame de la Tour and her friend, all the assistance which it was in his power to bestow. After expressing his in- dignation at the conduct of her un- natural aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said every thing which he thought most likely to sooth and console him^ '' Heaven is my witness," said he, *' that I wished to ensure your hap-' piness, and that of your family. My dear friend, you must go to France; I will obtain a commission for you, and during your absence will take the same care of your mother as if she were ray own." He then offered him I i his 25o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. his hand, but Paul drew away, and turned his head, unable to bear his sight. I remained at the plantation of my unfortunate friends, that I might ren- der to them and Paul those offices of friendship which soften, though they cannot cure, calamity. At the end of three weeks, Paul was able to walk, yet his mind seemed to droop in pro- portion as his frame gathered strength. He was insensible to every thing, his look was vacant, and when spoken to, he made no reply. Madame de la Tour, who was dying, said to him often, '' My son, while I look at you I think I see Virginia." At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened from her, notwithstanding the intrea- ties of his mother, who called him back to her friend. He used to wan- der PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 25i der into the garden, and seat himself at the foot of Virginias cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed upon the foun- tain. The surgeon of the governor who had shewn the most humane at- tention to Paul, and the whole family, told us, that, in order to cure that deep melancholy which had taken possession of his mind, we must allow him to do whatever he pleased, with- out contradiction, as the only means of conquering his inflexible silence. I resolved to follow this advice. The first use which Paul made of his returning strength, was to absent himself from the plantation. Being determined not to lose sight of him, I set out immediately, and desired Domingo to take some provisions and accompany us. Paul's strength and spirits seemed renewed as he de- I i i^ scended 252 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. scended the mountain. He took the road of the Shaddock Grove ; and when he was near the church in the alley of Bamboes, he walked directly to the spot where he saw some new- laid earth, and there kneeling down^ and, raising his eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer, which ap- peared to me a symptom of returning reason; since this ma: k of confidence in the Supreme Being, shewed that his mind began to resume its natural functions. Domingo and I following lis example, fell upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with his. When he arose, he bent his way, paying little attention to us, towards the northern part of the island. As we knew that he was not only igno- rant of the spot where the body of Virginia was laid, but even whether it had been snatched from the waves, I PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 253 I asked him why he had offered up his prayer at the foot of those bam- boes. He answered, '* We have been there so often!" --- He continued his course until we reached the borders of the forest, when night came on. I prevailed with him to take some nourishment ; and we slept upon the grass at the foot of a tree : the next day I thought he seemed disposed to trace back his steps ; for, after having gazed a considerable time upon the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its avenues of bamboe stretching along the plain, he made a motion as if he would return ; but suddenly plung- ing into the forest, he directed his course to the north. I judged what w^as his design, from which I endea- voured to dissuade him in vain. At noon we arrived at that part of the island, called the Gold -Dust. He rushed 254 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. rushed to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the Saint Gcran pe- rished. At tlie sight of the isle of Amber, and its channel then smooth as a mirror, he cried '' Virginia ! oh, my dear Virginia!" — and fell sense- less. Domingo and myself carried him into the woods, wiiere we reco- vered him with some diihculty. He made an effort to return to the sea- shore, but ha\ ing conjured him not to renew his own anguish and ours by those cruel remembrances, he took another direction. During eight days, he sought every spot where he had once wandered with the companion of his childhood. He traced the path by which she had gone to intercede for the slave of the Black River. He gazed again upon the banks of the river of the Three Peaks, where she had reposed herself when unable to W'alk PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 2hb walk further, and upon that part of the wood where they lost their way. All those haunts which recalled the inquietudes, the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he loved, the river of the sloping- mountain, my house, the neighbouring cascade, the papaw - tree she had planted, the mossy downs where she loved to run, the openings of the forest where she used to sing, called forth successively the tears of hopeless passion, and those very echoes which had so often resounded their mutual shouts of joy, now only repeated those accents of despair, '•'■ Virginia ! Oh, my dear Virginia 1" While he led this savage and wan- dering life, his eyes became sunk' and hollow, his skin assumed a yel- low tint, and his health rapidly de- cayed. 256 PAUL AKD VIRGINIA; cayed. Convinced that present suf- ferings are rendered more acute by the bitter recollection of past plea- sures, and that the passions gather strength in solitude, I resolved to tear my unfortunate friend from those scenes which recalled the remem- brance of his loss, and to lead him to a more busy part of the island. "With this view I conducted him to the inhabited heights of Williams, which he had never visited, and where agriculture and commerce ever oc- casioned much bustle and variety. A croud of carpenters were em- ployed in hewing down the trees, while others were sawing planks. Carriages were passing and repassing on the roads. Numerous herds of oxen and troops of horses were feed- ing on those ample meadows, over which a number of habitations were scattered. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 257 Scattered. On many spots, the ele- vation of the soil was favourable to the culture of European trees : ripe corn waved its yellow sheaves upon the plains; strawberry -• plants flou^ rished in the openings of the woods^ and hedges of rose-bushes along 4;he roads. The freshness of the air, by giving a tension to the nerves, Vv^as favourable to the Europeans. From those heights, situated near the mid- dle of the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, you could neither discern Port-Louis, the church of the Shaddock-Grove, or any other object which could recall to Paul the re- membrance of Virginia. Even the mountains which appear of various shapes on the side of Port Louis, present nothing to the eye from those plains, but a long promontory stretch* ing itself in a straight and perpendi- K k cular 258 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Qular line, from whence arise lofty pyramids of rocks, on the summits of which the clouds repose. To those scenes I conducted Paul, and kept him continually in action, walking with him in rain, and sun- shine, night and day, contriving that he should lose himself in the depths of forests, leading him over untilled grounds, and endeavouring by violent fatigue, to divert his mind from its gloomy meditations, and change the course of his reflexions, by his igno- rance of the paths where we wan- dered : but the soul of a lover finds every where the traces of the object beloved. The night and the day, the calm of solitude and the tumult of crouds, time itself, while it casts the shade of oblivion over so many other remembrances, in vain would tear that tender PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 269 • tender and sacred recollection from the heart ; which like the needle when touched by the loadstone, however it may have been forced into agita- tion, is no sooner left to repose than it turns to the Pole by which it was attracted. When I enquired of Paul, while we wandered amidst the plains of Williams, '' where are we now going?" He pointed to the north, and said, " Yonder are our mountains, let us return." Upon the whole I found that every means I took to divert his melan- choly was fruitless, and that no re- source was left but an attempt ta combat his passion by the arguments- which reason sucrojested. I answered him, "- yes, there are the mountains» where once dwelt your beloved Vir- ginia; and this is the picture you gave K k i2 her, î26o PAUL AND VIRGINIA. her, and which she held when dying to her heart, that heart which even in her last moments only beat for you." I then gave Paul the little picture which he had given Virginia at the borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. At this sight a gloomy joy overspread his looks. He eagerly seized the picture with his feeble hajids, and held it to his lips ; his oppressed bosom seemed ready to burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears which had no power to flow. *' My son," said I, '' listen to him ^vho is your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and who, in the bloom of your hopes, endeavoured to fortify your mind against the un- foreseen accidents of life. What do fou deplore v/ith so much bitter- ness ? PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 261 ness? your own misfortunes, or those of Virginia ? Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost the most amiable of women, she who sacrificed her own interests to yours, who preferred you to all that fortune could bestow, and considered you as the only recompense worthy of her virtues. But might not this very object, from whom you expected the purest happiness, have proved to you a . source of the most cruel distress. She had returned poor, disinherited, and all you could hence- forth have partaken with her, was your labours ; while rendered more delicate by her education, and more courageous by her misfortunes, you would have beheld her every day sinking beneath her efforts to share and soften your fatigues. Had she brought you children, tliis would only 262 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, only have served to increase her inquietudes and your own, from the difficulty of sustaining your aged pa- rents and your infant family. ---You will tell me there would have been reserved for you an happiness indé- pendant of fortune, that of protect- ing a beloved object, which attaches itself to us in proportion to its helplessness ; that your pains and sufferings would have served to en- dear you to each other, and that your passion would have gathered strengjth from your mutual misfor- tunes. Undoubtedly, virtuous love can shed a charm over pleasures which are thus mingled with bitterness. But Virginia is no more ; yet those persons still live, whom, next to yourself, she held most dear, her mother PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 263 mother and your own, whom your inconsolable affliction is bending with isorrow to the grave. Place your happiness as she did her s, in afford- ing them succour, and why deplore the fate of Virginia ? Virginia still exists. There is, be assured, a re-* gion, in which virtue receives its re- ward. Virginia now is happy. Ah ! if from the abode of angels she could tell you as she did when she bid you farewell, ' O, Paul ! life is but a trial, I was faithful to the laws of nature, love and virtue. Heaven found I had fulfilled my duties, and has snatched me for ever from all the miseries I might have endured my- self, and all I might have felt for the miseries of others. I am placed above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me! I am become pure and unchangeable as a paiticle of light, S264 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. light, and you would recall me to the darkness of human life! O Paul! O my beloved friend! recollect those days of happiness, when in the morn- ing we felt the delightful sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of %iature ; when we gazed upon the sua gilding the peaks of those rocks, and then spreading his rays over, the bo- som of the forests. How exquisite were our emotions while we enjoyed the glowing colours of the opening day, the odours of our shrubs^ the con- certs of our birds. Now, at the source of beauty, from which flows all that is delightful upon earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, touches, what before she could only be made sensible of through the medium of our weak organs. Ah! what language can describe those shores of eternal "bliss which I inhabit for ever ! All that PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 265 that infinite power and celestial boun- ty can confer ; that harmony which results from friendship with number- less beings, exulting in the same fe- licity, we errjoy in unmixed perfection. Support then the trial which is allotted you, that you may heighten the hap- piness of your Virginia by love, which 'udll know no termination, by hyme- neals which will be immortal. There I will calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. Oh, my beloved friend! ---my husband! raise your thoughts towards infinite duration, and bear the evils of a moment." My own emotion choaked my ut- terance. Paul looking at me stedfastly, cried, "■ She is no more ! she is no more!" and a long fainting fit suc- ceeded that melancholy exclamation. When restored to himself, he said, LI '• since o66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. '' since death is a good, and since Virginia is happy, I would die too, and be united to Virginia." Thus the motives of consolation I had of- fered, only served to nourish his de- spair. I was like a man who attempts to save a friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and refusing to swim. Sorrow had overwhelmed his soul. Alas ! the misfortunes of early years prepare man for the struggles of life ; but Paul had never known ad- versity. I led him back to his own dwel- ling, where I found his mother and Madame de la Tour in a state of in- creased languor, but Margaret droop- ed most. Those lively characters, upon which light afflictions make a small impression, are least capable of resisting great calamities. *' Oh, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 267 " Oh, my good friend," said Mar- garet, '■' methought last night I saw Virginia dressed in white, amidst de- licious bowers and gardens. She said to me, I enjoy the most perfect hap- piness ; and then approaching Paul with a smiling air, she bore him away. While I struggled to retain my son, I felt that I myself was quitting the earth, and that I followed him w'ith inexpressible delight. I then wished to bid my friend farewel, when I saw she was hastening after me with Mary and Domingo. But what seems most strange is, that Madame de la Tour has this very night had a dream at- tended with the same circumstances." '■'■ My dear friend," I replied, "^ no- thing I believe happens in this world without the permission of God* Dreams sometimes foretel the truth. L 1 2 Madame 268 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Madame de la Tour related to me her dream, which was exactly similar; and as I had never observed in either of those ladies any propensity to su- perstition, I was struck with the sin- gular co-incidence of their dreams, which I had little doubt would be soon realized. What I expected took place. Paul died two months after the death of his Virginia, whose name dwelt upon his lips even in his expiring mo- ments. Eight days after the death of her son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with that serenity which only virtue can feel. She bade Ma- dame de la Tour the most tender farewel, " in the hope," she said, " of a sweet and eternal re-union." " Death is the most precious good," added she, " and we ought to desire it. If PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 269 If life be a punishment, we should wish for its termination ; if it be a trial, we should be thankful that it is short." The governor took care of Do- mingo and Mary, who were no longer able to labour, and who survived their mistresses but a short time. As for poor Fidèle, he pined to death at the period he lost his masier. I conducted Madame de la Tour to my dwelling, and she bore her calamities with elevated fortitude. She had endeavoured to comfort Paul and Margaret 'till their last moments, as if she herself had had no ago- nies to bear. When they were no more, she used tq talk of them as of beloved friends from whom she 270 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. she was not distant. She survived them but one month. Far from re- proaching her aunt for those afflic- tions she had caused, her benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, and to appease that remorse, which the consequences of her cruelty would probably awaken in her breast. I heard, by successive vessels which arrived from Europe, that this unna- tural relation, haunted by a troubled conscience, accused herself conti- nually of the untimely fate of her lovely niece, and the death of her mother, and became at intervals be- reft of her reason. Her relations, whom she hated, took the direction of her fortune, after shutting her up as a lunatic, though she possessed sufficient use of her reason to feel all the pangs of her dreadful situa- tion, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 271 tion, and died at length in agonies of despair. The body of Paul was placed by the side of his Virginia, at the foot of the same shrubs, and on that hal- lowed spot the remains of their ten- der mothers and their faithful servants were laid. No marble covers the turf, no inscription records their vir- tues, but their memory is engraven upon our hearts in characters which are indelible: and surely if those pure spirits still take an interest in what passes upon earth, they love to wan- der beneath the roofs of those dwel- lings which are inhabited by industri- ous virtue, to console the poor who complain of their destiny, to cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred flame of fidelity, to inspire a taste for the blessings of nature, the love of labour, 272 PAUL AND VIRGINIA- labour, and the dread of riches. The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard to those mo- numents reared to flatter the pride of kings, has given to some parts of this island names which will immortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the isle of Amber, in the midst of sand-banks, is a spot called the Pass of Saint- Geran, from the name of the vessel -which there perished. The extremity of that point of land, which is three leagues distant, and half covered by the weaves, and w^hich the Saint-Geran could not double on the night pre- ceding the hurricane, is called the Cape of Misfortune ; and before us, at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Virginia was found buried in the sand; as if the waves had sought to restore her corpse PAUL AND VIRGINIA. syS corpse to her family, that they might render it the last sad duties, on those shores, of which her innocence had been the ornament. Ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly united! — unfortunate mo- thers-! — beloved family! those woods which sheltered you with their foliage, those fountains which flowed for you, those hillocks upon which you re- posed, still deplore your loss ! No one has since presumed to cultivate that desolated ground, or repair those fallen huts. Your goats are become wild, your orchards are destroyed, your birds are fled, and nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrow- hawk, who skims around the valley of rocks. As for myself, since I be- hold you no more, I am like a fa- ther bereft of Lis children, like a M m traveller -74 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. traveller who wanders over the earth, desolate and alone." In saying those words, the good old man retired, shedding tears, and mine had often flowed during this melancholy narration. Cxscoco