Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2010 witli funding from Duke University Libraries littp://www.arcli ive.org/details/paulvirgiiOOsain I .^^^ PAUL cV VIRGINIA. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF- BERNARDIN SAINT PIERRE , BY HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. tKCÏit^ Cng;rat)ing«( on 2î23ooïj, BY ANDERSON. ii5f lD.'|îorfe : PUBLISHED BY EVERT DUYCKIVCK, NO. 110 PEARL-STREET. L. NICHOLS. Pf/W. \ THE WILLIAM R. PERKINS LIBRARY OF DUKE UNIVERSITY ■o 1*^ i I t PREFAC: A. HE following Translation of Paul (nul Fii-gùiia was written at Paris, a- midst the horrors of Robespierre's tyran- ny. During that gloomy epocha it was difTicult to find occupations which might cheat the days of calamity of their wea- ry length. Society had vanished; and, amidst the minute vexations of Jacobini- cal despotism, which, while it murdered in Mass, persecuted in detail, the re- A a PREFACE. sources of writing, and eveil reading, were encompassed with danger. The researches of domiciliary visits had ah-ea- ôy 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 coloring 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, wanting was forbidden employment. Even reading had its perils j for books had sometimes aristocratical insignia, and sometimes counter-revolutionary allusi- ons: and when the Administrators of Police happened tft}t!'^y.ik the Writer a . conspirator, they punished the Reader as his accomplice. PREFACE. iti" In this situation I gave myself the task of employing a kw hours every day in translating the charming little Novel of Bernardin St. Pierre, entitled ' Paul and Virginia ;' and I found the most sooth- ing relief in wandering from my own gloomy reflections to tho.se enchanting scenes of the Mauritius, 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 1 have since supplied, having been sent to the ^lunicipality of Paris, in order to be ex- amined as English papers; where they still remain, mingled with revolutionary placards, motions, and harangues; and are not likely t^ ' restored to my pos- session. iv PREFACE. With respect to the Translation, 1 can only hope to deserve the humble 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 acknowledge, that of omit- ting several pages of general observa- tions, which, however excellent in them- selves, would be passed over with impati- ence 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 re- flecting Englishman requires, in novel- ^vriting, as well as on the theatre, a ra- pid succession of incidents, much busll||| and stage eifect, without suffering the author to appear himself, and stop the progress of the story ; the gay and rest- less Frenchman listens attentively to long philosophical reflections, while the catas- trophe of the drama hangs in suspense. PREFACi:. y My Jast poetical prodiicUons, (the Sonnets, which are interspersed in this Work,) may perhaps be found even more imperfect than my earlier compositions; 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 poeti- cal taste is improved by living in a coun- t^ry where arts have given place to arms. But the Public will, perhaps, receive with indulgence a work written under such peculiar circumstances ; not compos- ed in the calm of literary leisure, or in pursuit of literary fiime, but amidst the ^ turbulence of the most cruel sensations, and in order to escape awhile from over- whelming misery. HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. Fan's, June y 1795. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. V/N the eastern coast of the mountain which rises above Port Louis iif the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bear- ing the marks of former cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. Those ruins are situated near tlie centre of a valley, formed by immense rocks, and which opens only towards the north. On the left rises the mountain called the Height of Discovery, from whence the eye marks the distant sail when it first touches the verge of the horizon, and wlicnce the signal is given wlien a vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this mountain stands tlie town of Port Louis. On the right is formed the road which stretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the church, bearing that name, lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues of bam- boo, in the midst of a spacious plain ; and the prospect terminates in a forest extending to tiie furthest bounds of the island. The front view presents the bay, denomi- nated Uie Bay of the Tomb : a htlle on the right is setn s ' TAUL AND VIRGINIA. the Cape of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expand- ed ocean, on the surface of which appear a few uninha*- bited islands, and, among others, the Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastipu built upon the flood. 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 reighboring forests, and tiie tumultuous dashing of the ^vaves whith break at a distance upon the cliffs. But near the ruii.ed cottages all is calm and still, and the only ob- jects which there meet the eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, aiid even on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, which their bold points attract, often paint tlie vivid colors of the rainbow on their green and brown declivities, and swell the sources of the litUe river which, flows at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms. WiTHiK this enclosure 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' ]X)ints of whicii a:e 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 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 9 rocks ; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon the azure sky. To this scene I loved to resort, where I might enjoy at once the richness of the extensive landscape, and the' cliarm of uninterrupted solitude. One day when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, and contemplating their ruins, a man advanced in years, passed near tiie spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he lec.ned uj.on a staff of ebony ; his hair was white, and the expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed to him with re- spect ; he returned the salutation ; and, after looking at me with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock where I was seated. Encouraged by tbii mark of confidence, I thus addressed liim : *' Father, can you tell me to whom those cot- tages once belonjed ?" " My son," replied the old man, " those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled land, were •twenty years ago the property of two families who tlieii found happiness in this solitude. Their history is affect- ing ; but what European, pursuing his way to the In- dies, will pau^.e.one moment to interest himself in the fateof afew obscure individuals? What European can picture happiness to his imagination amidt poverty and neglect? The curiosity of mankind is onl} attracted by 10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. the history of tlie great ; and yet from that knowledge little use can be derived." " Father," I rejoined, " froju your manners and your observations, I perceive that you have acquired much experience of liuman life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of this desart ; and be assured, that even the men who are most perverted by the pre- judices of the world, find a soothing pleasure in contem- plating that happiness which 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 Normandy, 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- fortutje in this island, where he arrived in 1726. Hebrouglit hitlier a young woman, wliom he loved tenderly, and by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province : but he liad married her without fortune, and in opposition to tiie will , of her relations, who refused their consent, because he was found guilty of being descended from parents who had no claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in or- der to purchase a few &la\ es to assist him in forming a plantation in this island. He landed at that unhealtiiy PAUL AND VIRGINIA. H season which commences about the middle of October; and soon after Jiis arrival died of tiie pestilential fever, t\'Iiich prevails in that country six months of the year, aiid which will forever baflle the attempts of the Euro- pean nations to form establishments on that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity of stran- gers ; and his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country where she had neither credit nor recommendation, and no earthly possession, or rather support, than one negro woman. Too delicate to solicit protection or relief from any other man after the death of liim whom alone she loved, misfortune armed her . wuh courage, and she resolved to cultivate, with her '' slave, a little spot of ground, and procure for lierself the means of subsistence. In an island almost a desart, and wliere the ground was left to the choice of the settler, she avoided those spots which were most fertile, and most favorable to commerce ; and stoking some nook «if the mountain, some secret asylum, where she might hve solitary and unknown, she bent lier way from the town toward those rocks, wliere she wished to shelter her- self as in a nest. All suffering creatures, fiom a sort of common instinct, tly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the most wild and desolate; as if rocks could form a rampart against misfortune; a, if the calm of nar ture could hush the tumults of the soul. That Provi- dence, wiiich lends its support when we ask but the sujî- ply of our necessary wants, had a blessing iu R^cive for Igl PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Madame la Tour, wliich neither riches nor greatness 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 aflfecLionate disposition. Mar- garet (for that was her name) was born in Brittany, of a family of peasants, by whom she was clierished and beloved ; and witli whom she miglit have passed life in simple rustic happiness, if, mislead by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listened to the passion of a gentleman in the neighborhood, who promised her mar- riage. He soon abandoned her, and, adding inliumani- ty to seduction, refused to ensu--" a provision for the child of which she was pregnant. Margaret then deter- mined to leave for ever her native village, and go, wliere lier 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 bor- rowed 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 eight of a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own, Madame de la Tour related, in a few words, her past condition and her present wants. Margaret was deeply alTected by the recital ; and, more anxious to excite confidence Ihaa esteem, she confessed, without PAUL AND VIRGINIA. I3 disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. .." Ac for me," said she, " I deserve my fate ; but you. Ma- dam, you ! at once virtuous and unhappy.. ..And, sob- bing, she oifered Madame de la Tour both her hut and her friendsliip. The lady, affected by this tender recep- tion, pressed her in licr 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 tovrards me than I have ever experienced frpra my own relations r" ^y, i I KNEW Margaret, and, although my habitation is a league and a half from hence, in the woods behind that sloping mountain, I considered myself as her neigh- bor. In the cities of Europe a street, sometimes even a less distance, separates families whom nature had united ; but in new colonies we consider those persons as neigh- bors from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains: and above all, at that period, when this inland liad little intercourse witli the Indies, neighbor- 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 tor.ipanion, than I hastened hither, in the hope of being usei'ul to my neighbor and her guest. * Madame dc la Tour possessed all tliose melan- choly graces which give beauty additional power, by B 14 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, blending sympathy with admiration. Her figure was in- teresting, and her countenance expressed at once dignity and dejection. She appeared to be in the last stage o£ her pregnancy. I told them that, for the future interests of their children, and to prevent the intrusion of any other settler, it 'was necessary they should divide between them the property of this wild sequestered valley, wliich is nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to me, and I marked out two ecjual portions of land. One includes the higher part of this inclosure, from the peak of that rock buried in clouds, wlience springs the rapid river of Fan-Palms, to that wide cleft whicii you see on the summit of the mountain, and which is called the Cannon's Mouth, from the resemblance in its form. It is diflkulttofind a path along this wild portion of inclo- sure, the soil of which is incumbered with fragments of rock, or worn iuto channels formed by torrents ; yet it pro- duces noble trees and innumerable fountains and rivulets. The other portion of land is comprised in tlie plain ex- tending along the banks of the river of Fan-Palms, tcr the opening where we are now seated, from wlience the river takes its course between those two hills, until ii falls into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some meadow-land ; and this part of the common is less rug- gcd, but not more valuable llian the other; since in the rainy season it becomes marshy ; and in dry weatlier is so hard and unbending, that it will yield only to th^ stroke of the hatchet, When I had thus dividetl thé PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 15 property, 1 i)ersuacled my neighbors to draw lots for their separate possessions. Tlie higher portion ot land .became tlie property of Madame de la Tour ; the lower, of Margaret ; and each seemed satisfied with their re- spective share. They iiitrcated me to place their habi- tations together, that tiiey might at all times enjoy th« sootliiiig intercourse of friendship, and the consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's cottage was situated near tlie centre of the valley, and just on the boundary of her own plantation. Close to tl\e spot I built ano- ther cottage for the dwelling of Madame de la Tour : and tluis tlie two friends, while they possessed all the advantages of neighborhood, lived on their own pro- perty. I myself cut palisades from the mouhtain, and brought leaves of Fan-Palms from the sea-shore, in order to construct those two cottages, of which you can now discern neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, alas ! there still remain bat too many traces for my remembrance! Time, which so rapidly destroys the proiul monuments of empires, seems in this desart to spare those of friendship, as if to perpetuate my re- grets till the last hour of my existence. Scarcely was her cottage finished, when Ma- dame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. I had beea the god-father of Margaret's ciiild, who was christen- ed b) t!ie name of Paul. Madame de la Tour desir- ed inc to perform the same olTice for her child also, to- 16 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. getlier with her friend, -who gave her the name of \'irginia. " She will be virtuous," cried Margaret, " and she will be happy. I have only known mis- fortune by wandering from virtue." At the time Madame de la Tour recovered, thos*? two little territories had already begun to yield some produce, perliaps in a small degree owing to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement, but far more to the indefatigable labors of the two «laves. Margaret's slave, wiio was called Domingo, ^vas still healthy and robust, although advanced in years ; he possessed some knowledge, and a good na- tural understanding. He cultivated indiscriminately, on both settlements, such spots of ground as were most fertile, and sowed whatever grain he thought most con- genial 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 cucuiîibcrs at the foot of the rocks, which tliey loved to climb and de- corate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the sweet potato ; the cotton-lree flourished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the clayey soil. He reared some plants of colTee on the hills, where the grain, although small, is excellent. The plantain-trees, wliich spread their grateful shad^ on the banks of the river, and encucled the cottage, PAUL AÎ^D VIRGINIA. 17 yielded fruit throughout the whole year. And lastly, Domingo cultivated a few plants of tobacco, to charm away his own cares. Sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for firing from the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the inclosure, in order to level the paths. He was much attached to Marga- ret, and not less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro- woman, Mary, he had married at the time of Virginia's birth ; and he was passionately fond of his wife. Ma- ry was born at Madagascar, from whence she had brougi)t a few arts of industry. She could weave bas- kets, and a sort of stuff, with long grass that grows in the woods. She was active, cleanly, and, above all, faitliful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Port Louis, and sell the superfluities of these little plantations, which were not very considerable. 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 household, ai well as of tlie revenue of those two farms. Madame de la Tour and her friend were em- ployed from morning till the evening in spinning cot- ton for the use of their families. Destitute of all those things which their own industry could not sup» ply, they walked about their habitations with their b2 18 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, feet bare, and shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, when at an early hour they attend mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which you see yon- der. That church is far more distant than Port Louis; yet they seldom visited the town, lest they should be treated with contempt, because they were dressed in tiie coarse blue linen of Bengal, which is usually worn by slaves. But is there in that external deference which fortune commands, is tliere a compensation for domestic happiness? If they had something to suffer from the world, this served but to endear their humble liome. No sooner did Mary and Domingo per- ceive them from this elevated spot, on the road of tlie Shaddock Grove, than they flew to tlie foot of the mountain, in order to help them to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their domestics that jay which their return inspired. They found in their re- treat neatness, independence, all tliose blessings which are the recompence of toil, and received those services which have their source in affection. United by tlie 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 \inavailing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste manners, drew their affecUom towards another life ; PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 19 as the Irenibliiig flame rises towards heaven, when it no longer iinds any aliment on earth. Madame de la Tour sometimes, leaving the hoiisehoid cares to Margaret, wandered out alone ; and, amidst this sublime scenery, indulged that luxury of pensive sadness, which is so soothing to the mind after the fust emotions of turbulent sorrow have sub- sided. Sometimes she poured fortii tlie elTusions of melancholy in the language of verse ; and, although her compositions have little poetical merit, they ap- pear to me to bear the marks of genuine sensibiiitv. Many of her poems are lost ; but some still rem;iin in ray possession, and a few still hang on my memory. 1 will repeat to you a soniiet addressed to love. 510 rAUJL AND VIRGINIA. SONNET TO LO\'E. Ah, Love! creyotl knew tliy fatal pow'r. Bright glow'd the color of my youthful days. As, oil the sultry zone, the torrid rays That paint the broad-leav'd planlain'â glossy bower: Calm was my bosom as this silent hour. When o'er the deep, scarce heard, tiie ze[)liyr strays, 'Midst the cool tamarinds indolently plays. Nor from the orange shakes it's od'rous tiower î But, ah ! since Love has all my art jiossest. That desolated heart what sorrows tear ? Disturbed, and wild as ocean's troubled breast. When the hoarse tcm()eàt of the night is there ! Yet my complaining spirit asks no rest,; This bleeding bosom cl>pory rocks, which for.nied the bed D 38 PAUL AND VIUGINIA. of tlic river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. " Do not be afraid/' cried lie to Virginia ; " I feel very strong -with you. If the inhabitant of the Black River had refused you the pardon of his slave, I would have fought with liim." " What !" answered Virginia, "with that great wicked man?.... To what have I exposed you, gracious heaven ! How difficult it is to do goodV and it is so easy to do wrong." When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to continue his journey carrying his sister, and believed he was able to climb in tliat 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 sson obliged to set down his burdej^ and to rest him- self by lier side. Virgihia then said to him, " My ilear 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 will not leave you. If night surprizes 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 be- ing a 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, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 With those leaves slie made a sort of buskin, with which she covered her feet, that were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony paths ; lor in her eager desire to do good, she had forgot to put on her slioes. Feeling Jier feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke ollT a branch of bamboo, ap.d contin\i;"d her walk, leaning with one hand on the staff, and with the other on Paul. The Y walked on slowly through the wood^ ; but from the height of the trees, and the thickness of their fo- liage, they soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three Peaks, by which they had directed their course, and even of the sun, which was now setting. At length they wandered, without perceiving it, from the beaten path in which fhey had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees and rocks, which appeared to have nh opening. Paul made Mr- ginia sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, half frantic-, in «earch of a path which might lead them out of this tliick wood ; but all his researches were vain. He climbed to the top of a trees from whence he hoped at least to discern the mountain of tlic T!nee Peaks; but all he could perceive around liim were llie tops of trees, some of which were gilded by the last beams of the setting sun. Already tlic shadows of the mountains were spread over the forests in the vailles. The wind ceased, as it usually docs 40 TALL AND VIRGINIA. at t];e evening hour. The most profuund silence reigned in thuse awful solitudes, which was only inter- rupted by the cry of the stags, who came to repose ill that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that ■suiiiç hunter would hear his voice, called out as loud as lie was able, " Come, come to the help of \'ir- ginia." But the echoes of the forests alone answered his call, and repeated again and again, " Virginia.... Virginia^' Paul at length descended from the tree, ©vercome with fatigue and \exation, and reflected how tliey might best contrive to pass the night in that desart. But he could find neither a fountain, a palm-tree, nor even a branch of dry wood to kindle a fire. He then felt, by experience, the sense of liis o,\n weakness, and began to weep. Virginia said to lii;n, " Do not weep, my dear brother, or I shall die ^ith grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mot'aers suiTer at this moment. I find ■Re ought to do nothing, not even good, witliout con- sulting our parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent!'' »nd slie began to shed tears. She then said to Paul, " Lei us pray to God^ my dear brother, and he will liear us." Scarcely had they fini^hed their prayer, when they heard tiie barking of a dog. " It is tiie dog of some hunter, said Paul, w ho comes here at night to lay iin ^Yait for the stags." Soon after again the dotibark- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 42 «d with more violence. *' Surely," said Virginia, " it is Fidèle, our own dog : yes, I know his voice. Are ■we then so near home ? at the foot of our own moun- tain ?" A moment after Fidcle 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 was at work at a little distance, could not tell iis where you were gone. I run backwards and forwards about the plan- tation, not knowiag where to look for you. At last I took some of your old clotiies, and shewing them to Fidèle, the poor animal, as if he understood me, im- mediately began to scent your path ; and conducted me, continually wagging his tail, to the Black River. It was there a planter told me that you had brought back a negro woman, his slave, and that he had grant- ed you her pardon. But what pardon ! he shewed her to me with her feet chained to a block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks fastened round her neck ! ** From thence Fidèle, still on the scent, led d2 42 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. me up the precipice of the Black River, ^herejie again stopped and barked with all his might. This was on the brink of a spring, near a fallen palm-tree, and close to a fire wiiich was still smoking. At last he kd me to this very spot. We are at the foot of the injiintain of the Three Peaks, and still four leagues £iom home. Come, eat, and gather strength." He then presented them with cakes, fruits, and a large gourd filled wilii a Tuiuor composed of wiTie, water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared. Virginia sighed at the recollection of tiie poor slave, and at the uneasiness wliich they had given their mothers. She repeated -several limes, " Oil, how dillicult it is to do good !" M'hile slie and Paul were taking refreshment, -Domingo kindled a fire, and having sought among the rocks for a particular kind of crooked wood, which burns quite green, throwing out a great blaze, he anade a torch, which he lighted, it being already night. But when they prepared to continue their journey, a •jiew difliculty occurred : Paul and Virginia could no 'longer walk, their feet being violently swelled and inflamed. Domingo knew rot whether it were best to leave them, and go in search of help, or remain and pass the night with them on that spot. " What is be- eome of the time," said he, " when I used to carry 3k pardon for her of her wick- ed master, and we in return for this will carry you home upon our shoulders." Hetlu-n made a sign, and four of the strongest negroes immediately formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees and lianas, in wliich having seated Paul and Virginia, they placed it upon their shoulders. Domingo marched in front, carrying, his lighted torch, and they proceeded amidst the re- joicings of the whole troop, and overwhelmed with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul with emotion, " Oh, my dear brother ! God never leaves a good action without reward." It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of the mountain, on the ridges of which several fires were lighted. Scarcely had they begun to ascend, when they heard voices crying out " Is it you, my cliil- dren?" They answered together with the negroes, " Yes, it is us ;" and soon after perceived their mo- tliers and Mary coming towards them with lighted slicks in their hands. " Unhappy children !" cried Madame de la Tour, " from whence do you come i 44 Î*AUL AND VIRGINIA. What agonies you have made us suffer i" " We come,** said Virginia, " from the Black River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor Maron slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this morning, because she was dy- ing of hunger ; and these Maron negroes have brought ^ us home." Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter without being able to speak; and Virginia, who felt lier face wet, with her mother's tears, exclaimed, " You repay me for all the hardsiiips I have suffered." Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul in her arms, crying, " And you also, my dear child ; you Iiave done a good action." When they reached the hut with their children, they gave plenty of food to the negroes, who returned to their woods, after pray- ing the blessing of heaven might descend on those good white people. Every day was to those families a day of tran- quillity and of happiness. Neither ambition nor envy dis- turbed their repose. In this island, where, as in all the European colonies, every malignant anecdote is circulated with avidity, their virtues, and even theif names, were unknown. Only when a traveller on the road of the Shaddock Grove inquired of any of the inhabitants of the plain, " Who lives in those two cottages above ?" he was always answered, even by those who did not know them, " They are good peo- ple." Thus the modest violet, concealed beneath the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 thorny bushes, s]i(;ds its fragrance, while itself remains unseen. Doing good appeared to those amiable families to be the chief purpose of life. Solitude, far from having blunted their benevolent feelings, or rendered their dispositions morose, had left tlieir hearts open to every tender alfcction. The contemplation of nature filled tlu'ir minds witii euthusiaslic delight. Tlit-y adored the bounty of tiiat Providence whicli had en- abled them to spread abundance and beauty amidst those barren rocks, and to enjoy those pure and sim- ple pleasures which are ever grateful and ever new. It was probably in those dispositions of mind that Ma- «lame de la Tour composed the following sonnet. 46 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. SONNET TO SIMPLICITY. Nymph of the desart ! on this lonely shore. Simplicity, thy blessings still are mine. And all thou canst not give I pleas'd resign, For all beside can soothe my soul no more. I ask no lavish heaps to swell my store. And purchase pleasures far remote from thine. Ye joys, for which the race of Europe pine. Ah, not for me your studied grandeur pour : Let me where yon (all cliiTs are rudely pil'd. Where tow'rs tlie palm amidst the mountaiu trees. Where pendent from the steep, with graces wild. The blue liana floats upon the breeze. Still haunt those bold recesses, Nature's child. Where thy majestic chaims my spirit seize I PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelligent than Europeans are at fifteen, and !iad embellished the plantations which Domingo had only cul- tivated, lie had gone with him to the neighboring woods, and rooted up young plants of lemon trees, oran- ges, and tamarinds, the round heads of which are of so fresh a green, together with date pahii-trecs, producing fruit tilled with a sweet cream, which has tiie fine per- fume of the orange flower. Those trees, which were already of a considerable size, he planted round this little enclosure. He bad also sown the seeds of many trees wi;icli the second year boars flowers or fruit. The agathis, encircled nith long clusters of white flowers, which hang ujjon it like the crystal pendents of a lustre. Tiie Persian lilac, whicii lifts high in air its grey flax-co- lored branches. The pappaw-lree, the trunk of w'.iich, without branches, forms a column set round with green melons, bearing on their heads large leaves like those of the fig-tree. The seeds and kernels of the gum-tree, terminalia, nian'goes, alligalor-pears, tiie guava, the bread-tree, and tlie narrow-leaved eugenia were planted with profusion ; aiid the greater number of tliose trees already afforded to tlieir young cultivator botii shade and fruit. His indus- trious hands had dilTused the riches of nature even on the most barren parts of the plantation. Several kinds of aloes, the common Indian fig, adorned with yellow flow- 48 ^'"^^'^ AND VIRGINIA. ers spottcil with red, and llie tliorny five-angled toiuii- Ihislle, grew upon Ihe dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching tlie long lianas, wliich, load- ed with blue or crimson flowers, himg scattered over llie steepest part of the mountain. Those trees were dis- posed ill such a maiun-r, that you could command tlie wiiole at one view. He had placed in the middle of tills hollow the plants of the lowest growth: behind givw the shrubs; then trees of an ordinary height; above which rose majestically, the venerable lofty groves which border the circumference. Thus fiom its centre this extensive inclosure appeared like a verdant amphi- theatre spread wit'.i fruits and flowers, containing a va- riety of vegetables, a chain of meadow-land, and fields of rice and corn. In bending those vegetable prodLic- lions to his own faste, he followed tlje designs of Na- ture. .Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the rising ground such seeds as the winds might scat- ter over the heights, and near the borders of the springs such grains as float upon the waters. Every plant grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated by her hands. The waters, wiiich rushed from the sum- mits of the rocks, formed in some parts of the valley limpid fountains, and in other parts were spread into large clear mirroi-s, which reflected the bright verdure, (he trees in blossom, the bending rocks, and the azure heavens. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of {he ground, most of these plantations were easy of ac- cess. We had, indeed, all given him our advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this end. He had formed a path which winded round the valley, and of which various ramifications led from the circum- ference to tjie centre. He had drawn some advantage from tlie most rugged sjjots ; and had blended in har- monious variety smooth walks with the asperities of the soil, and wild with domestic productions. With that immense quantity of rolling stones which now block up those paths, and which arc scattered over most of the ground of this island, he formed here and there pyra- mids; and at their base he laid earth, and planted the roots of rose-bushes, the Baibadoes flower-fence, and other slirubs wliich love to climb the rocks. In a short time those gloomy shapeless pyramids were covered with verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most beauti- ful llowers. The hollow recesses of aged trees, which bent over the borders of the stream, formed vaulted caves impenetrable to the sun, and where you might enjoy coolness during the heats of the day. That path led to a clump of forest trees, in the centre of which grew a cultivated tree, loaded with fruit. Here was a field ripe with corn, there an orchard. From that ave- nue you had a view of the cottages ; from this, of the inaccessible summit of the mountain. Boneatli that tufted bower of gum trees, interwoven with, lianas, £ 50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. no object could be discerned even at noon ; while the point of tlie neighboring rock, whicli projects from tlie mountain, commanded a view of tlie whole inclosure, and of the distant ocean, where sometimes we spied a vessel coming from Europe, or returning thither. On this rock the two families assembled in the evening, and enjoyed in silence the freshness of the air, the fragrance of the flowers, the murmurs of the fountains, and the last blended harmonies of light and shade. Nothing could be more agreeable than the names which were bestowed upon some of the ciiarmiug retreats of this labyriuth. That rock, of which I was speaking, and from which my approach was discerned at a considerable distance, was called the discovery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia amidst their sports had planted a bamboo on that spot ; and whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white handkerchief by way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on the neighboring mountain at tiie siglit of a vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engraving an inscription upon the stalk of this reed. Whatever plea- sure I have felt during my travels at the sight of a statue or monument of antiquity, I have felt still more in read- ing a well-written inscription. It seems to me as if a hu- man voice issued from the stone, and, making itself heard through the lapse of ages, addressed man in the ifiidat of a desart, and told him, that he is not alone ; PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 that other men, on that very spot, have felt, and llioiight, and sutTered, like himself. If the inscription belongs to an ancient nation, which no longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, and inspires the feeling of its immortality, by shewing that a thought has survived the ruins of an empire. I INSCRIBED then, on the little mast of Paul and Virginia's flag, those lines of Horace : Fratrcs Ilelenx, lucida bidera, Vcntorumque regat pater, Obstnctis aliis, prxtcr lapyga. " May the brothers of Helen, lucid stars like you, and the Father of the winds, guide you ; and may you only feel the breath of the zephyr." I ENGRAVED this line of Virgil upon the bark of a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul some- times seated himself in order to contemplate the agitated sea. Fortunatus et iUe decs qui novit agrestes ! " Happy, art thou, my son, to know only the pastoral divinities." % And above tlie door of Madame de la Tour's cot- tage, where the familiçs used to assemble, I placcti Ihis line. 52 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. " Here is a calm conscience, and a life ignorant of deceit." But Virginia did jiot approve of my Latin ; she said that what I had placed at the foot of her weather- flag was too long and too learned. " I should have liked better," added she, " to have seen inscribed, " Always agitated, yet ever constant." Thb sensibility of those happy families extended itself to every thing around them. They had given names the most tender to objects in appearance the most indifferent. A border of orange, plantain, and bread- trees, planted round a green-sward where Virginia and .Paul somclimes danced, was called Concord. An old tree, beneath the shade of which Madame de la Tuut and Margaret used to relate their misfortunes, was call- ed The tears zviped aivay. They gave the names of Brittany and Normandy to little portions of ground, where they had sown corn, strawberries and peas. Do- mingo and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their mis- tresses, to recal the places of their birth in Africa, gave the names of Angola and Foullepointe to the spots •where grew the herb with which they wove baskets, and where they had planted a calbassia-tree. Thus, with the productions of their respective climates, those PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 exiled families cherished the dear illusions which bind us to our native country, and softened their regrets in a foreign land. Alas ! I hare seen, animated by a thou- sand soothing appellations, those trees, those fountains, those stones, which' are now overthrowr», which now, like the plains of Greece, present nothing but ruins and affecting remembrances. Neither the neglect of her European friends, nor the delightful romantic spot which she inhabited, could banish from the mind of Madame de la Tour tills tender attachment to her native country. While the luxurious fruits of this climate gratified the taste of her family, she delighted 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 follow* ing sonnet to the strawberry. 54 ^AUL AND VIRGLNIA. SONNET TO THE STRAWBERRY. The strawberry blooms upon its lowly bed : Plant of ipy 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 vanish'd hours of life's enchanting spring ; Short calender of joys for ever fled ! Thou bidst the scenes of childhood rise to view. The wild wood path which fancy loves to trace. Where, veil'd in leaves, thy fruit, of rosy hue, Lurk'd on its pliant stem with modest grace. But, ah ! when thought would later years rcne\^, Alasi successive sorrows cro^wd the space. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 But perhaps t lie most cliarming spot of this inclo- 9ure was that wliicli was called the Repose of rir^iida. At the fool of the rock, which bore the ii;'me oi' tlie Discovery of Friendship, is a rook from w I km ice issues a fountain, forming near its source a little spot of marshy foil in the midst of a field of rich grass. At the time Margaret was d(;liveied 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 (ree might one day serve to mark tlie «pocha ©f her son's birth. Madame de la Tour planted another cocoa, with the same view, at the birth of Vir- ginia. Those fruits produced two cocoa-trees, which formed all the records of the two families : one was called the tree of Paul, tlie other the tree of Vir- ginia. 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 fountain. 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 maidenhair glistened witl» their green and dark stars ; and tufts of wave-leaved harts-tongue, suspended like long ribbands of purpled green, floated on the winds. Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which re- semble the red gillifiowçr ; and the long-podded capsa* 56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. cum, the cloves of which are of the color of blooii, and more glowing than coral. The herb of bahn, with its leaves within the heart, and the sweet basil, which has the odor of the gilliflower, exhaled the most de- licious 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 tlie stillness of those retreats, resorted 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 aban- dons, with the star cf 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 herself beneath the shade of the two cocoa trees, and there she sometimes led her goats to graze. While she prepared cheesrs uf their milk, she loved to see them browse on the maidenhair which grevr upon the steep sides of the rock, and hang suspended upon one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. Paul, ob- serving that Virginia was fond of this spot, brought thither from the neighboring forest a great variety of birds-nests. The old birds following their young, esta- blished themselves in this new colony. Virginia at stat- ed times distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid-bird, the note of which is so PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 soft, the cardinal, the black frigate bird, with its pUi- mage the color of -flame, forsook tiieir bushes ; the pe- rotiuet, green as an emerald, descended from the neigh- boring fan-palms; the partridge ran along the grass : all advanced promiscuously towards her like a brood of .chickens ; and she and Paul delighted to observe their sports, their repasts, and their loves. Amiable children ! thus passed your early days in innocence and in thç^exercise of benevolence. How many times on this very spot have your mothers, pres- sing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for the consolations your unfolding virtues prepared for their declining years, wliile already they enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing you begin life under the most happy auspices! How many times, beneath tlie shade of those rocks, liave I par- taken with them of your rural repasts, -which cost no -animal its lifu ! Gourds filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice placed upon plantain-leaves, baskets load- ed with mangoes, orang>'s, dates, pomegranates, pine- apples, furnished at the same time the most wholesome food, the most beautiful colors, and the most delicious juices. The conversation was gentle and innocent as the repasts. Paul often talked of the labors of the day, and thoue of the morrow. He was continually forming some plan of accommodation for llicir Utile society. 58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Here he cViscovered that the paths were rough ; tliere, that the family circle were ill seated : sometimes the young arbors did not aftbrd sufficient shade, and Vir- ginia might be better placed elsewhere. In" the rainy seasons the two families assembled to- gether in the hut, and employed themselves in weaving 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 tlie productions which were the fruits of la- bor ; sacks of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of the plantain fruit. Some degree of luxury is usually united "with plenty ; and Virginia was taught by her mother and Margaret, to prepare sherbet and cordials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the orange, and the citron. When night came, those families supped togethéf by the light of a lamp ; after which Madame de la ToUr or Margaret related histories of travellei-s lost during the nîght in such of the forests of Europe as are infested by banditti \ or told a dismal tu!e of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest upon the rocks of a desart island. To these recitals their children listened with 'eager sensibility, and earnestly begged that Heaven would grant they might one day have the joy of shewing 'their hospitality towards such unfortunate persons. At length the t-vo families separated and retired to rest, im» PAUL AND VIRGINIA. rf^ patient to meet again the next morning. Sometimes they were lulled to repose by the beating rains, which lell in torrents upon tiic roof of tlicir 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 Cod for their personal safety, of •whicii their feeling becanre stronger from the idea of re- mote danger. Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some afTecting iiibtory of the Old or New Testament. Her auditors reasoned but little upon those sacred books, for their theology consisted in sentiment, like that of nature ; and their morality in action, like that of the gospel. Those families 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 Intelli- gence, the friend of human kind. A sentiment of con- fidence in his supreme power filled their minds with consolation under the past, with fortitude for the present, and with hope for tiie future. Thus, compelled by misfortune to return to a state of nature, those women had Unfolded in their own bosoms, and in those of their children, the feelings whicli are most natural to the human miud, and which are oujr best support under evil. 60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. But as cloiuls sometimes arise which cast a gloom over the best regulated tempers, whenever melancholy took possession of any member of this little society, the rest endeavored to banisli painful thoughts rather by sen- timent than by arguments. Margaret exerted lier gaiety. Madame de la Tour employed her mild theology ; Vir- ginia her tender caresses ; Paul, his cordial and engag- ing frankness. Even Mary and Domingo hastened to offer their succor, and to weep witli those that wept. Tims 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 creature sought their ad- vice, sometimes a child led them to its sick mother in the neighborliood. Tiiey always took witli them reme- dies for the ordinary diseases of tlie country, which they administered in that soothing manner which stamps so much value upon the smallest favors. Above all they succeeded in banisiiiiig the disorders of the mind, which are so intolerable in solitude, and under the infirmities of a weakened frame. Mailamc de la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while listening to her, believed that he was present. Vir- ginina often returned home with her eye» wet with tears. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 and her heart overflowing with delight, havuig had an op- portunity of doing good. After tiiose visits of charity, tliey sometimes prolonged tlieir way by the Sloping Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, where 1 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 repast by the cordial productions of Kiirope. Someli:ii;"s we met upon the sea-shore, at the mouth of little rivers, which are here scarcely larger than brooks. We brought i'roni the plantation om* vegetable provisions, to which we added such as the sea furnished in great variety. Seated upon a rock, beneath the shade of the velvet sunflower, we heard the mountain billows break at our feet with a dashing noise; and sometimes on tiiat spot we listened to the plaintive strains of the water-curlew. Madame de la Tour aiîswered his sorroT^'- ful notes in the foliowin:? sonnet. Q^ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 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 us'd to flow ; Or when it's troubled waves refuse to rest. And seem the symbol of my present woe. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and dances of tlie two young people. A'irginia sung the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of tiiose wlio were impel- led by avarice to cross the furious ocean, ratlier than cul- tivate the earth, and enjoy its peaceful bounties. Some- times she performed a pantomime witii Paul in the mannei- of the negroes. The first language of man is pantomime ; it is known to all nations, and is so natural and so expressive, that the children of the European in- habitants catch it with facility from the negroes. Vir- ginia recalling, amongst the histories which her mo« ther had read to her, those which liad alfected her most, represented the principal events with beautiful simpli- city. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo's tamtam she appeared upon the green-sward, bearing a pitcher upon h^r head, and advanced with a timid step to wards the source of a neighboring fountain, to draw ■water. Domingo and Mary, who personated the shep- herds of M id Ian, forbade her to approach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon which Paul flew to her succor, beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound her brows at the «ame time with a wreath of the red flowers of the Ma- dagascar periwinkle, which served to heighten the deli- cacy of her skin. Then joining tlieir sports, I took upon me the part ofRaguel, and bestowed upon Paul my daughter Zephora in marriage. ■-.>• 64 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Sometimes ^ iiginia represented the unfortunate Ruth, returning poor and widowed to her own coun- try, wliere, at'ler so long an absence, she found her- self as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary per- sonalcd the reapers, ^'iri^inia followed their steps, gleaning here and there a few ears of corn. She was interrogated by Paul with the gravity of a patriarch, and answered, will» a faultering voice, his ques- tions. Soon touched with conipa;>ion, he granted an asylum to innocence, and hospita'.ity to misfortune. 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 de la Tour, recalling the desolate situation in which she had been left by her relations, her wi- dowhood, the kind reception she had met with from Margaret, succeeded by the soothing hope of a happy union between their children, could not forbear weep- ing ; and the sensations which such recollections ex- cited, led the w hole audience to pour fortii 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 trans- ported to the plains of Syria or. of Palestine. We were not unfurnished with either decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable to the representation. Tlie scene PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ^ •was generally placed in the opening of the forest, wliere such parts as were penetrable formed around us numerous arcades of foliage, beneath which we were sheltered from the heat during the whole day ; but when tiie sim descended towards the horizon, its rays, 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 avenue, spreading one daz/ling mass of brightness. The foliage of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, glowed with the lustre of the topaz and the eme- rald. Their brown and mossy trunks appeared transform- ed into cohinuis of antique bronze ; and the birds, who had retired in silence to their leafy shades to pass the night, surprised to see the radiance of a second morning, hailed tlie star of day witii innumerable carols. Night soon overtook us during those rural enter- tainments ; but the purity of the air, and the mildness of the climate, admitted of our sleeping in the woods, secure from the injuries of the weather, and no less se- cure from the molestation of robbers. At our return the following day to our respective habitations, we found them exactly in the same state in which they had beea left. In this island, which then had no commerce, there was so much simplicity and good faith, that the f2 66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. doors of several houses were without a key, and a lock was ail object of curiosity to many of the natives. Amidst the luxuriant beauty of tliis favorite cli- mate, Madame de la Tour often regretted the quick succession from day to night which takes place between the tropics, and which deprived her pensive mind of that hour of twilight, that softened gloom of which is so soothing and sacred to the feelings of tender melan- eholy. This regret is expressed in the following sonnet. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. $^ SONNET TO THE TORRID ZONE. Pathway of light ! o'er thy empurpled zone With lavish ciianns perennial summer strays ; Soft 'midst thy spicy groves the zephyr plays. While far around tlic rich perfumes are thrown ; The amadavid-bird for tliee alone Spreads his gay plumes, that catch thy vivid rays ; For thee the gems willi liquid lustre blaze. And Nature's various wealth is all thy own. But, ah ! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom, Those mild gradations, mingling day with night ; Here instant darkness shrouds thy genial bloom. Nor leaves my pensive soul that ling'ring light. When musing mem'ry would each trace resume Of fading pleasures in succes>ive fliglit. ^ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor alma- nack, 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 sha- dows of tlie trees, the seasons by the times when those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years by the number of their harvests. Those soothing images dif- fused 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 ap- proaches; the tamarinds close their leaves." " When ■will you come to see us ?" inquired some of her com- panions in the neighborhood. " At the time of the sugar-canes," answered Virginia. " Your visit will be then still more delightful," resumed her young acquain- tances. 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 tlie fountain ; and I am as old as the little cocoa-tree. The mangoes have borne fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have borne flow- ers four and twenty times, since I came into the world." Their lives seemed linked to tlie trees like those of fawns or dryads. They knew no other historical epochas than that of the lives of their mothers, no other chrono- logy than that of their orchards, and no other philo- sophy than that of doing good, and resigning them- selves to the will of Heaven. PAUL AND \IRGINIA. (J(j Thus grew those cliildren of nature. No care had (roiibled their peace, no inU.'mperaiice had corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety, possessed tiieir souls ; and tho<;e intellectual graces unfolded themselves in their features, their attitudes, and their motions. Still in the morning of life, they had all its blooming freshness ; and, surely such in the garden of Eden ap- peared our first parents, when, coming fi-om the hands of God, they fu>t saw, approached, and conversed together, like brother and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve ; and Paul, like Adam, united the figure of manhood with 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 labor, " When I am wearied, the sight 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-bud. If you go towards our mother's, house, the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape less beauti- tul, and a step less light. When I lose sight of you, through 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 tiie air w here you have passed, in the grass where you liave been seated. \\'hcn I conxe 70 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. near you, you deliglit all my senses. The azure of heaven is less charming than the blue of yowr eyes, and the song of the amadavid-bird less soft than the sound of your voice. If I only touch you with my finger, my ■whole frame trembles with pleasure. Do you remem- ber the day when we crossed over the great stones of the River of the Three Peaks ? I was very much tired be- fore 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 f Is it by your wisdom ? Our mothers have more than either of us. Is it by your caresses ? Tliey embrace me much oftenerthan you. I think it must be by your good- ness. 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 tiiis flowering orange- branch, which I have culled in the forest; you will place it at night ne;y your bed. Eat this honey-comb, which I have taken for you from the top of a rock, but first lean upon my bosom, and 1 shall be re- freshed." ViRGihfiA 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 aw PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i^j caressed myself. You ask me Avhy you love me. Why ? all creatures tliat are brouglit up together love one another, ixiok 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 ears the airs which you play upon your flute at the top of the moun- tain, I repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. Above all, you are dear to me since the day wjien you wanted to fight the master of the slave for me. Since that time how often have I 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 befal you ! Why do } ou go so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and flowers for me ? How much you are fatiguetl !" and with her little while handker- chief she wiped the damps from his brow. For some time past, however, Virginia had felt her heart agitated by new sensations. Her fine blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek its freshness, and her frame was seized with universal languor. Serenity no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips. She became suddenly gay without joy, and me- lancholy without vexation. She fled lier innocent 72 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. sports, lier gentle l;i1)or<;, ami 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, when going to accost him, was seized with sudden confu- sion : her paie cheeks were overspread with blushes, and her eyes no longer dared to n\eet those of lier bro- ther. Paul said to 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 un- happy." He endeavored to soolii lier by Iiis embraces ; but she turned away her head, and tied trembling to- wards her motker. Thecal esses of her brother excited too much emotion in her agitated lieart. Paul could not comprehend the moaning of those new and strange caprices. On'E of those summers, which sometimes 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 Mau- ritius during the space of three weeks its vertical fires. The south wind, which prevails almost through- out the whole year, no longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the highways, and hung suspended in the air ; the ground was every where broken into défis ; the gras» was burnt ; hot exiialalions issued PAUL AND VIRGINIA. r^^ from the sides of the mountains, and their rivulets for tiie most part became (h-y ; fiery vapors during the day- ascended from the plains, and appeared at the setting of the sun Hke aconllagratlon. Night brought no cool- ness to the heated atmosphere : tlie orb of tlie moon seemed of blood, and, rising in a misty horizon, ap- pcTired of supernatural magnitude. The drooping cat- tle on the sides of the hills, stretching out their necks towards heaven, and panting for air, made the vallics reecho with tlieir mclanclioly lowings; even the Caf- fre, by whom they were led, threw himself upon the earth in search of coolness : but the scorching sun had every where penetrated, and the stifling atmosphere resounded with the buzzing noise of insects, who souglit to allay their thirst in the blood of men and of animals. O.v one of tliose sultry nights Virginia, restless and unhappy arose, then went again to rest, but could find in no attitude either slumber or repose. At length she bent lier way by the ligiit of the moon to- wards her fountain, and gazed at its spring, which, notwithstanding the drought, still flowed like silver threads down tlie brown sides of the rock. She flung herself into the bason; its coolness re-animatcd her spi- rits, and a thousand sootiiing remcmlirances presented themselves to her mind. She recollected that in her infancy her mother and Margaret amused themselves b-y bathing her with I'aul in this very spot j that G 174 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Paul afterwards, reserving this bath for lier use only, had dug its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and sown aromatic herbs around the borders. She saw, re- flected through the water upon her naked arms and bo- som, the two cocoa-trees which were planted at her biith and that of her brother, and which interwove above her head their green branches and young fruit. She thought of Paul's friendship sweeter than the odors, purer than the waters of the fountain, stronger than the intertwining palm-trees, and she sighed. Re- flecting upon the hour of the night, and the profound solitude, her imagination again grew disordered. Sud- denly she flew affrighted from those dangerous shades, and those w'aters 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 hand 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 daughter's uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to her on that subject. " My dear child," said she, " address yourself to God, who dis- poses at his will of health and of life. He tries you now PAUL AND VIRGINIA. -75 in Older to recompe^ise you hereafter. Remember tlut we are only placed upon earth for the exercise of virtue. The excessive heat drew vapors from the ocean, which hung over the island like a vast awning, and ga- thered round tiie summits of the mountains, while 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 vailles ; the rains fell from the skies like cataracts ; foaming torrents rolled down the sides of this mountain ; tiie bottom of the val- ley became a sea; the plat of ground on which tiie cot- tages were built, a little island ; and the entrance of this valley a sluice, along wjiich rushed precipitately the moaning waters, earth, trees, and rocks. Meantime the trembling family addressed their prayers 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, tiiat, althougli the doors and window-shutters were well fastened, every object without was distinctly seen through the jointed beams. Paul, followed by Do- mingo, went with intrepidity from one cottage to ano- ther, notwithstanding the fury of tlie tempest ; here sup- porting a partition with a buttress, there driving in a stake, and only returning to the family to calm their fears, by the hope that the storm was passing away. 76 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Accordingly, in the evening the rains ceased, the trade- winds of the south pursued their ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were thrown towards the north- east, and tiie 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 vapors arose from the ridges of the mountains, furrowed here and there by the foam of the torrents, which were now becom- ing dry. The garden was altogether destroyed by the hollows which the flood had worn, the roots of th« 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, how- ever, were still erect, and still retained their freshness ; but they were no longer surrounded by turf, or ar- bor?, or birds, except a few amadavid-birds, who, upon the points of the ncigliboring rocks, lamented iu plaintive notes the loss of their young. At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed to Paul, " You brought birds hither, and the hurricane has killed them. You planted this gar- den, and it is now destroyed. Every thing tlien upon earth perishes, and it is only heaven that is not sub- Py^UL AND VIRGINIA. 77 ject to change." " Why," answered Paul, " why cannot I give you something which belongs to heaven ? but I am possessed of notiiing even upon eartli." Vir- ginia blushing, resumed, " You have the picture of Saint Paul." Scarcely had she pronounced the words, when he flew in search of it to his mother's cottage. This picture was a small miniature, representing Paul the Hermit, and wliich Margaret, who was very pious, had long worn hung at her neck when she was a girl, and which, since she became a mother, siie 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 offspring 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 whora he had been lirst deceived, and then forsaken. Virginia upon receiving this little picture from tJie hands of Paul, said to him with emotion, " My dear bro- ther, 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 unhoped-for return of fxmiliarity and ten- derness, Paul attempted to embrace her : but light as a bird slie fled, and left him astonished, and unable to account for a conduct so extraordinary. G 2 78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, " Wliy do we not unite our children by marriage > They have a tender attaclmient to each other." Ma- dame de la Tour replied, " They are too young, and too poor. What grief would it occasion us to see Vir- ginia bring into the world unfortunate ciiildren, whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to rear ! Your negro Doniingo is almost too- old to labor ; Ma- ry 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 misfortune. Paul is our only bope : let us wait till his constitution is strengthened, and till he can support us by his labor : at present you well know that we 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 ^ith 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 your son. "We will consult our neighbor on this subject." They accordingly asked my advice, and I was of their opinion, " The Indian seas," I observed to tliem, " are calm, and, in choosing a favorable season, the voyage is seldoni longer than six weeks. We will fur- nish Paul with a little venture in my neighborhood, ivhere he is much beloved. If we were only to sup- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. <^g ply him with some raw cotton, of which we make no inc, for want of mills to work it, some ebony, which is here so common tiiat it serves us for, fu'ing, and some rosin, which is found in our woods ; ail those articles will sell advantageously in tlie Indies, tliougii to us tiiey are useless." I ENGAGED to obtain permission from Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; but I de- termined previously to mention the aiïair to Paul; and my surprise 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 precarious pursuit of Fortune ? Is there any commerce more ad- vantageous than the culture of the ground, which yields sometimes fifty or a hundred fold? If we wish to en- gage in commerce, we can do so by carrying our su- perfluities to the town, witliout my wandering to the Indies. Our mothers tell me, tliat Domingo is old and feeble, but I am youwg, and gathering strength every day. If any accident should happen during my absence, above all, to Virginia, who already sulTers Oil, no, no !....! cannot resolve to leave them." Tins answer threw me into great perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the si- tuation of ^■irglnia, and her^desire of separating those young people for a few ycais. These ideas 1 did not dare to suggest to Paul. 30 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. At tliis period a sliip, which arrived from France, brouglit Madame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. Alarmed by the terrors of approaching death, which could alone penetrate a heart so insensible, reco- vering from a dangerous disorder, which had left her in a state of weakness, rendered incurable by age, slic desired that her niece would return to France ; or, if her health forbade her to undertake so long a voy- age, she conjured her to send Virginia, on whom she wouW bestow a good education, procure for her a splen- did marriage, and leave her tlie inheritance of her whole fortune. The jjcrusal of this letter spread ge- neral consternation through the family. Domingo and Mary began to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, appeared as if his heart was ready to burst with indig- nation ; while Virginia, fixing her eyes upon her mo^ ther, had not power to uller a word. And can you now leave us ?" cried Margaret to Madame de la Tour. " No, my dear friend, no, my beloved 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 but in your affection. If my health be deranged, my past misfortunes are the cause. My heart, deeply wound- ed by the cruelty of a relation, and the loss of my husband, has found more consolation and felicity with you beneath these humble huts, than all the wealth of m}' family could now give me in my own country." PAUL AND VIRGINIA. gj . At this soothing language every eye overflowed Vith tears of delight. Paul pressed Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, " Neither will I leave you ! I vill not go to the Indies. We will all labor for you, my dear niotlier ; and you shall never feel any -wants with us." But of the whole society, the ])erson who dis- played the least transport, and who probably Alt tliG most, was Virginia ; and, during the remainder of iho dav, that gentle gaiety which flowed from her heart, and proved that her peace was restored, completed the general satisfaction. The next day, at sun-rise, while they were offe^ ing up, as usual, their morning sacrifice of praise, which preceded their breakfast, Domingo informed them that a gentleman on jiorseback, followed by two slaves, was coming towards the plantation. This person was Mon- sieur delà Bourdonnais. Ile entered the cottage, where he found the family at breakfast. Virginia had prepar- ed, according 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 planlaiii- tree supplied the want of table linen; and calbassia- shells, split in two, served for uteniils. The governor expressed some surprise at the homeliness of the dwel- ling : then, addressing himself to Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although public affairs drew his at- tention too much from the concerns of individuals. 82 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. she had many claims to hte good offices. " You have an aunt at Paris, Madam/' he added, "a woman of quality, and immensely rich, who expects that you •will 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 under- take so long a voyage. " At least," resumed Monsieur de la Bo'virdonnais, " you cannot, withoat injustice, de- prive this amiable young lady, your daughter, of so noble an inheritance. I will not conceal from you, that your aunt has made use of her influence to oblige you to return ; and that I have received official letters, in which I am ordered to e.\ert my authority, if neces- sary, 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 sacririce of a few years, upon which de- pend your daughter's establishment in the world, and the welfare of your whole life. Wherefore do we come to these islands? Is it not to acquire a fortune! And will it not be more agreeable to fcturn and find it in your own country ?" He then placed a great bag of piasters, which had been brought hither by one of liis slaves, upon the table. " This," added lie, " is allotted by your aunt for tlie preparations necessary for the young lady's voyage." Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for PAUL AND VIRGINIA. gj not having had recourse to him in her difficulties, he extolled at the same time her noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor, " My motlier did ad- dress herself to you, Sir, and you received her ill." *' Have you another child. Madam ?" said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame de la Tour. " Nc, 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 ac- quired a little experience of the world, you will know that it is the misfortune of people in place to be de- ceived, and thence to bestow upon intriguing vice that which belongs to modest merit." 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 créoles, upon coffee mixed with rice, boiled in water. He was de- lighted with the order and neatness which prevailed in the little cottage, the harmony of the two interesting families, 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 tlu; Governor, said to him, " I wish to be your friend ; you are a good man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received with pleasure lihil insular compliment, and, taking Paul by tiie hand, assured him that he might rely upon his friendship. 84 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. Aftlr breakfast lie took Madame de la Tour aside, and inrurnied her that an opportunity presented it- self of sending her dauii;hlerto France in a ship which was going to sail in a short time ; that he would recommend her to a ladv, a rehition of his own, who would be a passenger ; and that she must not think of renouncing an immense fortune, on account of being separated from her daugliter a- few years. " Your aunt," he added, *' cannot live more tiuu-i two years ; of this [ am as- sured by her friends. Think of it seriously. Fortune does not vi.>it us every day. Consult your friends . Every person of good sense will be of my opinion." She answered, that desiring no other happiness hence- forth in the world than that of her daughter, she would leave her departure for France entirel^^ to her own in- clination. Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an op- portunity of separating Paul and Virginia for a short time, and provide by this means for their mutual feli- city at a future period. She took her daughter aside, and, said to her, " My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is still very young. Margaret is advanc- ed in years, and I am already infirm. If I should die, what will become of you, without fortune, in the midst of these desarts ? You will then be left alone, ivithout any person who can afford you much succor, and forced to labor witliout ceasing, in order to sup- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 port your wetched existence. This idea fills my soul with sorrow." Virginia answered, " God has appoint- ed us to labor. You have taught me to labor, and to bless him every day. He never has forsaken us, he never will forsake us. His providence peculiarly watches over the unfortunate. You have told me this 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 depends upon you." A YOUNG girl who loves, believes that all the ■world is ignorant of her passion ; she throws over her eyes the veil which she has thrown over her heart : but when it is lifted up by some cherishing hand, the secret inquietudes of passion suddenly burst their bounds, and the soothing overflowings of confidence succeed that reserve and mystery with which the oppressed heart had enveloped its feelings. Virginia, deeply af- fected by this new proof of her mother's tenderness, related to her how cruel had been those struggles which Heaven alone had witnessed ; declared that she saw the succor 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 H 8Q PAUL AND VIRGINU. mother, without anxiety for the present, and without apprehension for the future. Madame de la Tour, perceiving that tliis confi-- dential conversation had produced an effect altogetlier different from that wiiicli she expected, said, '* My dear child, I will not any more constrain your inclina- tion : deliberate at leisure, but conceal your feelings from Paul." Towards evening, when Madame de la Tour and Virginia uere again together, their confessor, who was a missionary in the island, entered the room, hav- ing been sent by the governor. " My children," he exclaimed as he entered, " God be praised ! you are now rich. You can now listen to the kind suggestions of your excellent hearts, and do good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdoimais has said to you, and what you have answered. Your health, dear Madam, obliges you to remain here; but you, young lady, are without 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 devote yourself for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will have a happy termination. You will surely conseat to go, my dear young lady ?" PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 been reared upon your knees ; we have learnt of you to love each other ; we have said so a thousand times ; and now you would separate lier from me ! You send lier to Europe, tliat barbarous country which refused you an asylum, and to relations by whom you were abandoned. You will tell me that I Iiave no rigiits over her, and that she is not my sister. She is every thing to me, riches, birth, family, my sole good ! I know no otiier. We have 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 fatal 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 without coni])assion ! May the ocean, to which you trust her, restore her to you no more ! May the waves, rolling back our corpse amidst the stones of the beach, give you in the loss of your two children an eternal subject of remorse." At these words I seized him in my arms, for de- spair 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 96 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. friend, I call to witness the pleasures of our early age, your sorrow and my own, and every thing that can for ever bind two unfortunate 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 you all to witness, you ■who have reared my infancy, who dispose of my life, who see my tears. I swear by that Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I am going to pass, by the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a falshood." As the sun softens and dissolves an icy rock upon the summit of the Appennines, so the impetuous pas- sions 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, mingling her tears with his, held him in lier arms, but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, half distracted, said to me, " I can bear this no longer. My heart is broken. Tins un- fortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take my son home with 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 ; PAUL AND VIRGINIA. gy 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 wliich we can contemplate with p'easure. Like the globe upon wliich \vc revolve, our fleeting course is but a day : and if one part of that day be visited by light, the other is thrown into dark ness. " Father," I answered, " finish, I conjure you, the history which you have begun in a manner so interest- ing. If the iniages of happiness are most pleasing, those of misfortune are more instructive. Tdl me what became of the unhappy young man." The first object wliich Paul belield in his way home was Mary, who mounted upon a rock, was earnestly looking towards the sea. As soon as he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, " Where is Virginia ?" Mary turned her head towards iier young master, and began to weep. Paul, rlistracted, and treading back his steps, ran to the harbor. He was there informed, that Virginia had embarked at break of day, tliat the vessel had immediately set sail, and could no longer be discern- ed. He instantly returned to the plantation, which ht crossed without uttering a word. 98 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Although the pile of rocks behind us appears almost perpendicular, those green platforms which se- parate 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 the 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, surrounded by tremen- dous precipices. The clouds, which are attracted round the summit of those rocks, supply innumerable rivu- lets, which rusii from 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 tliat spot you can discern a considerable part of the island with its precipices crowned with their majestic 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 per- ceive 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 Xir- ginia, and which now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He remain- ed a great part of the day with his eyes fixed upon this object: when it had disappeared, he still fancied he be- held 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 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 99 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 sounds of organs, inspire a deep melancholy. On that spot I found Paul, with his head reclined on the rock, and his eyes fi>ted upon the ground. I had followed him since break of day, and, after much importunity, I pre- vailed with him to descend from the heights, and return to his family, I conducted him to the plantation, where the first impulse of his mind, upon seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having deceived him. Madame de la Tour told us, that a favorable •wind 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 NVith a palanquin in search of Virginia, and that, not- vrtthstamling her own objections, her tears, and those of Margaret, all the while exclaiming that it was for the general welfare, they had carried away \'irginia 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 to- gether, one word may iiave escaped me which lias of- fended you, before you leave me for ever, tell me that you forgive me.' I would have said to her, ' Since I am destined to see you no more, farewel, my dear Virginia, farewel ! Live far from me, contented and happy !" 100 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. When he saw that liis mother and Madame de la Tour were weeping, " You must now," said he, " seek some other tiian 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 bow- er called the Repose of Virginia ; and, as the birds fleMf around iiim, exclaimed, " Poor little birds ! you will fly no more to meet her who cherished you !" and observ- ing Fidèle running 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 u))on the rock where he had conversed with her the preceding evening ; and at the view of tlie ocean, upon wliich he had seen the vessel disappear which bore her a\vay, he wept bitterly. We continually watched his steps, apprehending some fatal con'equence 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 af- fliction 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 calle4 him her son, her dear son, whom she destined for her PAUL AND VIRGINIA. jq^ daughter. She prevailed with him to return to the house, and receive a Httle nourishment. He seated him- self with us at table, next to the place whicii used to be occupied by the companion of his childhood, 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 his dream of fancy, lie began to weep. For some days he employed himself in gathering to- gether every thing which had belonged to Virginia ; the last nosegays she had worn, the cocoa-shell iu •which she used to drink ; and after kissing a thousand times those relics of his friend, to him the most precious treasures which the world contained, he hid them in his bosom. 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 la Tour, and that the wants of the family required continual labor, he oe- gan, with the assistance of Domingo, to rep^iy th^ r garden. Soon after' this young man, till now indifferent as a créole with respect to what was passing in the world, desired I would teach him to read and write, that he might carry on a correspondence 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, that he might kuovr 1 2 102 1*AUL AND VIRGINIA. the manners of tlie society in which she was placed. The powerful sentiment of love, which directed his pre- sent studies, had already taught him the arts of agricul- ture, and the manner of laying out the most irregular grounds with advantage and beauty. It must be admit- ted, tliat to the fond dreams of this restless and ardent passion, mankind are indebted fora great number of arts and sciences, while its disappointments have given birth to philosophy, which teaches us to bear the evils of life ■with resignation. Thus, nature having made love the general link which binds all beings, has rendered it the first spring of society, the first incitement to knowledge as well as pleasure. Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geo- graphy, which, instead of describing the natural history of each country, only gave a view of its political boun- daries. History, and especially modern history, inte- rested 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 ; na- tions without principle, and princes without humanity. He preferred the reading of romances, which being fil- led with the particular feelings and interests of men, re- presented situations similar to his own. No book gave jhim so much pleasure as Telemachus, from the pictures which it draws of pastoral life, and of those passions \kluch are natural to tlie human heart. He read aloud PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 to his mother and Madame de la Tour those parts whicli atTccted him most sensibly, when sometimes touched by the most tender remembrances, his emotion choaked his utterance, and his eyes were batiied in tears. He fancied he had found in \'irginia the wisdom of Antiope, •with the misfortunes and the tenderness of Eucharis. With very ditïerent sensations he perused our fashionable novels, filled with licentious maxims and manners. And when he was informed that those romances drew a just picture of European society, he trembled, not without reason, lest Virginia should become corrupted, and should forget him. More than a year and a half had iudeed passed away, before Madame de la Tour received any tidings of her daughter. During that period she had only acci- dentally heard tliat Virginia liad arrived safely in France. At length a vessel, which stopped in its way to the Indies, conveyed to Madame de la Tour a packet, and a letter written with her own hand. Although this amia- ble young woman had written in a guarded manner, in order to avoid wounding the feelings of a mother, it •was easy to discern she was unhappy. Her letter points so naturally her situation and her character, that 1 have retained it almost word for word. .'» " My dear and most beloved mother, I have al- ready sent you several letters, written ■ with my owh 1Ô4 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. hand, but having received no answer, I fear they have not reached you. I have better hopes for tiiis, from the means I have now take» of sending you tidings of my- self, and of hearing from you. I have slied many teare since our separation ; I, wlio never used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others! My aunt was much asto- nished, vi'hen, having, upon my arrival, inquired what accompUshments I possessed, I told her tliat I could neither read nor write. She asked me what then I had learnt since I came into the world ; and, when I an- swered that I had been taught to take care of the house- hold 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 Jjoarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I have masters of all kinds, who teach me> among other things, history, geography,, grammar, mathematics, and riding. But I have so little capacity for all those sciences, that I make but small progress with my masters. " Mv 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 obliged me to re- nounce 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 endured in order to marry you. She has re- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. jQj placed your name by that of your family, which is also dear to me, because it was your name when a girl. See- ing myself in so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send you some assistance. But how shall I re- peat 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, and that a great deal would only encumber you in the simple life you led. " I ENDEAVORED, upon my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by another hand ; but finding no person here in whom I could place confidence, I applied night and day to reading and writing ; and Hea- ven, who saw my motive for learnings no doubt assisted my endeavors ; for I acquired both in a short time. I entrusted 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 vou her direction, by means of whicJi I shall re- ceive your answer. My aunt has fori)id mt'holding any correspondence wiiatever, which might, she says, be- come an obstacle to the great views she lias for my ad- vantage. No person is allowed to see me at the grate but herself, and an old nobleman, oiie of her friends, who, she says, is m uch pleased with me. I am sure I am not at all so with him; nor should I, even if it wore possible for me to be pleased with any one at present. 106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. I LIVE in the midst of affluence, and have not a livre at my disposal. Tiiey say I might make an im- proper use of money. Even my clotlies belong to my waiting-women, who quarrel about them before I have left them off. In tlie bosom of riches, I am poorer than when I lived with you ; for I have nothing to give. When I found that the great accomplishments they taught me would not procure me the power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, of tvhich happily you had learnt me the use. I send se> veral pair of stockings of my own making for you and my mamma Margaret, a cap for DoTningo, and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet some keroels, and seeds of various kinds of iVnit, which I gathered in the fields. There are much' more beautiful flowers in the meadows of this coun- t)-y than in ours, but nobody carf^s for them. I am surd that you and my mamma Margaret will be better pleas- ed witli this bag of seeds, than you were witlr the bag of piasters, which was the cause of our separation, and of my tears. It will give me great delight if you should one day see apple-trees growing at the side of the plantain, and elms bending 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 my griefs. I have no joys far from you. As for my PAUL AND VIRGINIA. jq? griefs, 1 endeavor to soothe them by reflecting, that I ani 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 rather those of my aunt, for they belong more to her than to me, told me the other day, when I wished to turn the conversation upon the objects most dear to me, 'Remember, Ma- dam, that you are a French woman, and must forget that country of savages.' AIi ! sooner will I forget my- self than furget the spo!: on whicii I was born, and which you inhabit! It is this country which is to me a land of savages ; for I live alcne, 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 goodncss Mary and Domingo, who took so much care of my infancy. Ca- ress Fidèle for me, who found me in the wood." Paul was astonished that Virginia iiad not said one word of him, she, who had not forgotten even the house-dog. But Paul was not aware that, however 108 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. long may be a woman's letter, she always puts the senti- ments most dear to her at the end. In a postscript, Virginia recommended particularly to Paul's care two kinds of seed, those of the violet and the scabious. She gave him some instructions upon tlie nature of those plants, and the spots most proper for their cultivation. " The first," she said "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 odors.'* She desired those seeds might be sown along the borders of the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa-tree. " The scabious," she added, '' produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground spot- ted with white. You might fancy it was in mourning; and for this reason it is called the widow's flower. It delights in bleak spots beaten by the wind." She beg- ged this 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 which ap- peared above all price to Paul, when he perceived a P. andaV. intertwined together, and knew that the beau- tiful hair which formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 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 ; assuring her, that happiness had lied Aom their dwelling since her departure, and that as for herself the was inconsolable. Paul also sent her a long letter, in which lie as- sured her that he would arrange the garden in a man- ner agreeable to her taste, and blend the plants of Eu- rope with those of Africa. He sent her some fruit culled from the cocoa-trees of the fountain, which were now ar- rived at maturity ; telling her that he would not add any more of the other seeds of tlie island, that the de- sire of seeing those productions again miglit hasten her return. He conjured her to comply williout delay witli 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 flow- ers of which seemed to bear some analogy to the'charac- ter and situation of Virginia, by whom they Iwd been recommended : but whether they were injured by the voyage, or whether the soil of this part of Africa is un- favorable to their growth, a very small number of thera blew, and none came to perfection. K 110 PAUL A>JD VIRGINIA. Meanwhile that envy which pursues human happiness, spread reports over the island which gave great uneasiness to Paul. The persons who brought Vir- giuia's letter, asserted that she was upon the point of being married, and named the nobleman of the court with whom she was going to be united. Some even declared that she was already married, of which tiiey were witnesses. Paul at first despised this report, brought by one of those trading slups, which often spread erroneous intelligence in their passage ; but some ill-natured persons, by their insulting pity, led him to give some degree of credit to this cruel intelligence. Besides, he had seen in the novels which he had lately read, that perfidy was treated as a subject of pleasantry ; and knowing that those books were faithful representa- tions of European manners, he feared that the heart of Virginia was corrupted, and had forgotten its former en- gagements. Thus his acquirements only served to ren- der him miserable : and what increased his apprehen- sions was, that several ships arrived from Europe, during the space of si.x months, and not one brought any tidings of Virginia. This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by the most cruel agitation, came often to visit me, that I might confirm or banish his inquietude, by my experience of the worid. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. y 1 1 I i-iVE, as I have already told you, a league and a lialf from hence, upon the banks of a little river which glides along llie Sloping Mountain; liiere I lead a solitary life, witliout wife, children, or slaves. After having enjoyed and lost the rare felicity of living whh a congenial mind, the state of life \vhicj| appears the least wretched is that of solitude. It is re- markable that all those nations which have been ren- dered unhappy by their political opinions, their man- ners, or their forms of government, have produced numerous claries of citizens altogether devoted to soli- tude 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 Italians, and most part of the eastern and southern nations of Europe. l Hus I pass my days far from mankind, whom I wished to serve, and by whom I have been persecuted. After havmg travelled over many countries of Europe, and some parts of America and Africa, 1 at length pitch- ed my tent in this thinly peopled island, allured by its mild temperature and its solitude. A cottage wliich 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 before my door, suffice for my wants and for my pleasures. I blend with those enjoyments that of som« 1 1^ PAUL AND VIRGINIA. chosen books, whicli teacli me to become better. They make that world, which I have abandoned, still contri- bute to my satisfaction. They place before nie pictures of those passions which render its inhabitants so misera- ble; and the comparison which I make between their destiny and my own, leads me to feel a sort of nega- tive happiness. Like a man, whom shipwreck 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 down 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 Suprem« Author, and hope for a more happy destiny in another state of existence. Although you do not descry my hermitage, •which is situated in the midst of a forest, among that immense variety of objects which this elevated spot pre- sents, the grounds a^e disposed with particular beauty, at least 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 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, jjj date plum-trees, what we here call the narrow-leaved dodonca, olive-wood, gum-trees, and the cinnamon- tree; while in some parts the cabbage-trees raise their naked columns more than an hundred feet high, crown- ed at their summits with clustering leaves, and tower- ing above tiie wood like one forest piled upon another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining among the •woods, form arcades of flowers, and verdant canopies : tliose trees, for the most part, shed aromatic odors of a nature so powerful, that the garments of a traveller, \vho has passed through the forest, retain for several hours the delicious fragrance. In tlie season when those trees produce their lavish blossoms, they appear as if co- vered with snow. One of the principal ornaments 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 ia the follow- ing sonnet, writtcij at one of her first visits to my her- mitage. K2 114 PAUL AND VIRGINIA SO N N E T 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, ^V]lose power the sulFring wretch frona pain can free ! !My pensive footsteps 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 lias friendship cast her soothing shade O'er my unslielter'd bosom's keen distress ; Thus sought to heal the wounds which love has madcj And temper bleeding sorrows sharp excess ! Ah ! not in vain she lends her balmy aid ! The aeonies she cannot cure ai^e less ! PAUL AND VIRGINIA. II5 Towards tlie end of summer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, impelled by an inexplicable in- stinct, from unknown regions, and across immense oceans, to gather the profuse grains of this island ; and tl;e brilliancy of their expanded plumage forms a con- trast to the trees embrowned by the sun. Such, among others, are various kinds of peroquets, the blue pi- geon, called here the pigeon of Holland, and the wan- dering and majestic white bird of the Tropic, "which Madame de la Tour thus apostrophized. 11g PAUL AND VIRCINU. SONNET TO THE WHITE BIRD OF THE TROPIC. Bird of the Tropic ! thou, who lov'st to stray. Where thy long pinions sweep the sultry line. Or mark'st the bounds which torrid beams confine By thy averted course, that shuns the ray Oblique, enamor'd of sublimer day : Oft on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline. And drop those snowy feathers Indians twine To crown the warriors brow with honors gay. O'er trackless oceans what impels thy wing? Does not 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 canst spring : B»it I my long-lost home no more shall bail '. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 The domestic inhabitants of our forests, monkies, sport upon the dark branches of the trees, for 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. Tlie murderous gun has never affrighted those peaceful children of nature. You sometimes hear the warbling» of unknown birds from the soul'.iern countries, repeated at a distance 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 mas- ses of woody shade, together with the sport of its hap- py inhabitants. About a thousand paces from thence the river precipitates 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. Innu- merable confused sounds is?ue from those tumultuous waters, which, scattered by the winds of the forest, sometimes sink, sometimes swell, and send forth a hol- low tone like the deep bells of a cathedral. The air, for ever renewed by the circulation of the waters, fans the banks of that river with freshness, andJeaves a de- gree of verdure, notwithstanding the summer heats, rarely found in tliis island, even upon tlie summits of the mountains. At some distance is a rock placetl far ctiough from lis PAUL AND VIRGINIA. the cascade to prevent tlie ear from beiiîg drarc-iied hj the noise of its waters, and aufficiently near for the en- joyment of their view, their coolness, and their murmur». Thither, amidst the heats of wmmer, Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul, and myself, some- times repaired, and din^d beneath tiie shadow of th« rock. Virginia, who always directed lier most ordinary actions to the good of others, never eat of any fruit witiiout planting the seed or kernal 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 ^vhich yielded fruit. This tree had risen but a little from the ground at the time of Virginia's departure; but, its growth being rapid, in the space of two years it had gained twenty feet of height, and the upper part of its stem was encircled with several layers of ripe fruit. Paul, having wandered to the spot, was delighted to see that this lofty tree had arisen from the small seed planted by his beloved friend ; but that emotion in- stantly gave place to deep melancholy, at this evidence of her long absence. The objects which we see habitu- ally do not remind us of the rapidity of life ; they de- cline insensibly with ourselves; but those which we be- hold again, after having for some yeai-s lost sight of them, impress us powerfully with the idea of that swift- PAUL AND VITIGINIA. ng ness with which the tide of our days flows on. Paul was no less overwhelmed and affected at the sight of this great papaw-trce, loaded with fruit, than is the tra- veller, when, after a long absence from his own country, he finds not his contemporaries, but their children, vhom lie left at the breast, and whom he sees are be- come fathers of families. Paul sometimes thought of hewing down the tree, wliich recalled too sensibly the distracted image of that length of time wliich had elapsed since the departure of Virginia. Sometimes, contem- plating it as a monument of her benevolence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophized it in terms of the most pas- sionate 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 neighborhood. One day, when I found him absorbed in melancholy, we had a conversation, which I will relate to you, if I do not weary you by my long digressions ; perhaps pardon- able to my age and my last friendships. Paul said to me, "I am very unhappy. Made- moiselle 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 ricli, and I am poor. She has forgotten mc. I have a great mind to 120 I'AUL AND VIRGLNU. follow her. I will go to Fiance ; I will serve the king; make a fortune ; and tiien Mademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will bestow her neice upon me when I shall have become a great Lord." " But, my dear friend," I answered, " have yoa not told me that you are not of noble bhth?" *' 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 ever be received among any distinguished body of men." " How unfortunate I am !" resumed Paul : " Every thing repulses me. I am condemned to waste my wretched life in labor, far from Virginia." And he heaved a deep sigh. " Since her relation," he added, " will only give lier in marriage to some one with a great name, by the aid of 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 indepeur dent ; I shall become renowned ; and my glory wiiyw? long only to myself." * PAUL AND VIRGINIA. j^i " 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 sensibility, 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 wiio presents them with a book." " Oh ! she then," exclaimed Paul, " who planted this papaw-trce, made a present to the inliabitauts of the forest more dear and more useful than if she had given them a library." And, seizing the tree in his arms, he kissed it with transport. " Ah ! I desire glory only," he resumed, " to confer it upon Virginia, and render her dear to the whole universe. But you, who know so much, tell me if we shall ever be married. I wish I was at least learned enough to look into futurity. Virginia must come back. What need has she of a rich relation.» She was so happy in those huts, so beautiful, and so well dressed, witii a red handkerchief or flowei"s round her head ! Return, Virginia ! Leave your palaces, your splendor ! Return to these rocks, to the shade of our woods and our cocoa-trees ! Alas ! you are, per- haps, unhappy !" And he began to weep. " My fa^ L 122 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. tlier ! conceal nothing from me. If you cannot tell me whether I shall marry Virginia or no, tell me, at least, if she still loves me amidst those great lords who speak to the king, and go to see her." " Oh ! my dear friend," I answered, " I am sure that she loves you for several reasons ; but, above all, because she is virtuous." At those words he threw him- self upon my neck in a transport of joy. " But what," said he, " do you understand by \irtue ?" " My son ! to you who support your family by your labor, it need not be defined. >'irtue is an effort which we make for the good of others, and with the in- tention of pleasing God." Oh ! how virtuous then," cried he, " is Virginia ! Virtue made her seek for riches, that she might practise benevolence. Virtue led her to forsake this island, and \irtue will bring her hack." The idea of her near re- turn fired his. imagination, and his inquietudes suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, had not written, because she would soon arrive. It took so little time to come from Europe with a fair wind ! Then he enume- rated the vessels which had made a passage of four thou- sand five hundred leagues in less than three months ; PAUL AND VIRGINIA. lO.J and pciliaps the vessel in which Virginia had embark- ed niighl not be longer than two. Siiip-buildeis were now so ingenious, and sailors so expert ! He then told me of the arrangeinents he would make for her recep- tion, of tlie new habitation he would build for her, of the pleasures and surprises which each day sliou'd bring along with it when siie was his wife. His wife ! That hope was ecstacy. " At least, my dear father," said he, " you shall then do nothing more than you please. ^'irginia being rich, we shall have a number of negroes, who will labor for you. You shall always live wit'i us, and have no other care than to amuse and rejoice your- self."' And, his hearf throbbing with delight, he flew to communicate those exquisite sensations to his family. In a short time, however, the most cruel appre- hensions succeeded those enchanting hopes. Violent passions ever throw the soul into opposite extremes. Paul returned to my dwelling absorbed in melancholy, and said to me, " I hear nothing from Virginia. Had she left Europe she would have informed me of her de- parture. Ah! the reports which I have heard concern- hig her are but too well founded. Her aunt has married her to some great lord. S!ie, like other-, has been un- done by the love of riches. In those books which paint women so well, virtue is but a subject of romance. Had \'irginia been virtuous, she would not have forsaken her mother and me, and while I pass life in thinking of her. 124 ^AUL AND VIRGINIA. forget me. While I am wretched, she is happy. Ah! that thought distracts me : labor becomes painful, and society irksome. Would to heaven that war were declar- ed in India, I would go there and die." " My son," I answered, " that courage which prompts us to court death, is but the courage of a mo- ment, and is often excited by the vain hopes of posthu- mous fame. There is a species of courage more neces- sary, and more rare, which makes us support, without witness, and without applause, the various vexations of life ; and that is patience. Leaning not upon the opi- nions of others, but upon the will of God, patience is the courage of virtue. " Ah !" cried he, " I am then without virtue Every thing overwhelms and distracts me." " Equal, constant, and invariable virtue," I repli- ed, " belongs not to man. In the midst of so many pas- sions, by which we are agitated, our reason is disordered and obscured : but there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we can rekindle its flame, and that is literature. *' Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Hea- ren ; a ray of that wisdom which governs the universe ; and which man, inspired by celestial intelligence, has drawn do'.vn to earth. Like the sun, it enlightens, it rejoices. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. J 35 it warms with a divine flame, and seems, in some sort, like the element of fuc, to bend all nature to our use. By the aid of literature, we bring around us all things, all places, men, and times. By its aid we calm the passions, suppress vice, and excite virtue. Literature is the daughter of heaven, who has descended upon earth to soften and to charm all liuman evils. " Have recourse to your books tiien, my son. The sages wiio have written before our days are travel- lers who have preceded us in the patlis of misfortune ; who stretched out a friendly hand towards us, and in- vile us to join their society, when every thing else abandons us. A good book is a good friend !" " Ah !" cried Paul, "I stood in no need of books when Virginia was here, and she had studied as little as mo : but when she looked at me, and called me her friend, it was impossible for me to be unhappy." " Undoubtedly," said I, " there is no friend so agreeable as a mistress by who.ni we are beloved. There is in the gay graces of woman, a charm that dis- pels the dark phantoms of reflection. Upon her face sits soft attraction, and tender confidence. What joy is not heightened in which she sliares ? What brow is not unbent by her smiles ? What anger can resist Jier t«?ars ? Virginia will return with more phi'osophy thaji l2 125 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. you, and will be surprised not to find the garden finish- ed ; she who thought of its embellishments amidst the persecutions of her aunt, and far from her mother and from you." The idea of Virginia's speedy return reanimated her lover's courage, and he resumed his pastoral occupa- tions ; happy amidst his toils, in the reflection that they would find a termination so dear to the wishes of his heart. The 24th of December, 1774, at break of day, Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag hoisted up- on the Mountain of Discovery, which was the signal of a vessel descried at sea. He flew to the town, in order to learn if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited till the return of the pilot, who had gone as usual to visit the ship. The pilot brought the governor information that the vessel was the Saint-Geran, of se- ven hundred tons, commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin ; that the ship was now four leagues out at sea, and would anchor at Port Louis the following afternoon, if the wind were favorable: at present there was a calm. The pilot then remitted to the governor a number of letters from France, amongst which was one addressed to Madame de la Tour, in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, placed it in his bosom, and flew to the planta- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 tion. No sooner did he perceive from a distance the fa- mily, who were waiting his return upon the Farexvell Rock, then he waved theletter in the air, without having the power to speak ; and instantly the whole family crowded round Madame de la Tour to hear it read. Virginia informed her mother that she had suffered much ill-treatment from her aunt, who, having in vaia urged her to marry against her inclination, had disinhe- rited her ; and at length sent her back at such a season of the year, that she must probably reach the Mauritius at the period of the hurricanes. In vain, she added, she had endeavored to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to her mother, and to the habits of her early years : she had been treated as a romantic girl, whose head was turned by novels. At present she said she could think of nothing but the transport of again seeing and embracing her beloved family ; and that she would have satisfied this dearest wish of her heart that very day, if the captain would have permitted her to embark in the pilot's boat ; but that he had opposed her go- ing, on account of the distance from the shore, and of a swell in the ocean, notwithstanding it was a calm. Scarcely was the letter finished, when the whole family, transported with joy, repeated, " Virginia is arrived !" and mistresses and servants embraced each other. Madame de la lour said to Paul, " My son, go and inform our neiglibor of Virginia's arrival." Do- 128 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. mingo immediately lighted a torch, and he and Paul bent their way towards my plantation. It was about ten at night, and I was going to ex- tinguish my lamp, when I perceived through the Pa- lisades of my hut a light in the woods. I arose, and had just dressed myself, when Paul, half wild, and panting for breath, sprung on my neck, crying, " Come along, come along. Mrginia is arrived ! Let us go to the Port : The vessel will anchor at break of day. "We instantly set off. As we were traversing the woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the Port, I heard some one walking behind us. When the person, wlio was a negro, and who advanced with hasty steps, had reached us, I enquired from whence became, and whither he was a-going with such expedition. He answered, " I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust ; and am sent to the Port, to inform the governor, that a ship from France has anchored upon the island of Amber, and fires guns of distress ; for the seals very stormy." Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey. " Let us go," said I to Paul, " towards that part of the island, and meet Virginia. It is only three PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 leagues from hence." Accordingly we bent our course thither. The iieat was suffocating. Tiie moon iiad risen, and was encompassed by three large black circles. A dismal darkness shrouded the sky ; but the frequent flakes of lightning discovered long chains of thick clouds, gloomy, low-hung, and heaped together over the middle of the island, after having rolled with great rapidity from the ocean, although we felt not a breath of wind upon the land. As we walked along, we thought we heard peals of thunder ; but, after listen- ing more attentively, we found they were the sound of distant cannon, repeated by the echoes. Those sounds, joined to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had little doubt that they were signals of distress from a ship in danger. In half an hour the firing ceased, and I felt the silence more appalling than the dismal sounds which iiad preceded. We hastened on without uttering a word, or dar- ing to communicate our apprehensions. At midnight we arrived on the sea-shore at that part of the island. The billows broke against the beach with a horrible noise, covering the rocks and the strand with their foam of a dazzling whiteriess, and blended with sparks of fire. By their phosphoric gleams we distinguished, notwith- Rtanding the darkness, the canoes of the fishernien> Vihich they had drawn far upon the sand. ISO PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Near the shore, at the entrance of a wood, we saw a fire, round which several of tlie inhabitants were assembled. 1 hither we repaired, in order to repose our- selves till morning. One of the circle related, that in tlie afternoon he had seen a vessel driven towards the kland by the currents ; that the ni'^ht had hid it from his view ; and that two hours after sun-set he had heard the firing of £;uns in distress : but that the sea was so tempc>tuous, no boat could venture out: that a short time after, he thought he perceived tlie glimmering of the watch-lights en board the vessel, which he feared, by its'ha-^ing approached so near the coast, had steered between the main land and the little island of Amber, mistaking it for the Point of Endeavor, near which the •vessels pass in order to gain Port Louis. If this was the case, which however he coukl not affirm, the ship he ap- prehended was in great danger. Another islander then informed us, that he had frequently crossed the channel which separates the Isle of Amber from the coast, and which he had sounded ; that the anchorage was good, and that the ship would there be in as great security as if it were in harbor. A third islander declared it was»ini- possible for the s'lip to enter that channel, which was scarcely navigable for a boat. He asserted, that he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond the Isle of Amber ; so that if the wind arose in the morning, it could either put to sea, or gain the harbor. Different opinions were stated upon this subject, which while those indolent PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 Creoles calmly disciis-;ed, Paul and I observed a profound silence. \\ e remained on tiiis spot till break of day, when tlie weatlier was loo hazy to adniit of our distin- guishing any object at sea, wliicli was covered with fog. All we could descry was a dark cloud, wliich they told us was the Isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter of a league from tlie coast. We could only discern on this gloomy day the point of the beach where we stood, and tlie peaks of some mountains in the interior part of the island, rising occasionally from amidst the clouds whicl» hung around tlicm, « At seven in tlie morning we heard the beat of drums in the woods ; and soon after the governor, Mon- sieur de Iti Bourdoimais, arrived on horseback, followed by a detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a great number of islandci-3 and blacks. He ranged Jiis soldiers upon the beacli, and ordered them to make a ge- neral discharge, which was no sooner done, than we per- ceived a glimmering light upon tiic water, which was in- stantly succeeded by the sound of a gun. We judged that- tlie ship was at no great distance, and ran toward? that part where we had seen tiie light. We now discern- ed through the fog the hulk and tackling of a large vesr scl ; and, notwithstanding the noise of tiie waves, we were near enough to hear the wliistle of the boatswain at tlie helm, and the shouts of the mariners. As soon as the Saiiit-Gcran p'.'iceived that we were near enough to 132 TAUL AND VIRGINIA. give her succor, she ccntînued to fire guns regularly at the interval of three minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdon- nais caused great fires to be liglited at certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabitants of that neighborhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels. A crowd of people soon arrived, accompanied by their negroes, loaded with provision» and rigging. One of the most aged of the planters ap- proaching the governor, said to him, " We have heard all night hoarse noises in the mountain, and in the fo- rests : the leaves of the trees are shaken, altliough there is no wind ; the sea-birds seek refuge upon the land : It is certain that all those signs announce an hurricane." '* Well, my friends," answered the governor, " we arc prepared for it ; and no doubt the vessel is aU-o" Every thing, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. The centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, while their skirts were fringed with a copper-hue. The air resounded with the cries of the frigate-bird, the cur-water, and a multitude of othet sea-birds, who, notwithstanding tlie obscurity of the at- mosphere, hastened from all points of the horizon to seek for shelter in the island. Towards nine in the morning we heard on the side of the ocean the most terrific noise, as if torrents of water, mingled with thunder, were rolling down the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ]35 steeps of tiie niounlains. A general cry was heard of •' There is the hiirricaRC !" and in one moment a fright- ful whirlwind scattered the fog whicii had covered the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Geran, then presented itself to our view, her gallery crowded with people, her yards and main-top-mast laid upon the deck, her flag shivered, with four cables at her head, and one bv which she was held at the stern. She had anchored between the Isle of Amber and the main land, within that chain of breakers which encircles the island, and ■which bar she had passed over in a place where no ves- sel had ever gone before. She presented her head to the waves, which rolled from the open sea ; and as each billow ruslu'd into the straits, the sliip heaved, so that her keel was in air ; and at the same moment, her stern, plunging into tiie water, disappeared altogether, as if it were swallowed up by tlie surges. In this position, dri- ven by the winds and waves towards the shore, it was eciiialiy impossible for her to return by the passage through which shj had made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to throw herself upon the beach, from which she was separated by sand banks, mingled with breakers. Every billow wiiicli broke upon the coast advanced roar- ing to the bottom of the bay, and threw ph.nks to the distance of fifty feet upon the land ; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed ; from which it rolled im.r.ense stone?, with a hoarse dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the wind, rose higher every moiusnt ; M 134 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. aud tlie cliannel between this island and the Isle of Amber was but one vast sheet of white foam, with yawning pits of black deep billo-vS. Tiie foam boiling in the gulph was more than six feet high ; and the winds ■which swept its surface bore it over the steep coast more than half a league upon the land. Those innumerable white Hakes, driven horizontally as far as the foot of the mountain, appeared like snow issuing from the ocean, which was now confounded with the sky. Thick clouds of a horrible form swept along the zenith with the swift- ness of bnds, while others appeared motionless as rocks. No spot of azure could be discerned in the firmament ; only a pale yellow gleam displayed the objects of earth, sea, and skies. From the violent efforts of the ship, what \fre dreaded happened. The cables at the head of the ves- sel were torn away ; it was then held by one anchor only, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half a cable's length from the shore. A ge- neral cry of horror issued from the spectators. Paul rushed towards the sea, when, seizing him by the arm, I exclaimed, "Would you perish?" "Let me go to save her," cried he, " or die !" Seeing that despair had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord round his waist, and seized hold of each end. Paul then precipitated himself towards the ship, now swimming, now walking upon the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 breakers. Sometimes he had t'.ie hope of reaching the vessel, which (Jie sea in its irregular movenients had left almost dry, so tliat you could have made its circuit on foot ; but suddenly the waves, advancing with new fu- ry, sliroudcd it beneath mountains of water, wliich then lifted it upright upon its keel. The billows at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his 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 to- wards the vessel, the parts of which now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the billows. The crew then, despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, p'.anks, hen-coops, tables, and bar- rels. At this moment we beheld an object fitted to ex- cite eternal synipathy ; a young lady in the stem of the Saint-Geran, stretching out her arms towards iiim wlio made so many elTorts to join her. It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight of tliis amiable young woman, exposed to such horrible dan- ger, filled us with unutterable despair. As for ^'irgiIlia, with a firm and dignified mein, she waved her liand, as if bidding us an eternal farewel. AU the sailors had flung themselves into the sea, except one, who still re- mained upon the deck, and who was naked, and strong as Hercules. This man approaclied \'irginia with res- pect, and kneeling at her feet, attempted to force her lotiirowoff her clothes; but she repulsed- him with mo- 136 ^AUL AND VIRGINIA. desty, and turned away her head. JThen was heard re- doubled cries from the spectators, " Save her ! Save her ! Do not leave her !" But at that moment a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulplied itself be- tween the Isle of Amber and the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it rolled bellowing, •with its black sides and foaming head. At this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into the sea ; and Virginia, seeing death inevitable, placed one hand upon lier clothes, the other on her heart, and lifting up her lovely eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her flight to heaven. Oh, day of horror ! Alas ! every thing was swal» ]o"*-ed up by the relentless billows. The surge threw some of the spectators far upon the beach, whom an i in- pulse of humanity prompted to advance towards Vir- ginia, and also the sailor who had endeavored to save her life. This man, who had escaped from almost cer- tcin 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 woman !" Domingo and myself drew Paul senseless to th« shore, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The governor put him into the hands of a surgeon, while we sought aloipg the beach for the corp-^e of Virginia. But the wind having suddenly changed, which frequently f f AUL AND VmCINIA. 137 happens during liunicanes, our search \vas vain ; and ■we lamented that we could not even pay this unfortunate young woman tlie last sad sepulchral duties. We retired from tlie spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, al- though 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 teiTible, such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the wise is some- times shaken. In the mean time Paul, who began to recover his senses, was taken to a house in the neighborhood, till lie was able to be removed to his own habitation. Thither I bent my way with Domingo, and undertook the sad task of preparing Virginia's motiicr and her fnend for the me- lancholy event tliat had happened. When wc reached the- entrance of the valley of the riv(rr of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed us that the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the oppoite bay. We descend- ed towards it ; and one of the first objects which struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. Tlie body was half covered with sand, and in the alti- tude in which we had seen her perish. lier features were not changed ; lier eyes were closed, her counte- nance was still serene ; but the pale violets of dcalli M 2 138 I*Al-L AND VmCIMA. were blcnJed on her clicck wit'u tlie blusli of \irgin modest}'. One of her hands was placed upon her clothes ; and the oilier, which she held on lier heart, was fast closed, and so stiffened, that it was witli difliciiUy I look from its grasp a small box. How great was my emo- tion, when I saw it contained the picture of Paul, which she had promised him never to part with while she lived ! At the sight of tiiis last mark of the fidelity and tender- ness of the u|iforUinale girl, I wept bitlerly. As for Do- mingo, he beat his breast, and pierced tiie air with his cries. We carried the body of Virginia to a fisher's hut, and gave it in charge to some poor Malabar women, who carefully washed away the sand. While they were employed in this melancholy of» fice, we ascended witli IrembUng steps to the plantation. We found Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer, -wliile wailing for tidings from the ship. As soon as Ma- dame de la 1 our saw me coming, she eagerly cried, " Where is my child, my dear child ?" My silence and my tears apprized her of her misfortune. She was seized with convulsive stifiings, wilii agonizing pains, and her voice was only heard in groans. Margaret cried, " Where is my son ? I do not see my sori !" 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 ofc the governor, she only thought of succoring her friend, who had long successive faintings. Madame de PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 la Tour pa->sccl the niglit insuiTerings so exquisite, that I bjcaine convinced there was no sorrow like a mother's sorrow. When she recovered lier senses, she cast her lan- guid and stedfast looks on heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her liands in ours : in vain we called upon her by tlie most tender names ; she appeared whol- ly insensible ; and her oppressed bosom heaved deep and holiow moans. In the morning Paul was brought home in a palan- quin. He was now restored to reason, but unable to ut- ter a word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I !iad dreaded, produced abetter ef- fect than all my cares. A ray of consolation gleamed upon the countenances of those unfortunate mothers. They ilew 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 nature having thus found relief, a long stu- por succeeded the convulsive pangs tiiey had suiTered, and gave them a lethargic repose like that of death. Monsieur de la Bourdoi-;nais sent to afiprize me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been borne to the town by liis 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 i^m all parts, in order to be present at llic funeral solemnity, as 140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. if the whole island had lost its fairest oriianient. The vessels in tiie harbor had their yards crossed, their flags hoisted, and fired guns at intervals. Tiie grenadiers led the funeral procession, with their niHsqucls reversed, tlieir drums niuiïlcd, and sending forth slow dismal sounds. Eiglit young ladies of the most considerable families of tlie island, dressed in white, and bearing palms in their hands, supported the pail of their amiable companion, which was strewed v.ilh flowers. They were followed by a band of children, chaunting hymns, and by the governor, his field officers, all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an immense crowd of people. This funeral solemnity had been ordered by the administration of the country, who were desirous of ren- dering honors to the virtue of Virginia. But when the procession arrived at the foot of this mountain, at the sis:ht of those cottages, of which she had so long been the ornament and happiness, and which her loss now fiiitnl with despair, the funeral pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthems ceased, and the plain resounded with sighs and lamentations. Companies of young girls ran from tlie neighboring plantations to touch tiie coffin of \'irginia with their scarfs, chaplcts, 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 sUves, 93 kind a mistress. I^AUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 When the procession had reached the place of in- terment, tlie négresses of Madagascar, and the caffres of Mosanibiac, placed basi{ Bengal, and of t lie coast of Malabar, brought cages filled wilh birds, which they set at lil)erty upon her cof- fin. Thus did the loss of this amiable object affect the natives of different countries, and thus was the ritual of various religions breathed over the tomb of unfortunate •virtue. She was interred near the church of the Shaddock Grove, upon the western side, attiie foot of a copse of bamboos, wlieres in coming from mass with her mo- ther and Margaret, she loved to repose herself, seated by him whom she called her brother. On his return from the funeral solemnity. Mon- sieur de la Bourdoniiais 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 indignation at tlie conduct of her unnatural 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 happiness, and that of your family. My dear friend, you must go to France : 142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. I will obtain a commission for you, and during your ab- sence will take the same care of your mother as if she vere my r.*.n." He tiien otTered him his hand ; but Paul drew away, and turned his head, unable to bear bis sight. I REMAINED at the plantation of my unfortunate friends, that I might render to them and Paul tliose of- fices 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 propor- tion as his frame gathered strength. He was insensible to every thing ; his look was vacant ; and when spoken tOj he made no reply. Madame de la Tour, who was dying, said to him oflen, " My son, while I look at you 1 tliink I see Virginia." At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened from her, notwithstanding the intrealies of his mother, v.h.o called him back to her friend. He used to wander into the garden, and seat liimself at the foot of Virginia's cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed upon the fountain. The surgeon to the governor, who had shewn tlie most humane attention to Paul, and the whole family, told us that, in order to cure that deep iTielancholy which had taken possession of his mind, we must allow him to do whatever he pleased, without contradiction, as the only means of conquering his inflexible silence. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 I RESOLVED to follow this advice. Tlie first use x^hich Paul made of liis returning strength was to absent himself from the plantation. Being determined not to lose sight of liim, I set out immediately, and desired Domingo to take some provisions and accompany us. Paul's strength and '^pirits seemed renewed as he de- scended (he mountain. He took the road of the Siiad- dock Grove; and when lie was near the cliurch, in the Alley of Bamboos, he walked directly to the spot •where he saw some new-laid earth, and there kneeling down, and raising up his eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer, which appeared to me a symptom of re- turning reason ; since (his mark of confidence in tiie Su- preme Bluing sh. wed that his mind began to resume its natural functions. Domingo and I followed his exam- ple, 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 ignorant of the spot where the body of Virginia was laid, but even whether it had been snatciied from the waves, I asked him why he had offered up liis prayer at the toot of those bamboos. He answered, '* We have been there so often 1" He continued his course until we reached the borders of the forest, when night came on. I prevailed with liim 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 havijig gazed 144 I'^^^^L AND VIRGINL\. n considerable time upon the church of the Shaddock Grove, vviti» its avenues of bamboo stretching along the plain, he made a motion as if he would return ; but, suddenly plunging into the forest, he directed his course to the nortii. I judged what was his design, from which I endi-avorcd to dissuade him in vain. At noon •we arrived at that part of the island called the Golden- Dust, lie rushed to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the Saint-Geran perished. At the sight of the Isle of Amber, and its channel, then smooth as a mir- ror, he cried, " ^'irginia ! Oh ! my dear ^'irginia !" and fell seneless. Domingo and myself carried him in- to the woods, where we recovered liim with some diffi- culty. He made an effort to return to the sea-shore ; but, having conjured him not to renew his own anguish and ours by those cruel remembrances, he took another di- rection. During eight days, he sougiit every spot •wJiere he liad once wandered with the companion of his childhood. He traced the path by which she had gone to intercede for tlic slave of the Black River. He gaz- ed again upon the banks of the. Three Peaks, where she had reposed herself when unable to walk further, and upon that part of the wood where they lost their way. All those haunis, which recalled the inquietudes, the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he loved, the river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the neigh- boring cascade, the papaw-tree she had planted , the mos- sy downs wliere she loved to run, the openings of the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 forest where slie 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 !" While he led this savage and wandering life, his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin assumed a yel- low tint, and his health rapidly decayed. Convinced that present sufferings are rendered more acute by the bitter recollection of past pleasures, and that the pas- sions gather strength in solitude, 1 resolved to tear my unfortunate friend from those scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and to lead him to a mor« bu- sy part of the island. With this view, I conducted him to the inhabited heights of Williams, which he had ne- ver visited, and where agriculture and commerce ever occasioned much bustle and variety. A crowd of car- penters were employed 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 feeding on tliose ample meadows, over which a number of habitations were scattered. On many spots the elevation of the soil was favorable to the culture of European trees : ripe corn waved its yello\» sheaves u|X)n the plains ; strawberry plants flourished in the openings of the woods, and hedges of rose-bushes along the roads. The freshness of the air, by giving a N 146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. tension to the nerves, was favorable to the Europeans, From those heights, situated near the middle of the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, you could neither discern Port Louis, the church of the Siiaddock Grove, or any other object which could recal to Paul the remembrance 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, stretching itself in a straight and perpendicular 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 sunshine, night and day, and contriving that he should lose himself in the depths of forests, leading him over untilled grounds^ and endeavoring, by violent fatigue, to divert his mind from its gloomy meditations, and change the course of his reflections, by the ignorance of the paths where we wandered. 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 tu- mult of crowds, time itself, while it casts the shade of oblivion over so many other remembrances, in vain would tear the tender and sacred recollection from the heart ; which, like the needle when touched by the loadstone, however, it may have been forced into agi- tation, is no sooner left to repose, than it turns to the PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 pole by which it was attracted. When I enquired of Paul, while we wandered among the plains of Williams, " Where are we now going ?" He pointed to the north, and said, " Yonder are our mountains ; let us return.** Upon tlie whole, I found that every means I took to divert his melancholy was fruitless, and that no re- source was left but an attempt to combat his passion by the arguments wliich reason suggested. I answered him, " Yes, there are the mountains where once dwe\t your beloved Virginia ; and this is the picture you gave 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 sigiit a gloomy joy overspread his looks. He eager- ly seized the picture with his feeble hands, and held it to his lips. His oppressed bosom seemed to burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears whicii had no power to flow, " My son," said I, "listen to him who is your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and who, in the bloom of your hopes, endeavored to fortify your mind against the unforeseen accidents of life. What do you deplore with so much bitterness ; Your own misfortunes, or those of Virginia ? Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost the most amiable of womea ; 148 PAUL AND VmCINIA. slie wlio sacrificed her own interests to yours, v:ho pre- ferred you to all that fortune could bestow, and consi- dered you as the only recompence worthy of her virtues. But might not this Tcry object, from whom you expected the purest happiness, have proved to you a source of the most cruel distress ? She had returned poor, disin- herited ; and all you could henceforth have partaken with her was your labors ; while rendered more delicate by her education, and more courageous by her misfor- tunes, you would have beheld her every day sinking be- neath her efforts to share and soften your fatigues. Had she brought you children, this would have served only to increase her inquietudes and your own, from the difïï- culty of sustaining your aged parents and jour infant fa- mily. You will tell me, there would have been reserved to you an happiness independent of fortune, that of protecting a beloved object, which attaches itself to ui in proportion to its helplessness ; that your pains and suf- ferings would have served to endear you to each other, and that your passion would have gathered strength from your mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly, virtuous love can shed a charm over pleasures which are thus min- gled with bitterness. But Virginia is no more ; yet those persons still live, whom, next to yourself, she held most dear ; her mother, and your own, whom your inconso- lable affliction is bending with sorrow to the grave. riaceyour happiness, as she did hers, in affording them succor. And why deplore the fate of Virginia ? Vir- PAUL AND VIRGINIA. jj^g ginia stiil exists. Tlicre is, be assured, a region, in wliich virtue receives its reward. Virgiuia now is hap- py. Ah! if, from the abode of angels, she could tell you, as she did when she bid you farewel, ' O Paul ! life is but a trial. I was faithful to the laws of nature, love and virtue. Heaven found I had fulfilled my du- ties, and has snatched ine for ever from all the miseries I might have endured myself, and all I might have felt from the miseries of others. I am placed above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me ! lam become pure and unchangeable as a particle of light, and you would recal me to the darkness of Jiuman life ! O Paul ! O, \ my beloved friend ! recollect those days of happiness, when in the morning we felt the delightful sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of nature ; when we gazed upon the sun gilding the peaks of those rocks, and then spreading his rays over t!ie bosom of the fo- rests. IIow exquisite were our emollons while we enjov- cd the glowing colors of the opening day, the odors of our shrubs, the concerts of our birds! Now, at tho source of beauty, from which flows all that is delightful u]jon earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, touciies, what before she could only be made sen'-ible of through the medium of our weak organs. Ah ! what language can describe those shores of eternal bliss which I inlia- bit for ever ! All that infinite power and celestial bounty, can confer, that harmony which results from friendship with numberless beings, exulting in the same felicity, wq V '^ 150 ^^^UL AND VIRGINIA. enjoy in unmixed perfection. Support then the trial which is allotted you, that you may heighten the happi- ness of your Virginia by love which will know no termi- nation, by hynieneals 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 utterance. Paul looking at me stedfastly, cried, " She is no more ! She is no more !" and a long fainting fit succeeded that me- lancholy exclamation. When restored to himself, he said, " Since death is a good, and since Virginia is hap- py, I would die too, and be united to Virginia." Thus the motives of consolation I had offered, only served to nourish his despair. I was ]j^e 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 strugglei of life : but Paul had never known adversity. 1 LED him back to his own dwelling, where! found his mother and Madame de la Tour in a state of increas- ed lan^or, but Margaret drooped most. Those lively haracters upon which light afflictions make a small im- pression, are least capable of resisting great calamities. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 1,5 1 " Oh, my good friend," said Margaret, " me- thoiight last night I saw Virginia dressed in white, amidst delicious bowers and gardens. She said to me, * I enjoy the most perfect happiness ;' and then approaching Paul ■with a sinihng air, she bore hin* away. While I strug- gled to retain my son, I felt that 1 myself was quitting the earth, and that I followed him witli inexpressible de- light. I then wished to bid my friend farewel, when I saw she was hastening after me with Mary and Domin- go. But what seems most strange is, that Madame de la Tour has this very nigiit had a dream attended with tlie same circumstances." " My dear friend," I replied, " nothing I believe happens in this world without the permissionpf God. Dreams sometimes foretel the truth." Madame de la Tour related to me her dream, which was exactly similar ; and, as I had never observed in either of those persons any propensity to superstition, I •was struck with the singular coincidence of tl\eir 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 moments. Eight days after the death of her son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with that serenity which virtue 152 I'-^UL AND VIRGINIA. only can feel. She bade Madame de la Tour the most tender farewel, "In the liope," she said, "of a sweet and eternal re-iiiiion. Dcatli istlie most precious good," added she ; " and we ought to desire it. If life be a punisliment, we sliould wish for its termination ; if it be a trial, we should be tiiankful that it is short." The governor took care of Domingo and Mary, who were no longer able to labor, aud who survived their mistresses but a short time. As for poor Fidèle, he pined to death, at the period he lost his master. I CONDUCTED Madame de la Tour to my dwel- ling, and she bore her calamities with elevated fortitude. She had endeavored to con7fort Paul and Margaret till their last moments, as if she herself had no agonies to bear. When they were no more, she used to talk of them as of beloved friends from whom she was not dis- tant. She survived them but one month. Far from re- proaching her aunt for those afflictions 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 unnatural relation, haunted by a trou- bled conscience, accused herself continually of the un- timely fate of her lovely niece, and the death of her PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 155 mother, and became at intervals bcieft of lier reason. Her relatione, whom she hated, took the direction of her fortune, after shutting her up as a lunatic, tliougli she possessed suflficient use of her reason to teel all tiie pangs of her dreadful situation, and died at Icnglli in agonies of despair. The body of Paul was placed by tiie side of his Vir- ginia, attliefoot of the same shrubs ; and on that hal- lowed spot the remains of iheir tender mothers and their faithful servants are laid. No marble covers the turf, no inscription records their virtues ; but their memory is en- graven upon our hearts in characters which are indeli- ble ; and surely if Ihoso pure spirits still take an inter- est i n what passes upon earth, tliey Iove«to wander be- neath the roofs of those dwellings which are inliabited by industrious virtue, to console the poor who complain .of ihfir destiny, to cherish in the hearts of lovers th« sa- cred flame of fuK'lity, to inspire a taste for the blessings of nature, the love of labor, and the dread of riches. The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard to those monuments reared to flatter the pride of kings, has given tosoine puts of this island names which will immortalize the loss of ^'irginia. Near the Isle of Amber, in the 3nidst of sand-banks is a spot called the Pass of Saint-Geran, from the name of the vessel which there perished. Tiie extremity of that point of land. 154 I'AUL AND VIRGINIA. which is three leagues distant, and half covered by the waves, and wliich the Saint-Geian could not double on the night preceding 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 bu- ried in tiie sand ; as if the waves had sought to restore her corpse to her family, tliat they might render it the last sad duties on thosQ shores of which her innocence had been the ornament. Ye faithful lovers, who are so tenderly united ! un- fortunate mothers ! beloved family ! those woods which sheltered you with tiicir foliage, tliose fountains which flowed for you, those hillocks upon which you reposed, 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 tiie sparrow-hawk, who skims around the valley of rocks. As for rnyself, since I behold yeu no more, I am like a father bereft of his children, like a traveller who wanders over the earth desolate and alone." În saying those words, the good old man retired shedding tears, and mine had often flowed during this melancholy narration. THE END. /