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"PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. H. BERNARDIN DE,S@. PIERRE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 AMERICAN BOOK EXCHANGE, 
 
 55 BEEKMAN STREET. 
 
 1879. 
 
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 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 —_—-o— 
 
 Tue first translation into English of “ Paul and 
 Virginia ” was that made by Helen Maria Williams 
 during her stay in Paris, 1790-92. It was under- 
 taken as a relief from the gloom of her surround- 
 ings, and while engaged upon it she wrote also a 
 number of sonnets which she introduced into the 
 story, kindly permitting Madame de la Tour to 
 appear as the author. “I have taken one liberty 
 with my author,” she adds, after confessing the 
 sonnets, “which it is fit I should acknowledge, that 
 of omitting several pages of general observations, 
 which, however excellent in themselves, would be 
 passed over with impatience by the English reader, 
 when they interrupt the pathetic narrative.” 
 
 This translation of Miss Williams has been the 
 basis of subsequent editions, some of which have 
 followed it literally, sonnets included and the pages 
 
iv) | ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 of general observation excluded. But the edition 
 of W. S. Orr & Co., London, 1839, is a revision of 
 Miss Williams’s- translation, restoring omissions, ex- 
 punging additions, and aiming at greater accuracy 
 of rendering. Still another version exists, which 
 attempts a freer style. 
 
 The present edition of “ Paul and Virginia” was 
 begun by a careful collation of the three previous ver- 
 sions, with a view to preserve as far as possible the 
 simplicity of the original, which had generally been 
 sacrificed to a taste for grandiloquence, and the 
 naive fervor which had perhaps seemed to the Eng- 
 lish translators not chaste or dignified enough. But 
 after going through two thirds of the volume in this 
 way, it was found more expedient to make a fresh 
 translation without reference to previous ones, and 
 the last third was thus treated. The result is in 
 effect a new and careful translation, based upon the 
 principle, more generally recognized now than in 
 Miss Williams’s day, that a translation should be as 
 transparent as possible, so that the spirit as well as 
 the letter of the original may be to some extent 
 transmitted to a foreigner. 
 
 The Memoir of St. Pierre which follows, is taken 
 from that prefixed to Orr’s edition. 
 
 New York, June, 1867. 
 
SA Zy a We 
 cc Coe - + — eZ) Kg ord. we 
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 —— oe 
 
 Henri-JACQUES BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE was 
 born at Havre in 1737. Many anecdotes are related 
 of his childhood, indicative of the youthful author, 
 —of his strong love of Nature, and his humanity to 
 animals. 
 
 That “the child is father of the man,” has 
 been seldom more strongly illustrated. ‘There isa 
 story of a cat, which, when related by him many 
 years afterward to Rousseau, caused that philoso- 
 pher to shed tears. At eight years of age, he took 
 the greatest pleasure in the regular culture of his 
 garden; and possibly then stored up some of the 
 ideas which afterward appeared in the “ Fraisier.” 
 His sympathy with all living things was extreme. 
 In “ Paul and Virginia,” he praises, with evident 
 satisfaction, their meal of milk and eggs, which had 
 not cost any animal its life. It has been remarked, 
 and possibly with truth, that every tenderly disposed 
 heart, deeply imbued with a love of Nature, is at 
 times somewhat Braminical. St. Pierre’s certainly 
 Was. 
 
 When quite young, he advanced with a clenched 
 
Vi MEMOIR. 
 
 fist toward a carter who was ill-treating a horse. 
 And when taken for the first time, by his father, to 
 Rouen, having the towers of the cathedral pointed 
 out to him, he exclaimed, “ My God! how high they 
 fly.’ Every one present naturally laughed. Ber- 
 nardin had only noticed the flight of some swallows 
 who had built their nests there. He thus early re- 
 vealed those instincts which afterward became the 
 guidance of his life: the strength of which possibly 
 occasioned his too great indifference to all monu- 
 ments of art. The love of study and of solitude 
 were also characteristics of his childhood. His 
 temper is said to have been moody, impetuous, and 
 intractable. Whether this faulty temper may not 
 have been produced or rendered worse by misman- 
 agement, cannot now be ascertained. It undoubt- 
 edly became, afterward, to St. Pierre, a fruitful 
 source of misfortune and of woe. 
 
 The reading of voyages was with him, even in 
 childhood, almost a passion. At twelve years of age 
 his whole soul was occupied by Robinson Crusoe 
 and his island. His romantic love of adventure 
 seeming to his parents to announce a predilection 
 in favor of the sea, he was sent by them with one 
 of his uncles to Martinique. But St. Pierre had 
 not sufficiently practiced the virtue of obedience to 
 submit, as was necessary, to the discipline of a ship. 
 Ile was afterward placed with the Jesuits at Caen, 
 with whom he made immense progress in his studies. 
 But, it is to be feared, he did not conform too well 
 
MEMOIR. vil 
 
 to the regulations of the college, for he conceived, 
 from that time, the greatest detestation for places of 
 public education. And this aversion he has fre- 
 quently testified in his writings. While devoted to his 
 books of travels, he in turn anticipated being a Jesuit, 
 a missionary, or a martyr; but his family at length 
 succeeded in establishing him at Rouen, where he 
 completed his studies with brilliant success, in 1707. 
 He soon after obtained a commission as an engi- 
 neer, with a salary of 100 louis. In this capacity he 
 was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, under the command 
 of Count St. Germain. This was a career in which 
 he might have acquired both honor and fortune ; but, 
 most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the 
 useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so many 
 unworthy prejudices. Instead of conforming to 
 them, he sought to trample on them. In addition, 
 he evinced some disposition to rebel against his 
 commander, and was unsocial with his equals. It is 
 not, therefore, to be wondered at, that at this unfor- 
 tunate period of his existence, he made himself ene- 
 mies; or that, notwithstanding his great talents, or 
 the coolness he had exhibited in moments of dan- 
 ger, he should have been sent back to France. Un- 
 welcome, under these circumstances, to his family, 
 he was ill received by all. 
 
 It isa lesson yet to be learned, that genius gives no 
 charter for the indulgence of error, —a truth yet to 
 $e remembered, that only a small portion of the 
 world will look with leniency on the failings of the 
 
Vill MEMOIR. 
 
 highly gifted; and that, from themselves, the con- 
 sequences of their own actions can never be averted. 
 It is yet, alas! to be added to the convictions of the 
 ardent in mind, that no degree of excellence in 
 science or literature, not even the immortality of a 
 name; can exempt its possessor from obedience to 
 moral discipline; or give him happiness, unless 
 “temper’s image” be stamped on his daily words 
 and actions. St. Pierre’s life was sadly embittered 
 by his own conduct. The adventurous life he led 
 after his return from Dusseldorf, some of the cir- 
 cumstances of which exhibited him in an unfavor- 
 able light to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his 
 imagination with that wild and tender melancholy 
 so prevalent in his writings. A prize in the lottery 
 had just doubled his very slender means of exist- 
 ence, when he obtained the appointment of geo- 
 graphical engineer, and was sent to Malta. The 
 Knights of the Order were at this time expecting to 
 be attacked by the Turks. Having already been in 
 the service, it was singular that St. Pierre should 
 have had the imprudence to sail without his com- 
 mission. He thus subjected himself to a thousand 
 disagreeables, for the officers would not recognize 
 him as one of themselves. The effects of their 
 neglect on his mind were tremendous ; his reason 
 for a time seemed almost disturbed by the mortifi- 
 cations he suffered. After receiving an insufficient 
 indemnity for the expenses of his voyage, St. Pierre 
 returned to France, there to endure fresh misfor 
 ‘anes. 
 
MEMOIR. 13 
 
 Not being able to obtain any assistance from the 
 ministry or his family, he resolved on giving lessons 
 in the mathematics. But St. Pierre was less adapted 
 than most others for succeeding in the apparently 
 easy, but really ingenious and difficult, art of teach- 
 ing. When education is better understood, it will be 
 more generally acknowledged. that, to impart instruc- 
 tion with success, a teacher must possess deeper in- 
 telligence than is implied by the profoundest skill in 
 any one branch of science or of art. All minds, 
 even to the youngest, require, while being taught, 
 the utmost compliance and consideration ; and these 
 qualities can scarcely be properly exercised without 
 a true knowledge of the human heart, united to 
 much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this period 
 of his life, certainly did not possess them. It is 
 probable that Rousseau, when he attempted in his 
 youth to give lessons in music, not knowing any 
 thing whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted 
 for the task of instruction than St. Pierre with all 
 his mathematical knowledge. The pressure of pov- 
 erty drove him to Holland. He was well received 
 at Amsterdam, by a French refugee named Mus- 
 tel, who edited a popular journal there, and who 
 procured him employment, with handsome remuner- 
 ation. St. Pierre did not, however, remain long 
 satisfied with this quiet mode of existence. Allured 
 vy the encouraging reception given by Catherine 
 iI. to foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg 
 Here, until he obtained the protection of the Maré 
 
x MEMOIR. 
 
 chal de Munich, and the friendship of Duval, he 
 had again to contend with poverty. The latter gen- 
 erously opened to him his purse, and by the Maré- 
 chal he was introduced to Villebois, the Grand Mas- 
 ter of Artillery, and by him presented to the 
 Empress. St. Pierre was so handsome, that by 
 some of his friends it was supposed, perhaps, too, 
 hoped, that he would supersede Orloff in the favor 
 of Catherine. But more honorable illusions, though 
 they were but illusions, occupied his own mind. He 
 neither sought, nor wished, to captivate the Empress. 
 His ambition was to establish a republic on the 
 shores of the lake Aral, of which, in imitation of 
 Plato or Rousseau, he was to be the legislator. 
 Preoccupied with the reformation of despotism, he 
 did not sufficiently look into his own heart, or seek 
 to avoid a repetition of the same errors that had al- 
 ready changed friends into enemies, and been such 
 a terrible barrier to bis success in life. His mind 
 was already morbid, and in fancying that others did 
 not understand him, he forgot that he did not under- 
 stand others. The Empress, with the rank of cap- 
 tain, bestowed on him a grant of 1500 francs ; but 
 when General Dubosquet proposed to take him with 
 him to examine the military position of Finland, his 
 only anxiety seemed to be to return to France: still 
 he went to Finland; and his own notes of his occu 
 pations and experiments on that expedition, prove 
 that he gave himself up in all diligence to consider- 
 ations of attack and defence. He, who loved Nature 
 
MEMOIR. Pa 
 
 60 intently, seems only to have seen in the extensive 
 and majestic forests of the North, a theatre of war. 
 In this instance, he appears to have stifled every 
 emotion of admiration, and to have beheld, alike, 
 cities and countries in his character of military sur 
 veyor. 
 
 On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his pto- 
 tector, Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then resolved 
 on espousing the cause of the Poles. He went into 
 Poland with a high reputation, — that of having re- 
 fused the favors of despotism, to aid the cause of 
 liberty. But it was his private life, rather than his 
 public career, that was affected by his residence in 
 Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, 
 and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted her fam- 
 ily to reside with him. Yielding, however, at length, 
 to the entreaties of her mother, she returned to her 
 home. St. Pierre, filled with regret, resorted to 
 Vienna; but, unable to support the sadness which 
 oppressed him, and imagining that sadness to be 
 shared by the Princess, he soon went back to Po- 
 Jand. His return was still more sad than his depart- 
 ure; for he found himself regarded by her who 
 had once loved him as an intruder. It is to this at- 
 tachment he alludes so touchingly in one of his let- 
 ters. “ Adieu! friends dearer than the treasures ot 
 India! Adieu! forests of the North, that I shall 
 never see again !— tender friendship, and the still 
 dearer sentiment which surpassed it ! — days of in- 
 oxication and of happiness, adieu! adieu! We 
 sive but for a day, to die during a whole life ! ” 
 
xii MEMOIR. 
 
 This letter appears to one of St. Pierre’s most 
 partial biographers, as if steeped in tears; and he 
 speaks of his romantic and unfortunate adventure in 
 Poland, as the ideal of a poet’s love. 
 
 “To be,” says. M. Sainte-Beuve, “a great poet, 
 and loved before he had thought of glory! To ex- 
 hafe the first perfume of a soul of genius, believing 
 himself only a lover! To reveal himself, for the 
 first time, entirely, but in mystery !” 
 
 In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses sight of 
 the melancholy sequel, which must have left so sad 
 a remembrance in St. Pierre’s own mind. His suf- 
 fering, from this circumstance, may perhaps have 
 conduced to his making Virginia so good and true, 
 and so incapable of giving pain. 
 
 In 1766 he returned to Havre; but his relations 
 were by this time dead or dispersed, and after six 
 years of exile, he found himself once more in his 
 own country, without employment, and destitute of 
 pecuniary resources. 
 
 The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for 
 him a commission as engineer to the Isle of France, 
 whence he returned in 1771. In this interval, his 
 heart and imagination doubtless received the germs 
 of his immortal works. Many of the events, in- 
 deed, of the “ Voyage A l’Ile de France,” are to be 
 found modified by imagined circumstances in “* Paul 
 and Virginia.” He returned to Paris poor in purse, 
 but rich in observations and mental resources, and 
 resolved to devote himself to literature. By the 
 
MEMOIR. xiis 
 Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to D’Alem 
 bert, who procured a publisher for his “ Voyage,” 
 and also introduced him to Mlle. de I’Espinasse. 
 But no one, in spite of his great beauty, was so ill 
 calculated to shine or please in society, as St. Pierre. 
 His manners were timid and embarrassed, and, un- 
 less to those with whom he was very intimate, he 
 scarcely appeared intelligent. 
 
 It is sad to think, that misunderstanding should 
 prevail to such an extent, and heart so seldom really 
 speak to heart, in the intercourse of the world, that 
 the most humane may appear cruel, and the sympa- 
 thizing indifferent. Judging of Mlle. de I’ Espinasse 
 from her letters, and the testimony of her contem- 
 poraries, it seems quite impossible that she could 
 have given pain to any one, more particularly to a 
 man possessing St. Pierre’s extraordinary talent and 
 profound sensibility. Both she and D’Alembert 
 were capable of appreciating him; but the society 
 in which they moved laughed at his timidity, and 
 the tone of raillery in which they often indulged, 
 was not understood by him. It is certain that he 
 withdrew from their circle with wounded and mor- 
 tified feelings, and, in spite of an explanatory letter 
 from D’Alembert, did not return to it. The inflict- 
 ors of all this pain, in the mean time, were possibly as 
 unconscious of the meaning attached to their words, 
 as were the birds of old of the augury drawn from 
 their flight. 
 
 St. Pierre, in his “ Préambule de VY Arcadie ” has 
 
‘SIV MEMOIR. 
 
 pathetically and eloquently described the deplorable 
 state of-his health and feelings, after frequent hu- 
 miliating disputes and disappointments had driven: 
 him from society ; or rather, when, like Rousseau, he 
 was “self-banished ” from it. 
 
 “JT was struck,” he says, “with an extraordinary 
 malady. Streams of fire, like lightning, flashed be- 
 fore my eyes: every object appeared to me double, 
 or in motion: like C&dipus, I saw two suns..... 
 In the finest day of summer, I could not cross the - 
 Seine in a boat, without experiencing intolerable 
 anxiety. If, in a public garden, I merely passed by 
 a piece of water, I suffered from spasms and a feel- 
 ing of horror. I could not cross a garden in which 
 many people were collected: if they looked at me, 
 I immediately imagined they were speaking ill of 
 me.” It was during this state of suffering, that he 
 devoted himself with ardor to collecting and mak- 
 ing use of materials for that work which was to give 
 glory to his name. 
 
 It was only by perseverance, and disregarding 
 many rough and discouraging receptions, that he 
 succeeded in making acquaintance with Rousseau, 
 whom he so much resembled. St. Pierre devoted 
 himself to his: society with enthusiasm, visiting him 
 frequently and constantly, till Rousseau’ departed 
 for Ermenonville. It is not unworthy of remark, 
 that both these men, such enthusiastic admirers of 
 Nature and the natural in all things, should have 
 possessed factitious rather than practical virtue, and 
 
MEMOIR. XV 
 
 a wisdom wholly unfitted for the world. St. Pierre 
 asked Rousseau, in one of their frequent rambles, 
 if, in delineating St. Preux, he had not intended to 
 represent himself. “No,” replied Rousseau, “ St. 
 Preux is not what I have been, but what I wished 
 to be.” St. Pierre would most likely have given 
 the same answer, had a similar question been put to 
 him with regard to the Colonel in “ Paul ard Vir- 
 ginia.” This, at least, appears the sort of old age 
 he loved to contemplate, and wished to realize. 
 
 For six years, he worked at his «“ Etudes,” and 
 with some difficulty found a publisher for them. M. 
 Didot, a celebrated typographer, whose daughter St. 
 Pierre afterward married, consented to print a 
 manuscript which had been declined by many others. 
 He was well rewarded for the undertaking. The 
 success of the “Etudes de la Nature” surpassed 
 the most sanguine expectation, even of the author. 
 Four years after its publication, St. Pierre gave to- 
 the world “ Paul and Virginia,” which had for some 
 time been lying in his portfolio. He had tried its 
 effect, in manuscript, on persons of different char- 
 acters and pursuits. They had given it no applause ; 
 but all had shed tears at its perusal: and perhaps, 
 few works of a decidedly romantic character have 
 ever been so generally read, or so much approved. 
 Among the great names whose admiration of it is on 
 record, may be mentioned Napoleon and Humboldt. 
 
 In 1789, he published “ Les Voeux d’un Solitaire,” 
 and “ La Suite des Veeux.” By the “ Moniteur” of 
 
XVI MEMOIR. 
 
 the day, these words were compared to the celebrat- 
 ed pamphlet of Siéyes, —“ Qu’est-ce que le tiers 
 état?” which then absorbed all the public favor. 
 In 1791, “ La Chaumiere Indienne” was published ; 
 and in the following year, about thirteen days before 
 the celebrated 10th of August, Louis X VI. appoint- 
 ed St. Pierre superintendent of the “Jardin des 
 Plantes.” Soon afterward, the King, on seeing him, 
 
 complimented him on his writings, and told him he. 
 
 was happy to have found a worthy successor to 
 Buffon. 
 
 Although deficient in exact knowledge of the 
 sciences, and knowing little of the world, St. Pierre 
 was, by his simplicity, and the retirement in which 
 he lived, well suited, at that epoch, to the situation. 
 About this time, and when in his 57th year, he mar- 
 ried Mlle. Didot. 
 
 In 1795, he became a member of the French 
 Academy, and, as was just, after his acceptance of 
 this honor, he wrote no more against literary socie- 
 ties. On the suppression of his place, he retired to 
 Essonne. It is delightful to follow him there, and to 
 contemplate his quiet existence. His days flowed 
 on peaceably, occupied in the publication of “ Les 
 Harmonies de la Nature,” the republication of his 
 earlier works, and the composition of some lesser 
 pieces. He himself affectingly regrets an interrup- 
 tion to these occupations. On being appointed In- 
 structor to the Normal School, he says, “I am 
 obliged to hang my harp on the willows of my river 
 
 Fal 
 
MEMOIR. XVii 
 
 and to accept an employment useful to my family 
 and my country. J am afflicted at having to sus- 
 pend an occupation which has given me so much 
 happiness.” 
 
 He enjoyed, in his old age, a degree of opulence 
 which, as much as glory, had perhaps been the ob- 
 ject of his ambition. In any case, it is gratifying 
 to reflect, that after a life so full of chance and 
 change, he was, in his latter years, surrounded by 
 much that should accompany old age. His day of 
 storms and tempests was closed by an evening of re- 
 pose and beauty. 
 
 Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of 
 his mind was preserved to the last. He died at 
 Eragny sur I’Oise, on the 21st of January, 1814. 
 The stirring events which then occupied France, or 
 rather the whole world, caused his death to be’ little 
 noticed at the time. The Academy did not, how- 
 ever, neglect to give him the honors due to its mem- 
 bers. Mons. Parseval Grand Maison pronounced a 
 deserved eulogium on his talents, and Mons. Aignan 
 also the customary tribute, taking his seat as his 
 successor. | 
 
 Having himself contracted the habit of confiding 
 his griefs and sorrows to the public, the sanctuary 
 of his private life was open alike to the discussion 
 of friends and enemies. The biographer, who 
 wishes to be exact, and yet set down nought in mal- 
 ice, is forced to the contemplation of his errors. 
 The secret of many of these, as well as of his miser- 
 
XVill MEMOIR. 
 
 ies, seems revealed by himself in this sentence: “1 
 experience more pain from a single thorn, than 
 pleasure from a.thousand roses.” And elsewhere, 
 “The best society seems to me bad, if I find in it 
 one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envious, or per- 
 fidious person.” Now, taking into consideration 
 that St. Pierre sometimes imagined persons who 
 were really good, to be deserving of these strong 
 and very contumelious epithets, it would have been 
 difficult indeed to find a society in which he could 
 have been happy.. He was, therefore, wise in seek- 
 ing retirement, and indulging in solitude. His mis- 
 takes — for they were mistakes — arose from a too 
 quick perception of evil, united to an exquisite and 
 diffuse sensibility. When he felt wounded by a thorn, 
 he forgot the beauty and perfume of the rose to which 
 it belonged, and from which, perhaps, it could not be 
 separated. And he was exposed (as often happens) 
 to the very description of trials that were least in har- 
 mony with his defects. Few dispositions could have 
 run a career like his, and have remained unscathed. 
 But one less tender than his own would have been 
 less soured by it. For many years, he bore about 
 with him the consciousness of unacknowledged talent. 
 The world cannot be blamed for not appreciating 
 that which had never been revealed. But we know 
 not what the jostling and elbowing of that world, in 
 the mean time, may have been to him, — how often 
 he may have felt himself unworthily treated, or 
 now far that treatment may have preyed upon and 
 
MEMOIR. xX1x 
 
 corroded his heart. Who shall say, that with this 
 consciousness there did not mingle a quick and in- 
 _ stinctive perception of the hidden motives of action, 
 —that he did not sometimes detect, where others 
 might have been blind, the under-shuffling of the 
 Aands, in the by-play of the world ? 
 
 Through all his writings, and throughout his cor- 
 respondence, there are beautiful proofs of the ten- 
 derness of his feelings, — the most essential quality, 
 perhaps, in any writer. It is, at least, one that, if 
 not possessed, can never be attained. The familiar- 
 ity of his imagination with natural objects, when he 
 was living far removed from them, is remarkable, 
 and often affecting. 
 
 “TI have arranged,” he says to Mr. Hénin, his 
 friend and patron, “very interesting materials, but 
 it is only with the light of Heaven over me that I 
 can recover my strength. Obtain for me a rabbit's 
 hole, in which I may pass the summer in the coun- 
 try.”. And again, “ With the jirst violet I shall come 
 to see you.” It is soothing to find, in passages like 
 these, such pleasing and convincing evidence that 
 
 “ Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her.’ 
 
 In the noise of a great city, in the midst of an- 
 noyances of many kinds, these images, impressed 
 with quietness and beauty, came back to the mind 
 of St. Pierre, to cheer and animate him. 
 
 In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to quote 
 a passage from his “ Voyage,” which reveals his 
 
XxX MEMOIR. 
 
 fond remembrance of his native land. “I should 
 ever prefer my own country to every other,” he says, 
 “not because it was more beautiful, but because I 
 was brought up in it. Happy he, who sees again 
 the places where all was loved, and all was lovely! 
 — the meadows in which he played, and the orchard 
 that he robbed! ” 
 
 He returned to this country, so fondly loved and 
 deeply cherished in absence, to experience only 
 trouble and difficulty. Away from it, he had yearned 
 to behold it, —to fold it, as it were, once more to 
 his bosom. He returned to feel as if neglected by 
 it, and all his rapturous emotions were changed to 
 bitterness and gall. His hopes had proved delu- 
 sions —his expectations, mockeries. Oh! who but 
 must look with charity and mercy on all discontent 
 and irritation consequent on such a depth of disap- 
 pointment, — on what must then have appeared to 
 him such unmitigable woe. Under the influence of 
 these saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back to 
 the island he had left, to place all beauty, as well as 
 all happiness, there! 
 
 One great proof that he did beautify the distant, 
 may be found in the contrast of some of the descrip- 
 tions in the “ Voyage 4 lle de France,” and those 
 in “Paul and Virginia.” That spot, which, when 
 peopled by the cherished creatures of his imagina- 
 tion, he described as an enchanting and delightful 
 Eden, he had previously spoken of as a “rugged 
 country, covered with rocks,” — “a land of Cyclops 
 
MEMOIR. XX1 
 é 
 
 vlackened by fire.” Truth, probably, lies between 
 the two representations; the sadness of exile havy- 
 ing darkened the one, and the exuberance of his 
 imagination embellished the other. 
 
 St. Pierre’s merit as an author has been too long 
 and too universally acknowledged, to make it need- 
 ful that it should be dwelt on here. A careful re- 
 view of the circumstances of his life induces the 
 belief, that his writings grew (if it may be permitted 
 so to speak) out of his life. In his most imagina- 
 tive passages, to whatever height his fancy soared, 
 the starting-point seems ever from a fact. ‘The past 
 appears to have been always spread out before him 
 when he wrote, like a beautiful landscape, on which 
 his eye rested with complacency, and from which his 
 mind transferred and idealized some objects, with- 
 out a servile imitation of any. When at Berlin, he 
 had had it in his power to marry Virginia Tanben- 
 heim ; and in Russia, Mlle. de la Tour, the niece of 
 General Dubosquet, would have accepted his hand. 
 He was too poor to marry either. A grateful recol- 
 lection caused him to bestow the names of the two 
 on his most beloved creation. Paul was the name 
 of a friar, with whom he had associated in his child- 
 hood, and whose life he wished to imitate. How 
 little had the owners of these names anticipated 
 that they were to become the baptismal appellations 
 af half a generation in France, and to be reéchoed 
 through the world to the end of time! 
 
 It was St. Pierre who first discovered the poverty 
 hb 
 
XXil MEMOIR. 
 
 of language with regard to picturesque descriptions. 
 In his earliest work, the often-quoted “ Voyage,” he 
 complains that the terms for describing Nature are 
 not yet invented. “ Endeavor,” he says, “to describe 
 a mountain in such a manner that it may be recog- 
 nized. When you have spoken of its base, its sides, 
 its summit, you will have said all! But what vari- 
 ety there is to be found in those swelling, lengthened, 
 flattened, or cavernous forms! It is only by peri- 
 phrasis that all this can be expressed. The same 
 difficulty exists for plains and valleys. But, if you 
 have a palace to describe, there is no longer any 
 difficulty. Every moulding has its appropriate 
 name.” 
 
 It was St. Pierre’s glory, in some degree, to triumph 
 over this dearth of expression. Few authors ever 
 introduced more new terms into descriptive writing ; 
 yet are his innovations ever chastened, and in good 
 taste. His style, in its elegant simplicity, is, indeed, 
 perfection. It is at once sonorous and sweet, and 
 always in harmony with the sentiment he would ex- 
 press, or the subject he would discuss. Chenier 
 might well arm himself with “ Paul and Virginia” 
 and the “ Chaumiere Indienne,” in opposition to 
 those writers who, as he said, made prose unnatural, 
 by seeking to elevate it into verse. 
 
 The “ Etudes de la Nature ” embraced a thousand 
 different subjects, and contained some new ideas on 
 all. It is to the honor of human nature, that, after 
 the uptearing of so many sacred opinions, a produc 
 
MEMOIR. XXlil 
 
 tion like this, revealing the chain of connection 
 through the works of Creation, and the Creator in 
 His works, should have been hailed, as it was, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 His motto, from his favorite poet Virgil, “Taught 
 by calamity, I pity the unhappy,” won for him, per- 
 haps, many readers. And in its touching illusions, 
 the unhappy may have found suspension from the 
 realities of life, as well as encouragement to support 
 its trials. For, throughout, it infuses admiration of 
 the arrangements of Providence, and a desire for 
 virtue. More than one modern poet may be sup- 
 posed to have drawn a portion of his inspiration 
 from the “Etudes.” As a work of science, it con- 
 tains many errors. These, particularly his theory 
 of the tides,”1 St. Pierre maintained to the last, and 
 so eloquently, that it was said at the time, to be im- 
 possible to unite less reason with ntore logic. 
 
 In “ Paul and Virginia,” he was supremely fortu- 
 nate in his subject. It was an entirely new creation, 
 uninspired by any previous work; but which gave 
 birth to many others, having furnished the plot to 
 six theatrical pieces. It was a subject to which the 
 author could bring all his excellences as « writer 
 and a man; while his deficiencies and defects were 
 necessarily excluded. In no manner could he in- 
 eorporate politics, science, or misapprehension of 
 persons, while his sensibility, morals, and wonderful 
 
 1 Oceasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting of th2 ica 
 » the Poles. 
 
XXIV MEMOIR. 
 
 talent fo1 description, were in perfect accordance 
 with, and ornaments to it. Lemontey and Sainte 
 Beuve both consider success to have been insepa- 
 rable from the happy selection of a story so entirely 
 in harmony with the character of the author; and 
 that the most successful writers might envy him so 
 fortunate a choice. Bonaparte was in the habit of 
 saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, “ M. Bernardin, 
 when do you mean to give us more Pauls and Vir- 
 ginias, and Indian Cottages? You ought to give 
 us some every six months,” 
 
 The “ Indian Cottage,” if not quite equal in inter- 
 est to “ Paul and Virginia,” is still a charming pro- 
 duction, and does great honor to the genius of its 
 author. It abounds in antique and Eastern gems 
 of thought. Striking and excellent comparisons are 
 scattered through its pages; and it is delightful to 
 reflect, that the following beautiful and solemn an- 
 swer of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the result of 
 his own experience: —“ Misfortune resembles the 
 Black Mountain of Bember, situated at the extrem- 
 ity of the burning kingdom of Lahore: while you 
 are climbing it, you only see before you barren 
 rocks ; but when you have reached its summit, you 
 see heaven above your head, and at your feet the 
 kingdom of Cachemere.” 
 
 When this passage was written, the rugged and 
 sterile rock had been climbed by its gifted author. 
 He had reached the summit, — his genius had been 
 rewarded, and he himself saw the heaven he wished 
 ‘o point out to others. SaRAH JONES. 
 
MEMOIR. XxvV 
 
 * * For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, 
 I am indebted to St. Pierre’s own works, to the 
 “ Biographie Universelle,” to the “ Essai sur la Vie 
 et les Ouvrages de Bernardin de St. Pierre,” by M. 
 Aimé Martin, and to the very excellent and inter- 
 esting “Notice Historique et Littéraire,” of M. 
 Sainte Beuve. 
 
THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE attempted a great object in this little work. 
 I have undertaken to describe a soil and vegetation 
 differing from those of Europe. Long enough have 
 our poets piaced their lovers on the banks of 
 streams, in meadows, and under the foliage of the 
 beech. I have desired to locate mine on the shore 
 of the sea, at the foot of cliffs, in the shade of cocoa- 
 nut-trees, bananas, and citrons in bloom. Nothing 
 is needed in the other quarter of the globe buta 
 Theocritus or a Virgil, that we may have scenes at 
 least as interesting as those of our own land. I know 
 that travellers of taste have given us enchanting 
 descriptions of many isles of the South Sea; but the 
 customs of their inhabitants, and particularly those 
 of the Kuropeans who settle there, often mar the 
 landscape. It has been my aim to unite the beauty 
 of nature in the tropics with the moral beauty of a 
 small domestic circle. Ihave also designed to bear 
 testimony to a number of great truths, among others 
 the following: that our happiness consists in living 
 according to nature and virtue. Nevertheless, it has 
 not been necessary for me to compose a romance in 
 order to describe happy families. JI can state with 
 
THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE. XXVIl 
 
 truth that those of which I am about to speak had 
 an actual existence, and that this narrative is in 
 most respects true. It was related to me as such by 
 many inhabitants of the Isle of France. I have 
 added nothing to it except certain unimportant cir- 
 cumstances, which, however, being within my own 
 experience, are in this respect also real. When, 
 some years since, I drew up a very imperfect sketch 
 _of this pastoral, I requested a fair dame who moved 
 in high life, and grave men who were far removed 
 from it, to listen to the reading of this tale, that I 
 might gain some previous idea of the way in which 
 it might affect readers of such different character. 
 I had the satisfaction of beholding them all shed 
 tears. This was the only criticism I could draw from 
 them, and indeed it was all I desired. But as great 
 imperfection accompanies small talents, this success 
 inspired me with the vanity of giving to my work 
 the title of a picture of nature. Happily I recol- 
 lected how little known to me was nature in the 
 clime even where I was born; how, in the countries 
 whose productions I had seen only as a traveller, Na- 
 ture is rich, varied, lovely, magnificent, and myste- 
 vious, and how much I was lacking in the perception, 
 taste, and expression, needful in understanding and 
 describing her. Thus I returned to my senses. [ 
 have consequently included this feeble essay under 
 the title and in the sequel of my “Studies of Na- 
 ture;” in order that this title, recalling my incapac- 
 ity, should be a perpetual reminder of the weakness 
 to which I had yielded. 
 
ao WA Lp iG wy 
 
 cA Ne 
 
 THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ——¢—— 
 
 Turs little work is only an episode of my “ Studies 
 of Nature,” and is the application of her laws to the 
 happiness of two unfortunate families. It was pub- 
 lished in 1786, and its reception at its birth sur- 
 passed my expectations: it gave rise to romances, 
 idyls, and numerous dramatic pieces. Many mothers 
 gave to their children the names of Paul and Vir- 
 ginia; finally, the reputation of this pastoral spread 
 throughout Europe, and it was successively trans- 
 lated into English, Italian, German, Dutch, Polish, 
 Russian, and Spanish. Doubtless for this unanimous 
 success among nations so differing in opinion J am 
 indebted to the women, who, in every land, recall 
 men by all means in their power to the laws of na- 
 ture. ‘They gave me a sufficient proof of this from 
 the circumstance that the greater part of these 
 translations were made by ladies, both married and 
 single. I have been delighted, I confess, at seeing 
 my adopted children rehabited in foreign garb by 
 virgin or maternal hands, to which they are unques- 
 tionably beholden for a fame that seems destined to 
 be transmitted to posterity. 
 
‘THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. XX1X 
 
 Many individuals have questioned me regarding 
 the subject of this work. They say to me, “ Did the 
 old man really relate this narrative to you? Have 
 you seen the places which you describe? Did Vir- 
 ginia perish in such a melancholy manner? How 
 can a maiden resolve to give up her life rather 
 than disrobe herself? ” 
 
 I have answered: “ Man resembles a child. Give a 
 ruse toa child; at first he enjoys it, but soon he 
 desires to analyze it. He examines the leaves, then 
 he pulls them one from another; and when he at 
 last comprehends the whole, he no longer has a rose. 
 -Telemachus, Clarissa, and so many other characters 
 who lead us to virtue or cause us to weep, — are they 
 real?” 
 
 At heart, I am convinced that these persons made 
 the inquiries rather from sympathy than from curios- 
 ity. They were sorry that two such tender and 
 happy lovers should meet with such a terrible end. 
 
 Would to God that I could have been at liberty 
 to mark out for virtue an uninterrupted career of 
 happiness on earth! But, I repeat it, I have de- 
 scribed real places, customs, — examples of which 
 may perhaps still be found in some retired spots of 
 the Isle of France, or of the neighboring Isle of 
 Bourbon, —and an actual catastrophe, for which I 
 can produce unimpeachable witnesses, even in Paris. 
 
 One day, being at the Jardin du Roi, a lady of 
 xery prepossessing figure, accompanied by her hus- 
 band, having learned from M. Jean Thonin, keeper of 
 
Xxx THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the garden, that I was the author of “ Paul and Vir 
 ginia,” accosted me in order to say to me: “ Ah, sir, 
 what a terrible night you have caused me to pass! 
 I ceased not sighing and shedding tears. The per- 
 son whose mournful fate you have described with so 
 much truth, in the wreck of the Saint Géran, was a 
 relation of mine. Iama Creole of Bourbon.” After- 
 wards I learned from M. Jean Thonin that this 
 lady was the wife of M. de Bonneud, first valet de 
 ‘chambre to Monsieur. Since then, this lady has 
 been perfectly willing that I should here publish her 
 testimony to the truth of this catastrophe, concern- 
 ing which she has related to me circumstances 
 adapted to add much to the interest inspired by the 
 death of this sublime victim to modesty, as well as 
 by that of her unfortunate lover. 
 
 Other persons having intimated to me a desire that 
 I should give a somewhat detailed account of the 
 life of M. de la Bourdonnais, my relations with his 
 family have placed me in a position to gratify them. 
 
 His chief virtue was humanity. The institutions 
 which he founded at the Isle of France are proofs of 
 this. In fact, I have seen at that island, where I 
 served as royal engineer, not only the batteries and 
 redoubts which he placed in suitable locations, but 
 store-houses and hospitals very well organized. To 
 him especially is owing an aqueduct more than 
 three quarters of a league in length, by which he 
 conducted the water of a small stream to Port Louis, 
 where, before his day, there was no drinkable water 
 
THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. XXX1 
 
 Whatever I saw in that island that was most useful 
 and was best executed. was done by him. 
 
 His military talents were not inferior to his virtues 
 and his administrative ability. Appointed governor 
 of the isles of France and Bourbon, with nine vessels 
 he beat the squadron of Admiral Peyton, who was 
 cruising on the Coromandel coast with a far superior 
 force. After this victory he immediately laid siege to 
 Madras, being able to land a total force of only 
 eighteen hundred men, whites as well as blacks. 
 After capturing this emporium of English commerce 
 in India, he returned to France. A division had 
 arisen between him and M. Dupleix, governor of 
 Pondicherry. ~Directly after arriving in his native 
 land, he was accused of employing the spoils of his 
 conquest for his own profit, and was, in conse- 
 quence, thrown into the Bastile, without further inves- 
 tigation. The chief witness to this offense was a mere 
 soldier. This man testified, under oath, that after 
 the capture of Madras, being on guard on one of the 
 bastions of the place, he saw some boats, at night, 
 transporting some boxes and bales to the ship of M. 
 de la Bourdonnais. This calumny was maintained 
 at Paris by the support of a multitude of envious 
 men who had never been to the Indies, but who were 
 such as, in any country, are ever ready to ruin the 
 glory of others. ‘The unfortunate captor of Madras 
 maintained that it was impossible to see the alleged 
 transportation from the bastion mentioned by the 
 soldier, even if it had occurred. But it was neces: 
 
XXXIl THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sary to prove this; and, according to the tyranny 
 then exercised towards prisoners of state, he had been 
 deprived of every means of defense. But he obtained 
 these by very simple methods, which will give an 
 idea of the resources of his genius. He quickly made 
 a knife blade with a sou piece, sharpened on the 
 pavement, and cut with it boxwood twigs, which 
 probably had been distributed to the prisoners at 
 Easter. With these he made a compass and a pen. 
 White handkerchiefs, dipped in rice water and dried 
 in the sun, served him for paper. He made ink out 
 of water and burnt straw. He needed, above all, 
 colors to trace the plan and the map of the environs 
 of Madras; yellow he procured from coffee, and 
 green from coppers covered with verdigris and 
 builed. I obtained all these details from his affec- 
 tionate daughter, who still preserves with reverence 
 these memorials of the genius which restored he1 
 father to liberty. Thus, furnished with knife, com 
 pass, rule, pen, paper, ink, and colors of his own in 
 vention, he drew, from memory, the plan of th« 
 place he had captured. wrote his defense, and dem- 
 onstrated that his accuser was a perjured witness, 
 who, from the bastion where he was stationed, could 
 not have seen either the flag-ship or even the fleet. 
 M. de la Bourdonnais secretly conveyed these means 
 for his defense to the lawyer who served as his 
 counsel, who, in turn, carried them to the judges. It 
 was like a ray of light to them. In consequence, 
 they bade him emerge from the Bastile, after three 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. XXXIil 
 
 years of imprisonment. He languished three years | 
 longer after his liberation, overwhelmed with sorrow 
 at seeing all his fortune dissipated, and at having 
 reaped nothing from such important services except 
 calumny and persecution. He was, without doubt, 
 more affected by the ingratitude of the government 
 than by the triumphant jealousies of his enemies. 
 They could never crush his open-heartedness and 
 courage, even in prison. Amid the large number of 
 accusers who came thither to depose against him, a 
 director of the India Company thought to put an 
 unanswerable question by asking him how he could 
 have conducted his own affairs so well, and the 
 affairs of the company so badly. “It is,” replied 
 La Bourdonnais to him, “because I have managed 
 my own affairs according to my own judgment; and 
 those of the company according to their instruc- 
 tions.” 
 
 Bernard-Frangois Mahé de la Bourdonnais was 
 born at St. Malo, in 1699, and died in 1754, at about 
 fifty-five years of age. O you who are occupied with 
 benefiting mankind, look not for your recompense 
 during life-time. Posterity alone can render you 
 justice. 
 
 This is what finally happened to the conqneror of 
 Madras and the founder of the colony of the Isle of 
 Wrance. Joseph Dupleix, the rival of his glory and 
 vortune in India, and the most cruel of his persecu- 
 tors, died a short time after him, having, by a just 
 veaction of Providence, experienced a similar fate 
 
XXXIV THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 during the last years of his life. The government 
 awarded the widow of M. de la Bourdonnais a pen- 
 sion of 2,400 livres, and honored the memory of this 
 illustrious man with its regrets; and at length, his 
 worthy daughter now informs me, the inhabitants 
 of the Isle of France, of their own accord, have 
 granted her a pension, in memory of the benefits 
 which they received from her father. 
 
 I trust that none of my readers will think it ill 
 that I have permitted this slight digression from my 
 subject, in order to render my homage to the virtues 
 of a great and unfortunate man, as well as to those 
 of his worthy daughter and of a grateful colony. 
 
 I am old, my voyage is already far advanced. But 
 if Providence, which has guided my feeble bark in 
 the midst of so many storms, delays my arrival at 
 port for some years longer, I shall employ them in 
 the collection of other studies. The tardy blossoms 
 of my spring yet promise some fruit for my autumn, 
 If the rays of a tempestuous dawn gave bloom to the 
 first, the fires of a peaceful sunset will ripen the last. 
 I have delineated the transitory happiness of two 
 children, reared in the bosom of nature by unfor- 
 tunate mothers. I shall attempt to describe the last- 
 ing welfare of a people restored to her eternal laws 
 by revolutions. 
 
 Let us derive hope from our past sorrows of bliss 
 to come. It is only by revolutions that the divine 
 intelligence itself develops its plans, and carries 
 them out from perfection to perfection. 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 Nature has not inclosed within the little acorn 
 the sturdy oak covered by spreading foliage. She 
 has only deposited there the fragile germ of its first 
 elements. But she commands the waters of heaven 
 and earth to nourish it, the rocks to receive its 
 sunken roots in their sides, the tempests to strength- 
 en these by their shocks, the sun to fertilize them, 
 the seasons to clothe the gnarled branches one after 
 the other with verdure, flowers, and fruit, and the 
 years to strengthen the tree with new circles, to raise 
 it above the forests, and to make it a lasting land- 
 mark for beasts and for man. 
 
 The same is the case with our globe ; it did not 
 spring from her hands such as we behold it now. 
 Nature ordained the cycles to revolve it through the 
 heavens, and to develop it during unknown periods. 
 She then established it in a region of darkness and 
 winter, buried in a vast ocean of glaciers, like a babe 
 in the amnios of its mother’s womb. Soon its cen- 
 tre and its poles were magnetized by diverse attrac- 
 tions, and by the sun which appeared in the east. 
 Its waters, heated at that quarter of the equator, 
 arose in the atmosphere in dense fogs, expanded by 
 the heat; the winds conveyed them through the air, 
 and the still frozen poles attracted and stationed 
 them in new glacial oceans at the extremities of its 
 axis, which they preserved in equilibrium by their 
 variable counterbalance. The world having become 
 lighter at length on its eastern side, diet western 
 side, still immovable with frost and more ponder: 
 
XXXVI THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ous, was elevated towards the sun which attracted it. 
 Then the globe, by balancing its poles, turned on it- 
 self within the circuit of the year around the lumi- 
 nary which had given it motion and life. Soon, on 
 the surface of the fluid oceans, which had been half 
 exhausted by the atmospheric and glacial seas which 
 had flowed from them, appeared the granite peaks 
 of the isles and continents, like the first bones of the 
 world’s frame. 
 
 Little by little the marine waters, impregnated with 
 light and salt, reared. around themselves their allu- 
 via and transformed them into vast beds of calca- 
 reous rock, as the atmospheric water is changed into 
 wood in vegetation, and the sap of vegetation into 
 the flesh and blood of animals. Thus the rocks were 
 formed in the region of storms, — those bones and 
 nerves of the earth to which vast groups of moun- 
 tains would be joined like muscles, which would sus- 
 tain the weight of the continents. Their cavernous 
 foundations, still lacking firmness, on coming to the 
 light were established by earthquakes ; and by these 
 appalling convulsions clouds of smoke rose to the 
 surface of the sea and foretold the first volcanoes, 
 whose fires were destined to purify it. 
 
 Other upheavals prepared other organizations. 
 The globe overweighted at the poles by two un- 
 equal glacial oceans, presented them alternately to- 
 wards the sun; and alternately vast currents pro- 
 seeded from them, each of which, for six months, 
 ploughed through both hemispheres. The northern 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. XXXVII 
 
 stream clove the outline of that immense strait where 
 the waters of the Atlantic are inclosed like a river, 
 and flow, twice each day, between the old and the 
 new world. The current of the south, on the other 
 hand, descending from a single glacier, situated in 
 the bosom of the vast ocean of that hemisphere, and 
 preserving an equilibrium with the great part of the 
 opposite continents, washed their shores once each 
 day with its diverging waves at the same time and 
 from the same region that the sun covered the pole 
 with its rays. The half-frozen torrents which rushed 
 down, then divided the coasts of the old world into 
 numerous archipelagos, vast bays, and long promon- 
 tories. 
 
 The globe is a celestial bark, spherical, without 
 either prow or stern, fitted, in every sense, to glide 
 throughout the expanse of the heavens. The sun is 
 its magnet and its heart ; the ocean is the blood whose 
 circulation gives it motion. The day-star causes the 
 systole and diastole, the flux and reflux, by its pres- 
 ence and its absence, by day and night, by summer 
 and winter, by the flowing seas and the glaciers. 
 The poles change with the cycles, according to the 
 varying weight of the glacial oceans. Time was 
 when what is now in our meridian was at our equa- 
 tor ; when our torrid zone was projected into our 
 temperate and frigid zones, and these again into our 
 torrid zone; when winter reigned over other lands, 
 and when the frozen seas escaped from its empire by 
 
 other channels. Such is the condition of all the 
 Cc 
 
KXXVlll THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 planets. Their spheres, inclined towards the sun in 
 different directions, are, in the hands of Providence, 
 like those musical cylinders, whose axes it is suf- 
 ficient to elevate or depress a few degrees, in order 
 entirely to change the character of their harmony. 
 
 Doubtless it was not until Nature had caused the 
 globe to pass, if I may so express myself, through 
 the successive periods of infancy, adolescence, and 
 puberty, that she created in turn vegetation, animals, 
 and men; as she causes a tree, after a certain period 
 of years, to produce leaves, blossoms, and fruit. But 
 it was in the epoch when the globe scarcely reared 
 fragments of its continents above the surface of the 
 sea, that the torrents of the frozen poles and of the 
 loftiest mountains hollowed out in their descent the 
 many amphitheatres, which the sun would illumine 
 with various aspects in the same latitudes. They ex- 
 cavated those deep and extensive valleys where, in 
 our day, rove innumerable flocks. They sloped the 
 aérial summits of the rocks which are the charm of 
 our landscapes, whose beauty was enhanced by the 
 atmospheric storms, which wafted through the air 
 the first seeds of the forests that grow on the inac- 
 cessible heights. 
 
 It was the ocean which, from age to age, exhaust- 
 ing its waters by innumerable productions, raised the 
 summits of the primeval islands by lowering its own 
 level; and, by causing its shores to retire, placed 
 them in the bosom of continents. It is their prime- 
 val pyramids which, at various heights, surmount the 
 
THE AUTHDR’S INTRODUCTION. XXX1¥ 
 
 mountain chains. Some are clothed with verdure ; 
 pthers are naked as on the day of their birth; others, 
 perpetually encircled with snow and ice, resemble 
 the poles; while others, still, belch forth thick whirl- 
 winds of sulphurous, bituminous flames, and appear 
 to have their foundations on a level with the seas 
 which feed them. The peaks of Teneriffe and Etna 
 blend this double empire, and from the wombs of 
 frost and fire scatter afar abundance and fertility. 
 All these aérial pyramids, the greater part of which 
 tower above the middle region of the air, have for 
 their bases the marine bodies which encircled their 
 first cradle. All, at the present day, attract the 
 vapors and storms of the atmosphere. Sometimes 
 they are concealed as with a veil and disappear from 
 view ; or they uncover their brows or the blanks of 
 their obelisks. If at that time the sun smites them 
 with his rays, he colors them with gold and purple, 
 and scatters over their floating robes the hues of the 
 rainbow. ‘They seem, in the bosom of the thunder- 
 gust, like beneficent deities. The ridges which sup- 
 port them likewise become breasts which diffuse 
 fertilizing rains in every direction; the profound 
 caverns of their sides are the urns whence rivers 
 are poured to enrich the country down to the shores 
 of old ocean, their sire; and invite navigators to 
 ‘and on the shores of which they were a terror in 
 sheir aboriginal days. 
 
 Every century decreases the empire of the bois: 
 terous ocean, and increases that of the peaceful land. 
 
xl THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Look at our hills alone which surround our valleys ; 
 they bear on their salient outlines the prints of the 
 
 alluvions made by the rivers which erewhile filled. 
 
 all the interval between them. Even the soil of the 
 valleys with its horizontal strata, as also the fluvial 
 fossil shells everywhere scattered through it, bear 
 testimony that it was deposited by water. But cast 
 your eyes over the most elevated regions of our 
 hemisphere ; ancient Scandinavia, once divided from 
 Norway and the Continent by roaring straits which 
 connected the Arctic Ocean with the Baltic, has 
 ceased to be an island; I have myself trod the bed 
 of their granite basins. The Baltic Sea, which I 
 have sailed, falls an inch every forty years; similar 
 sinkings may be observed in the waters of the 
 southern hemisphere. New Holland, whose sloping 
 mountains rise above the clouds, extends its sandy 
 shores above the waves in our day ; already in the 
 bosom of her briny marshes she shows us flourishing 
 colonies of Europeans, once the scourge of their 
 country ; in every sea, multitudes of growing islands 
 and half-submerged rocks are elevating their black 
 brows, crowned with sea-weed, kelp, and varec above 
 the weltering waves. By their brown and purple 
 tints, their confused and hoarse murmurs, and the 
 sheets of foam boiling around them, one might say 
 that old Tritons were having a furious contest with 
 
 young Nereids. The day will come when these rocks, 
 
 the dread of mariners, will furnish shelter to shep- 
 aerds ; after many storms, the strait which sepa 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. xh 
 
 rates England and France will be changed intc 
 fields. After interminable wars, the English and 
 the French will see their interests united in like 
 manner with their territory. 
 
 So will it be with the human race. God has des- 
 tined it to enjoy his bounties the world over. He 
 has made of it a small creation wherein are included 
 all the desires and necessities of sensible beings. 
 He has formed it like the individual man, whom he 
 causes to pass through infancy surrounded by the 
 night of ignorance and prejudice, but attracts his 
 head with the light of reason, and his heart with the 
 instincts of virtue, whereby he may govern his pas- 
 sions and be guided towards the divine faculties, 
 even as the globe which he inhabits is conducted 
 around the sun. He ordained that, as in the indi- 
 vidual, so in nations, these celestial gifts should not 
 be developed except by experience, either personal 
 or derived from that of those similarly constituted. 
 He even willed that the interests of the human race 
 should be composed only in accordance with the in- 
 terests of each individual. Thus, every people has 
 had its imbecile infancy, its credulous childhood, and 
 its uncurbed youth. Only read the histories of 
 Europe; you will see it inhabited in turn by Gauls, 
 Greeks, Romans, Cimbri, Goths, Visigoths, Vandals, 
 Alans, Franks, Normans, etc., who one after the other 
 exterminated each other, and ravaged the land like 
 waves of an invading sea. The history of every one 
 pf these people presents nought but an uninterrupted 
 succession of wars, as if man only came into the 
 
xlii THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 world to destroy his fellow-creatures. These olden 
 tines, so vaunted on account of their innocence atid 
 heroic virtues, were nothing but periods of errors 
 and crimes, of which, happily for us, the greater part 
 no longer exist. Ridiculous idolatry, magic, lots, 
 oracles, the worship of demons, human sacrifices, 
 cannibalism, chronic warfare, conflagrations, famines, 
 slavery, polygamy, incest, mutilation, the rights of ° 
 robbing the shipwrecked, the rights of aubaine, etc., 
 at that time desolated our unhappy lands, although 
 in our day consigned to the inhospitable shores of 
 Africa, or the gloomy forests of America. So has 
 it been also with many bodily diseases as common 
 as those of the soul, such as innumerable pestilences, 
 leprosy, witchcraft or convulsions, etc. What shall 
 be said of the religious fables which made crime 
 illustrious, and hallowed absurd and criminal origins 
 still revered in our day. What shall be said of 
 heroes whom we are taught to admire at school, who 
 were at heart nothing but rogues; the ferocious 
 Achilles, the perfidious Ulysses, Agamemnon the 
 parricide, the entire family of Atreus, and so many 
 other violators of law, who claimed a pretended de- 
 scent from gods and goddesses that were certainly 
 transformed into brutes! It seems as if the moral. 
 as well as the physical, world moved on other poles 
 in former times. Nevertheless, benefactors of the 
 human race arose during the lapse of ages. Her- 
 cules, A‘%sculapius, Orpheus, Linus, Confucius, Lock- 
 man, Lycurgus, Solon, Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, 
 atc., civilized the barbarian hordes by slow degrees. 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION.  xlili 
 
 They committed to them the elements of concord, 
 Jaw, industry, and a more humane worship. They 
 loom up in the past ages above their native races, 
 like inexhaustible sources of wisdom, light, and vir- 
 tue, which from generation to generation have flowed 
 even to our time, like streams descended from the 
 aérial summits of distant mountains, which, during 
 the centuries, have traversed rocks, marshes, and 
 sands, to reach and fertilize our valleys and plains. 
 Already in the same lands where men were burned 
 by the Druids, they are now summoned by philoso- 
 phers to be enlightened by the torch of reason. The 
 muses of the North and the West, and especially the 
 French muses, hover over Europe and harmonize 
 their lyres; and blending with these their mellow 
 voices, enchain the souls of the inhabitants by their 
 concert. It is they who in America have shattered 
 the bonds of the dark children of Africa, and cleared 
 her forests by the hands of the free. From thence 
 have been exported a multitude of luxuries, while 
 cultivation and useful flocks, new plants, more hu- 
 mane inhabitants, and evangelical legislation have 
 been imported from Europe. O virtuous Penn, divine 
 Fénelon, eloquent Jean Jacques, your names, one 
 day, shall be more revered than those of Lycurgus 
 and Plato! Superstition no longer raises, with us, 
 as in former time, temples to God on account of the 
 dread of demons; philosophy has dispersed them. 
 Tt displays the earth clothed with the bourities of 
 the deity, and the heavens clustered with his suns 
 
xliv THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 What useful discoveries! what daring inventions! 
 what humane institutions, unknown to antiquity, do 
 we now possess! It is the virtues of great men 
 which have caused the torch of truth to come down 
 from heaven to earth; alas! often persecuted and fu- 
 gitive, these virtues have not illuminated the earth 
 until after long convulsions and numerous revolu- 
 lions. 
 
 3ut the women have contributed more than the 
 philosophers towards forming and reforming the na- 
 tions. They have not grown pale, by night, compos- 
 ing long moral treatises, nor have they ascended the 
 tribunes to thunder forth the laws. It was in their 
 arms that they have taught men to relish the bliss 
 of being, by turn in the round of life, happy infants, 
 faithful lovers, constant husbands, and virtuous fa- 
 thers. They laid the foundations of the first natural 
 laws. The first founder of a human society was the 
 mother of a family. In vain did a lawgiver, book in 
 hand, declare as from Heaven, that nature is hate- 
 ful even to her Author; they appeared with their 
 charms, and the fanatic fell at their feet. 
 
 It was originally around them that roving man col- 
 lected and settled. The geographers and historians 
 have not divided them into castes and tribes. They 
 have not made of them monarchical or democratic 
 sections. Men are born Asiatics, Europeans, French- 
 mien, Englishmen; they are agriculturists, traders, 
 soldiers, but in every land women are born and live 
 end die as women alone. They have duties, occupas 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. xly 
 
 tions, destinies apart from the men, among whom 
 they are distributed in order to remind them, above 
 all, of their manhood, and to maintain, notwithstand- 
 ing political laws, the fundamental laws of nature, 
 like those winds that are adapted to the rays of the 
 sun and to its absence, and vary the temperature of 
 the countries which they enrich by heating or cooling 
 it with their breath. They cannot be circumscribed 
 within any chart, nor do they render allegiance to 
 any sovereign. These winds belong only to the at- 
 mosphere. ‘Thus woman belongs only to the human 
 race. ‘I'hey constantly recall it to humanity by their 
 natural feelings and even by their passions. 
 
 It is by this influence that they often preserve a 
 people from its origin to its ultimate remnants. Be- 
 hold those races which no longer maintain either 
 altar, throne, or capital, such as the Guebres, Arme- 
 nians, Jews, and Moors of Africa; they are tossed by 
 ages and events from country to country ; but their 
 women still unite their individual members one to 
 another by the manifold attractions of daughter, sis- 
 ter, spouse, and mother. ‘They preserve their unity 
 then by the same institutions which collected them. 
 These wandering hordes resemble the ancient monu- 
 ments of their empires, which lie overthrown, not- 
 withstanding the iron clamps which bound them to 
 their base. In vain do the waves of ocean beat the 
 granite blocks; not a stone comes apart, so firm is 
 the natural cement which caused its various atoms ‘to 
 rohere in the quarry. 
 
xlvi THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 But women not only unite men to each other by 
 the ties of nature, but still more by social bonds. 
 Filled with the most tender affections for them, they 
 by these bring them into union with the divinity, 
 which is the source of these feelings. They are the 
 first and the last apostles of every religious worship, 
 with which they inspire men from earliest infancy. 
 They adorn their whole career. Men are indebted 
 to them for the invention of the first necessary arts, 
 and for all that are esthetic. Women invented 
 bread, the pleasing drinks, clothing fabrics, spinning, 
 cloths, etc. They first led to their feet the domestic 
 animals, already timid because affrighted by mascu- 
 line weapons, and tamed them by kindness. For 
 the delight of man they composed blithesome songs 
 and innocent dances ; and by turn suggested poetry, 
 painting, sculpture, and architecture to those who 
 desired to perpetuate woman by precious memo- 
 rials, Then men learned to blend with their pas- 
 sions, heroism and compassion. Thus far, in the 
 midst of their cruel and endless warfare, men had 
 only imagined dread-inspiring gods; a Jove hurling 
 thunderbolts, a scowling Pluto, an ever raging 
 Neptune, a sanguinary Mars, a thieving Mercury, a 
 Bacchus never sober; but at the sight of their 
 women, chaste, mild, affectionate, and industrious, 
 they conceived the idea of benevolent deities in 
 heaven. Tilted with gratitude towards the partners 
 of their lives, men reared to them monuments more 
 numerous and lasting than temples. Then, in al] 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. xlvn 
 
 languages, they gave feminine names to whatever 
 was most cherished and delightful on earth; to 
 their respective countries, to the greater part of the 
 rivers which irrigated them, to the most fragrant 
 flowers, the most delicious fruits, and the most melo- 
 dious birds. 
 
 But whatever in nature seemed to men to merit 
 the most universal homage on account of superior 
 beauty or utility,received from them the appellations 
 of goddesses, that is to say, of immortal women, 
 whose abode was in heaven, while their sway was on 
 earth. ‘Thus men represented the moon and stars, 
 the night and morning as female deities. The springs 
 were thus awarded to Naiads, the azure waves of the 
 sea to Nereids, the pastures to Pales, the forests to 
 Dryads. Still larger provinces were given to god- 
 desses of a higher rank : the atmosphere with its ma- 
 jestic clouds was presided over by Juno; the placid 
 sea, by Tethys; the earth and its mineral wealth, by 
 Cybele; the deer, by Diana, and the harvests, by Ceres. 
 The powers of the soul, the source of all pleasures, 
 were personified in the same manner as those of na- 
 ture. Men made of the virtues goddesses to strength- 
 en them, graces to render them impressible, muses 
 who inspired them, and wisdom, mother of all enter- 
 prise. Finally, men bestowed on the goddess who 
 united in herself all the charms of womanhood, the 
 name of Venus, doubtless more expressive than that 
 of any other deity. Her father was Saturn or Time; 
 ber cradle was the ocean; the companions of he? 
 
xivili THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 youth were frolics, laughter, and graces ; her husband 
 was the god of fire; her child was love, and her do- 
 miinion was over all nature. 
 
 In fact, every pleasing object has its beauty, that 
 is to say, a portion of the ineffable beauty which 
 begets love. Without question, the most touching 
 is sensibility, that spirit of the soul which animates 
 all the faculties. By this it was that Venus subdued 
 the invincible god of war. 
 
 O women, it is by your tenderness that you en- 
 chain the ambitions of men! Wherever you have 
 enjoyed your natural rights, you have abolished bar- 
 barous education, slavery, tortures, mutilations, the 
 cross, the wheel, the scaffold, stoning, death by piece- 
 meal, and all the cruel modes of execution of antiq- 
 uity, which were much less the punishments decreed 
 by justice than the vengeance of political vindictive- 
 ness. Everywhere you have been the first to honor 
 the victims of tyranny with your tears, and to bring 
 remorse on the tyrant. Your natural compassion has — 
 given you at the same time the instinct of perceiving 
 innocence and comprehending genuine greatness 
 It is you who by your memories preserve and adorn 
 the renown of magnanimous victors, whose generous 
 virtues have protected the feeble, especially those of 
 your sex. Such were Cyrus, Alexander, and Charle- 
 magne ; without you, they would be no more worthy 
 dur remembrance than Tamerlane, Bajazet, or Attila. 
 But the blood of the nations subjugated by the for- 
 mer raises its dun clouds in vain around their colos- 
 
THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. xlix 
 
 sal proportions; for by the memory of their good 
 deeds, you surround them with rays of gratitude, 
 which cause them to shine above our horizon with 
 all the splendors of virtue. 
 
 You are the flowers of life. It isin your bosom 
 that nature pours the generations, and the first affec- 
 tions which cause them to blow. You civilize the 
 human race,and bring its peoples nearer to each 
 other by marriage than is possible by diplomacy or 
 treaties. You are the souls of their labor and com- 
 merce. It is in order to procure new pleasures for 
 you that the maritime powers go to the Indies in 
 search of the most choice and pleasing productions 
 of the soil and the sun. Pliny states that already 
 in his time this traffic was chiefly carried on for 
 your sakes. _ You form a vast system all the world 
 over, whose sons communicate with each other in 
 the past, the present, and the future, and mutually 
 assist each other. With flowers you enchain this 
 globe, for whose empire the cruel passions of men 
 are at strife. 
 
 O women of France! it is for you that to-day the 
 daughter of India imparts transparence to cotton 
 stuffs and gloss to silken tissues! It is for you that 
 the maidens of Athens devise those convenient and 
 charming robes, so conducive to modesty and beauty, 
 that the wise Fénelon himself considered them pref: 
 erable to all the gaudy and troublesome costumes of 
 ais age. Fashion has again clad you in the former, 
 and they have added to your natural graces. Moth- 
 
] THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ers and nurses of our infancy, what a power your 
 charms add to your virtues! You are the arbiters 
 of our opinions and of our moral system. You have 
 improved our tastes, manners, and habits by simpli- 
 fying them. You are the native judges of whatever 
 is modest, pleasing, good, just, and heroic. You 
 spread the influence of your correct judgment 
 throughout Europe, of which you have estab- 
 lished the focus at Paris. Within its walls our sol- 
 diers are inspired with devotion in their country’s 
 defense, either in your presence or by holding you 
 in memory; and within the same walls also, foreign 
 warriors, who have borne unhappy arms against 
 them, flock in crowds, during the too brief intervals 
 of peace, to forget their resentments at your feet. 
 Our language owes its perspicuity, purity, elegance, 
 and softness, and whatever it possesses that is pleas- 
 ing and artless, to you. You have formed and in- 
 spired our greatest poets and most celebrated orators. 
 In your circles you give patronage to the solitary 
 writer who has had the happiness to please you, 
 and the misfortune of irritating jealous factions. 
 Before your modest glances, at the soft tones of your 
 voice, the impudent quibbler is disturbed, the fanatic 
 realizes that he is human, and the atheist becomes 
 conscious that there isa God. Your moving tears 
 quench the torch of superstition, and your celestial 
 smiles dissipate the cold arguments of materialism. 
 Thus, on the island shores, after the long winter, 
 the queen of the Arctic seas, Mount Hecla, crowned 
 
 tee rag 
 
THE AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. h 
 
 with volcanic peaks, belches forth clouds of flames 
 and smoke through the glacial pyramids which seem 
 to threaten the skies; but when the globe, in the 
 sign of the Gemini, begins to incline the north pole 
 towards the sun, the airs of spring, which are born 
 under the influence of the day-star, blend their tepid 
 breath with his ardent rays. Then the sides of the 
 mountain are heated; a subterranean warmth is dif- 
 fused through the cupola of ice which caps it, and 
 soon withdraws from it all support. Then these proud 
 peaks are hurled into the seething craters, extinguish 
 their fires, percolate through subterranean channels, 
 and gush through the mountain’s base in lofty col- 
 umns of black, boiling water. Its hollow foundations 
 cave in on their supports, slide and plunge — enor- 
 mous masses of rock —Jinto the depths of ocean 
 which they had threatened to invade. The appalling 
 sound of their fall, the dull murmur of their torrents, 
 the growling of the seals and white bears which in- 
 habit them, are repeated from afar by the echoes of 
 Horillax and Waigatz. The people dwelling on the 
 Atlantic coasts look with dread on the fearful bergs 
 which glide, overturned, along the shore. Driven by 
 currents, in the grotesque shapes of temples and 
 castles, these continue onward to cool the seas of the 
 torrid zone, and to found rocks in the tepid waters 
 which the next winter will never behold again. 
 Nevertheless, the mountain appears naked and 
 hideous through the fogs of its melted snows and the 
 smoke of its craters, — the degraded slopes display- 
 ing its ancient bones. Then it is that the zephyrs, 
 
wu THE AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 which spoiled it of its wintry mantle, also robe it 
 anew in the garb of spring. They rush trooping 
 from the temperate zones, bearing on their pinions 
 the winged seeds of plants. They carpet its torn 
 sides and deep gorges with mosses, grasses, and 
 flowers. Land and aquatic fowls build their nests 
 there. In a few years, vast groves of cedars and 
 birches spring from its extinguished craters. A re- 
 newed youth permeates it with all the genial in- 
 fluences of the sunlight, during a day lasting for 
 many months. 
 
 The mountain’s beauty is even enhanced by the 
 splendor of the long polar nights. When Winter, 
 under cover of their shades, raises his throne there, 
 spreads over it his ermine mantle, and prepares new 
 changes for the ocean, the moon wheels above, and 
 gives the mountain a portion of the rays of the sun 
 which has forsaken it. The aurora borealis crowns 
 it with flitting flames, and waves its luminous ban- 
 ners around it. At this celestial signal the reindeer 
 seek milder climes ; athwart the gleam of its waver- 
 ing splendors, they perceive Hecla surrounded by 
 seas bristling with icebergs; and, bellowing, search 
 out new pastures in its profound valleys. Thousands 
 of swans circle around its summit in long spiral 
 procession, and rejoicing to descend upon this hos- 
 pitable region, give vent in that upper air to cries 
 unknown in our climes. The daughters of Ossian, 
 listening, cease from their nightly hunt to repeat 
 harmonious strains on their lyres; and soon new 
 Pauls come to seek among them for new Virginias 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 —~—_—_ 
 
 On the eastern coast of the mountain which rises 
 above Port Louis in the Mauritius, upon a piece of 
 land bearing the marks of former cultivation, are 
 seen the ruins of two small cottages. Those ruins 
 are situated near the centre of a valley, formed by 
 immense rocks, and which opens only toward the 
 north. On the left rises the mountain, called the 
 Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the dis- 
 tant sail when it first touches the verge of the hori- 
 zon, and whence the signal is given when a vessel 
 approaches the island. At the foot of this mountain 
 stands the 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 
 5amboo, in the midst of a spacious plain; and the 
 prospect terminates in a forest extending to the fur- 
 thest bounds of the island. The front view presents 
 the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little 
 on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune; and 
 
 Seyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of 
 1 
 
2 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 which appear a few uninhabited islands, and, among 
 others, the Point of Endeavor, which resembles a 
 bastion built upon the flood. 
 
 At the entrance of the valley which presents those 
 various objects, the echoes of the mountain inces- 
 santly repeat the hollow murmurs of the winds that 
 shake the neighboring forests, and the tumultuous 
 dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon 
 the cliffs; but near the ruined cottages all is calm 
 and still, and the only objects which there meet the 
 eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding 
 rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their base, 
 on their rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops, 
 where the clouds seem to repose. ‘The showers, 
 which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid 
 colors of the rainbow on their green and brown 
 declivities, and swell the sources of the little river 
 which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan- 
 Palms. 
 
 Within this inclosure reigns the most profound 
 silence. The waters, the air, all the elements are at 
 peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat the whispers 
 
 “of the palm-trees spreading their broad leaves, the 
 long points of which are gently agitated by the 
 winds. A soft light illumines the bottom of this 
 deep valley, on which the sun shines only at noon. 
 But even at break of day the rays of light are 
 thrown on the surrounding rocks; and their sharp 
 peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, 
 appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon 
 
 the azure sky. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 3 
 
 To this scene I loved to resort, where I could en- 
 joy at once the richness of an unbounded landscape, 
 and the charm of uninterrupted solitude. One day, 
 when I was seated at the foot af the cottages, and 
 contemplating their ruins, a man, advanced in years, 
 passed near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient 
 garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he leaned 
 upon a staff of ebony: his hair was white, and the 
 expression of his countenance was dignified and in- 
 teresting. I bowed to him with respect; he re- 
 turned the salutation ; and, after looking at me with 
 some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the 
 hillock where I was seated. Encouraged by this 
 mark of confidence, I thus addressed him : 
 
 “Father, can you tell.me to whom those cottages 
 once belonged?” “My sen,” replied the old man, 
 “those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled land, 
 were, twenty years ago, the property of two families, 
 who then found happiness in this solitude.. Their 
 history is affecting; but what European, pursuing 
 his way to the Indies, will pause one moment to 
 interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individ- 
 uals? What European can picture happiness to his 
 imagination amidst poverty and neglect? The curi- 
 osity of mankind is only attracted by the history of 
 the great, and yet from that knowledge little use 
 can be derived.” “ Father,” I rejoined, “from your 
 manners and your observations, I perceive that you 
 have acquired much experience of human lifes -21f 
 you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the 
 
4 PAUL ‘AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert; and 
 be assured, that even the men who are most per- 
 verted by the prejudices of the world find a sooth- 
 ing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which 
 belongs to simplicity and virtue.” The old man, 
 after a short silence, during which he leaned his face 
 upon his hands, as if he were trying to recall the 
 iinages 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 
 commission in the French army, or some support 
 from his own family, at length determined to seek 
 his fortune in this island, where he arrived in 1726. 
 teers and by whom fe was no las tenderly be- 
 loved. She belonged to a rich and ancient family 
 of the same province ; but he had married her with- 
 out fortune, and in opposition to the will of her rela- 
 tions, 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 Mad- 
 agascar, in order to purchase a few slaves to as- 
 sist him in forming a plantation in this island. Ile 
 landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy season 
 which commences about the middle of October; and 
 soon after his arrival died_of the pestilential fever, 
 which prevails there six months of the year, and 
 which will forever baffle the attempts of the Euro. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 5 
 
 pean nations to form establishments on that fatal 
 soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity 
 of strangers, as so often happens to those who die 
 away from their home, and his wife, who was preg- 
 nant, found herself a widow in a country where she 
 had neither credit nor recommendation, and no 
 earthly possession, or rather support, but one negro 
 woman. ‘Too delicate to solicit protection or relief 
 from any man after the death of him whom alone 
 she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, and 
 _she resolved to cultivate with her slave a little spot 
 of ground, and procure for herself the means of 
 subsistence. 
 
 In an island almost a desert, and where the 
 ground was left to the choice of the settler, she 
 avoided those spots which were most fertile and 
 most favorable to commerce; and seeking some’ 
 nook of the mountain, some secret asylum, where 
 she might live solitary and unknown, she bent her 
 way from the town toward these rocks, where she 
 wished to shelter herself as in a nest. All sensitive 
 and suffering creatures, from a sort of common 
 instinct, fly for refuge amid their pains to haunts 
 the most wild and desolate; as if rocks could form a 
 rampart against misfortune —as if the calm of Na- 
 ture could hush the tumults of the soul. That 
 Providence, which lends its support when we ask 
 but the supply of our necessary wants, had a bless- 
 ing in reserve for Madame de la Tour, which neither 
 riches nor greatness can purchase; this blessing 
 was a friend, 
 
5 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The spot to which Madame de la Tour fled had 
 already been inhabited a year by a young woman of 
 a lively, good-natured, and affectionate disposition. 
 Margaret (for that was her name) was born in 
 Brittany, of a family of peasants, by whom she was 
 cherished and beloved, and with whom she might 
 have passed life in simple rustic happiness, if, 
 misled by the weakness of a tender heart, she had 
 ‘not listened to the passion of a gentleman in the 
 neighborhood, who promised her marriage. He 
 soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to 
 seduction, refused to insure a provision for the child 
 of which she was pregnant. Margaret then deter- 
 mined to leave forever her native village, and go, 
 where her fault might be concealed, to some colony 
 distant from that country where she had lost the 
 - only portion of a poor peasant girl — her reputation. 
 With some borrowed money she purchased an old 
 ‘negro slave, with whom she cultivated a little corner 
 of this canton. Here Madame de la Tour, followed 
 by her negro woman, found Margaret suckling her 
 child. Soothed by the sight of a person in a situa- 
 tion somewhat similar to her own, Madame de la 
 Tour related, in a few words, her past condition and 
 her present wants. Margaret was deeply affected 
 by the recital; and, more anxious to merit confi- 
 dence than esteem, she confessed, without disguise, 
 the errors of which she had been guilty. “As for 
 me,” said-she, “I deserve my fate: but you, Madam 
 — you! at once virtuous and unhappy ” — and, sob 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 7 
 
 bing, she offered Madame de la Tour both her hut 
 and her friendship. That lady, affected by this 
 tender reception, pressed her in her arms, and ex 
 claimed, “ Ah, surely Heaven will put an end to my 
 misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I am a 
 stranger, with more goodness toward me than I 
 have ever experienced from my own relations ? ” 
 
 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 
 neighbor. In the cities of Europe a street, even a 
 simple wall frequently prevents members of the 
 same family from meeting for whole years; but in 
 new colonies we consider those persons as neighbors 
 from whom we are divided only by woods and moun- 
 tains ; and above all, at that period when this island 
 had little intercourse with the Indies, neighborhood 
 alone gave a claim to friendship, and hospitality 
 toward strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. 
 No sooner was I informed that Margaret had found 
 a companion, than I hastened to her, in hope of 
 being useful to my neighbor and her guest. 
 
 I found in Madame de la Tour a person interest- 
 ing in appearance, showing at once dignity and dejec- 
 tion. She appeared to be in the last stage of her 
 pregnancy. I told them that, for the future interests 
 of their children, and to prevent the intrusion of 
 any other settler, it would be well for them to divide 
 the property of this wild sequestered valley, which 
 is nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided 
 
8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 that task to me, and I marked out two equal portions 
 of land. One included the higher part of this in- 
 closure, from the peak of that rock buried in clouds, 
 whence springs the river of Fan-Palms, to that pre- 
 cipitous cleft which you see on the summit of the 
 mountain, and which is called the Cannon’s Mouth, 
 from the resemblance in its form. It is difficult to 
 find a path along this wild portion of inclosure, the 
 soil of which is encumbered with fragments of rock, 
 or worn into channels formed by torrents; yet it 
 produces noble trees, and innumerable springs and 
 rivulets. The other portion of land comprised the 
 plain extending along the banks of the river of Fan- 
 Palms, to the opening where we are now seated, 
 whence the river takes its course between those two 
 hills, until it falls into the sea. You may still trace 
 the vestiges of some meadow-land; and this part of 
 the common is less rugged, but not more valuable 
 than the other ; since in the rainy season it becomes 
 marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and un- 
 bending, that it will yield only to the stroke of the 
 hatchet. When I had thus divided the property, I 
 persuaded my neighbors to draw lots for their re- 
 spective possessions. The higher portion of land 
 became the property of Madame de la Tour; the 
 lower, of Margaret; and each seemed satisfied with 
 her share. ‘They entreated me to place their habita- 
 tions together, that they might at all times enjoy the 
 soothing intercourse of friendship, and the consola- 
 ‘ion of mutual kind offices. Margaret’s cottage was 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. g 
 
 situated near the centre of the valley, and just on 
 the boundary of her own plantation. Close to 
 that spot I built another cottage for the dwelling 
 of Madame de la Tour; and thus the two friends, 
 while they possessed all the advantages of neigh- 
 borhood, lived on their own property. I myself 
 cut palisades from the mountain, and brought leaves 
 of fan-palms from the sea-shore, in order to con- 
 struct those two cottages, of which you can now 
 discern neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, 
 alas! there still remain but too many traces for my 
 remembrance! Time, which so rapidly destroys the 
 proud monuments of empires, seems in this desert 
 to spare those of friendship, as if to perpetuate my 
 regrets to the last hour of my existence. 
 
 Scarcely was the second of these cottages finished, 
 when Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. 
 Thad been the godfather of Margaret’s child, who 
 was christened by the name of Paul. Madame de 
 Ja Tour desired me to perform the same office for 
 her child also, together with her friend, who gave 
 her the name of Virginia. “She will be virtuous,” 
 cried Margaret, “and she will be happy. I have 
 only known misfortune by wandering from virtue.” 
 
 At the time Madame de la Tour recovered, these 
 two little territories had already begun to yield some 
 produce, perhaps in « small degree owing to the 
 care which I occasionally bestowed on their improve- 
 ment, but far more to the indefatigable labors of the 
 4wo slaves. Margaret’s slave, who was called Do. 
 
10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mingo, was still healthy and robust; although ad- 
 vanced in years; he possessed some knowledge, and 
 a good natural understanding. He cultivated indis- 
 criminately, on both settlements, such spots of 
 ground as seemed to him most fertile, and sowed 
 whatever grain he thought most congenial to each 
 particular soil. Where the ground was poor he 
 strewed maize ; where it was most fruitful, he plant- 
 ed wheat; and rice in such spots as were marshy. 
 He threw the seeds of gourds and cucumbers at 
 the foot of the rocks, which they loved to climb 
 and decorate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry 
 spots he cultivated the sweet potato; the cotton- 
 tree flourished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane 
 grew in the clayey soil. He reared some plants of 
 coffee on the hills, where the grain, although small, 
 is excellent. His plantain-trees, which spread their 
 erateful shade on the banks of the river, and en- 
 circled the cottage, yielded fruit throughout the year. 
 And, lastly, Domingo cultivated a few plants of to- 
 bacco, to charm away his own cares. Sometimes 
 he was employed in cutting wood for firing from the 
 mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock with- 
 
 in the inclosure, in order to level the paths. He 
 | performed all these labors with intelligence and ac- 
 tivity because he worked with zeal. He was much 
 attached to Margaret, 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 passion- 
 ately fond of his wife. Mary was born at Madagas- 
 
 ee ee ee ee 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. jl 
 
 ear, from whence she had brought a few arts of in- 
 dustry. She could weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, 
 with long grass that grows in the woods. She was 
 active, cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her 
 care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry, and 
 go sometimes to Port Louis, and sell the superfluous 
 produce of these little plantations, which was not 
 very considerable. If you add 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, as well: as of the revenue of these 
 two little farms. 
 
 Madame de la Tour and her friend were employed 
 from morning till evening in spinning cotton for the 
 use of their families. Destitute of all those things 
 which their own industry could not supply, at home 
 they went barefoot; shoes were a convenience re- 
 served for Sunday, when, at an early hour, they at- 
 tended mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, 
 which you see yonder. The church was further away 
 than Port Louis; yet they seldom visited the town, 
 lest they should be treated with contempt, because 
 they were dressed in the coarse blue linen of Ben- 
 gal, which is usually worn by slaves. After all, is the 
 world’s esteem worth as much as domestic happi- 
 ness? If they had something to suffer when away, 
 they reéntered their homes with all the more pleas- 
 ure. No sooner did Mary.and Domingo perceive 
 them from this height, on the road of the Shaddock 
 Grove, than they flew to the foot of the mountain, in 
 
12 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 order to help them to ascend. They discerned in 
 the looks.of their domestics the joy which their re- 
 turn excited. They found in their retreat neatness, 
 independence, all the blessings which are the recom- 
 pense of toil, and they received those services which 
 spring from affection. United by the ties 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 friend- 
 ship awakened in their hearts the pang of unavail- 
 ing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste man- 
 ners, drew their affections toward another life: as 
 the trembling flame rises toward heaven, when it 
 no longer finds any aliment on earth. 
 
 The tender and sacred duties which Nature im- 
 posed became a source of additional happiness to 
 those affectionate mothers, whose mutual friendship 
 acquired new strength at the sight of their children, 
 alike the offspring of unhappy love. They delighted 
 in washing their infants together in the same bath, 
 putting them to rest in the same cradle, and some- 
 times they nursed one another’s babes. “My 
 friend,” cried Madame de la Tour, “we shall each 
 of us have two children, and each of our children 
 will have two mothers.” As two buds which remain” 
 on two trees of the same kind, after the tempest has 
 vroken all their branches, produce more delicious 
 fruit if each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 13 
 
 grafted on the neighboring tree, so those two chil- 
 dren, deprived of all other relations, imbibed senti- 
 ments more tender than those of son and daughter, 
 brother and sister, when thus exchanged «t the 
 breast of those who had given them birth. 
 
 While they were yet in their cradles, their moth- 
 ers talked of their marriage; and this prospect of 
 conjugal felicity with which they soothed their own 
 cares, often called forth the tears of bitter regret: 
 one mother recalling how her troubles had arisen 
 from having neglected marriage, the other how her’s 
 had sprung from having submitted to its laws; one 
 had been made unhappy by attempting to raise her- 
 self above her condition, the other by descending 
 from her rank. But they found consolation in re- 
 flecting that their more fortunate children, far from 
 the cruel prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once 
 the pleasures of love and the blessings of equality. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the atgachment which these 
 infants already displayed for each other. If Paul 
 complained, his mother pointed to Virginia, and at 
 that sight he smiled and was appeased. If any ac- 
 cident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave notice 
 of the disaster, and then the dear child would sup- 
 press her complaints when she found that Paul was 
 unhappy. When I came hither, I usually found 
 them quite naked, as is the custom of this country, 
 tottering in their walk, and holding each other by 
 the hands and under the arms, as we represent the 
 constellation of the Twins. At night these infants 
 
11 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 often refused to be separated, and were found lying 
 in the’ same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms 
 pressed close together, their hands thrown round 
 each other's neck, and sleeping locked in one an- 
 other’s arms. 
 
 When they began to speak, the first names they 
 learned to give each other were those of brother 
 and sister, and childhood knows no softer appella- 
 tion. Their education served to increase their early 
 friendship, by directing it to the supply of each 
 other’s wants. In a short time, all that regarded 
 the household economy, the care of preparing the 
 rural repasts, became the task of Virginia, whose 
 labors were always crowned with the praises and 
 kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in mo- 
 tion, he dug the garden with Domingo, or followed 
 him with a little hatchet into the woods, and if in 
 his rambles he espied a beautiful flower, fine fruit, 
 or a nest of birds, evep at the top of a tree, he would 
 climb up, and bring it home to his sister. 
 
 When you met one of these children, you might 
 be sure the other was not far off One day, as I was 
 coming down that mountain, I saw Virginia at the 
 end of the garden, running toward the house, with 
 her petticoat thrown over her head, in order to 
 screen herself from a shower of rain. At a dis- 
 tance, I thought she was alone; but as I hastened 
 toward her, in order to help her on, I perceived 
 that she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely en- 
 veloped in the same canopy, and both were laugh 
 
 4 
 — a ee Se 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 1é 
 
 ug heartily at being sheltered together under an 
 umbrella of their own invention. Those two charm- 
 fag faces placed within the swelling petticoat, re- 
 called to my mind the children of Leda inclosed 
 within the same shell. 
 
 Their sole study was how to please and assist each 
 other; for of all other things they were ignorant, 
 and knew neither how to read nor write. They 
 were never disturbed by inquiries about past times, 
 nor did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of 
 their mountain. They believed the world ended at 
 the shores of their own island, and all their ideas 
 and affections were confined within its limits. Their 
 mutual tenderness, and that of their mothers, em- 
 ployed ‘all the activity of their souls. Their tears 
 had never been called forth by tedious application 
 to useless sciences. Their minds had never been 
 wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to bosoms 
 unconscious of ill. They had never been taught 
 -not to steal, because every thing with them was in 
 common; or not to be intemperate, because their 
 simple food was left to their own discretion ; or not 
 to lie, because they had no truth to conceal. Their 
 young imaginations had never been terrified by the 
 idea that God has punishments in store for ungrate- 
 ful children, since with them filial affection arose nat- 
 urally from maternal fondness. All they had been 
 taught of religion was to love it; and if they did 
 not offer up long prayers in the church, wherever 
 they were, in the house, in the fields, in the woods, 
 
16 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 they raised toward heaven their innocent hands, 
 and their hearts purified by virtuous affections. 
 
 Thus passed their early childhood, like a beautiful 
 dawn, the prelude of a bright day. Already they 
 partook with their mothers the cares of the house- 
 hold. As soon as the crow of the cock announced 
 the first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and 
 hastened to draw water from a neighboring spring ; 
 then returning to the house, she prepared the break- 
 fast. When the rising sun lighted up the points of 
 the rocks which overhang this inclosure, Margaret 
 and her child went to the dwelling of Madame de la 
 Tour, and offered up together their morning prayer. 
 This sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their 
 first repast, of which they often partook before the 
 door of the cottage seated upon the grass, under a 
 canopy of plantain; and while the branches of that 
 delightful tree afforded a grateful shade, its solid 
 fruit furnished food ready prepared by Nature; and 
 its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied 
 the want of linen. 
 
 Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early 
 growth and vigor to the persons of these children, 
 and their countenances expressed the purity and the 
 peace of their souls. At twelve years of age the 
 figure of Virginia was in some degree formed: a 
 profusion of light hair shaded her face, to which her 
 blue eyes and coral lips gave the most charming 
 brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when 
 she spoke; but when she was silent, her look had a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 1T 
 
 east upward, which gave it an expression of ex- 
 treme sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. 
 Already the figure of Paul displayed the graces of 
 manly beauty. He was taller than Virginia ; his 
 skin was of a darker tint; his nose more aquiline ; 
 and his black eyes would have been too piercing, if 
 the long eyelashes, by which they were shaded, had 
 not given them a look of softness. He was con- 
 stantly in motion, except when his sister appeared, 
 and then, placed at her side, he became quiet. Their 
 meals often passed in silence, and, from the grace 
 of their attitudes, the beautiful proportions of their 
 figures, and their naked feet, you might have fancied 
 you beheld an antique group of white marble, repre- 
 senting some of the children of Niobe, but for the 
 glances of their eyes which were constantly seeking 
 to meet, and their mutual soft and tender smiles 
 which gave rather the idea of those happy celestial 
 spirits, whose nature is love and who are not obliged 
 to have recourse to words for the expression of their 
 feelings. In the mean time, Madame de la Tour 
 perceiving every day some unfolding grace, some 
 new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal 
 anxiety increase with her tenderness. She often 
 said to me, “If I should die, what will become of 
 Virginia without fortune ?” 
 
 Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who 
 was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a devotee. 
 She had behaved with so much cruelty toward her 
 
 niece upon her marriage that Madame de la Tout 
 2 
 
18 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 had determined that no extremity of distress should 
 ever compel her to have recourse to her hard- 
 hearted relation. But when she became a mother, 
 she stifled the pride of resentment. She wrote to 
 her aunt, informing her of the sudden death of her 
 husband, the birth of her daughter, and the difficul- 
 ties in which she was involved, far from her own 
 country, without support, and burdened with a child. 
 She received no answer; but, notwithstanding that 
 high spirit which was natural to her character, she 
 no longer feared’ exposing herself to mortification 
 and reproach ; and although she knew her relation 
 would never pardon her for having married a man 
 of merit, but not of noble birth, she continued to 
 write to her by every opportunity, in the hope of 
 awakening her compassion for Virginia. Many 
 years, however, passed, during which she received 
 not the smallest testimony of her remembrance. 
 
 At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival 
 of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this island, Ma- 
 dame de la Tour was informed that the governor 
 had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to 
 Port Louis, careless on this occasion of appearing in 
 her homely garment; maternal joy made her regard- 
 less of such trifles. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
 delivered to her the letter from her aunt, who in- 
 formed her that she deserved her fate for having 
 married an adventurer and a libertine; that the 
 passions brought along with them their own punish- 
 ment, and that the sudden death of her husband 
 
 a, a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 19 
 
 was a just visitation from Heaven; that she had 
 done well in going to a distant island, rather than 
 dishonor her family by remaining in France; and 
 that, after all, in the colony where she had taken 
 refuge, every person grew rich except the idle. 
 Having thus censured her, she finished by praising 
 herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable 
 evils of marriage, she had determined to remain in 
 a single state. The truth was that being of a very 
 ambitious temper, she had resolved only to unite 
 herself to a man of high rank; but although she 
 was very rich, her fortune was not found a sufficient 
 bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malig- 
 nant disposition of her mind and the disagreeable 
 qualities of her person. 
 
 She added in a postscript, that, after mature de- 
 liberation, she had strongly recommended her niece 
 to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she had in- 
 deed done, but in a manner of late too common, and 
 which renders a patron perhaps even more formida- 
 ble than a declared enemy ; for, in order to justify 
 herself for her harshness, she had cruelly slandered 
 her niece, while affecting to pity her misfortunes. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced per- 
 son could have seen.without feeling sympathy and 
 respect, was received with the utmost coolness by 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais ; and when she painted 
 to him her own situation, and that of her child, he 
 replied, “ We will see what can be done -— there 
 are so many to relieve — all in good time —why did 
 
20 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 you affront so respectable a relation? You have 
 been much to blame.” 
 
 Madame de Ja Tour returned to her cottage, her 
 heart torn with grief and filled with all the bitter- 
 ness of disappointment. When she arrived, she 
 threw herself on a chair, and flinging her aunt’s let- 
 ter on the table, exclaimed to her friend, “ There is 
 the fruit of eleven years of patient expectation!” 
 As Madame de la Tour was the only person in the 
 little circle who could read, she again took up the 
 letter, which she read aloud. Scarcely had she fin- 
 ished, when Margaret exclaimed, “ What have we to 
 do with your relations? Has God then forsaken us? 
 He only is our father! Have we not hitherto been 
 happy? Why then this regret? You have no 
 courage.” Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she 
 threw herself upon her neck, and pressing her in 
 her arms, “ My dear friend!” cried she, “my dear 
 friend!” But her emotion choked her utterance. 
 
 At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and pressed 
 her mother’s hand and Margaret’s alternately. to her 
 lips, and to her heart; while Paul, with his eyes in- 
 flamed with anger, cried, clasped his hands together, 
 and stamped with his feet, not knowing whom to 
 blame for this scene of misery. The noise brought 
 Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habita- 
 tion resounded with the cries of distress. “ Ah, 
 Madame ! —- My good mistress !— My dear mother ! 
 — Do not weep!” . 
 
 Those tender proofs of affection at length dis 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 21 
 
 pelled Madame de la Tour’s sorrow. She took Pau. 
 and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them, 
 cried, “ You are the cause of my affliction, and yet 
 my only source of delight! Yes, my dear children, 
 misfortune has reached me from a distance, but 
 surely Iam surrounded by happiness.” Paul and 
 Virginia did not understand this reflection ; but, 
 when they saw that she was calm. they smiled, amd 
 continued to caress her. Thus their former happi- 
 ness was restored, and what had passed was but a 
 storm in the midst of fair weather. 
 
 The amiable disposition of those children unfolded 
 itself daily. One Sunday, their mothers having 
 gone at day-break to mass, at the church of the 
 Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro 
 woman beneath the plantains which shaded their 
 habitation. She appeared almost wasted to a skel- 
 eton, and had no other garment than a shred of 
 coarse cloth thrown across her loins. She flung 
 herself at Virginia’s feet, who was preparing the 
 family breakfast, and cried, “ My good young lady, 
 have pity on a poor runaway slave. For a whole 
 month I have wandered among these mountains, 
 half-dead with hunger, and often pursued by the 
 yunters and their dogs. I fled from my master, a 
 rich planter of the Black River, who has used me 
 as you see;” and she showed her body marked by 
 deep scars from the lashes she had received. She 
 added, “I was going to drown myself; but hearing 
 you lived here, I said to myself, Since there are 
 
22 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 still some good white people in this country, I need 
 not die. yet.” 
 
 Virginia answered with emotion, “ Take courage, 
 unfortunate creature! eat! eat! and she gave her 
 the breakfast she had prepared, which the poor slave 
 in a few minutes devoured. When her hunger was 
 appeased, Virginia said to her, “ Poor woman! will 
 you let me go and ask forgiveness for you of your 
 master? Surely the sight of you will touch him 
 with pity. Will you show me the way?” “Angel 
 of heaven!” answered the poor negro woman, “I 
 will follow you where you please.” Virginia called 
 her brother, and begged him to accompany her. 
 The slave led the way, by winding and difficult 
 paths, through the woods, over mountains which they 
 climbed with difficulty, and across rivers through 
 which they were obliged to wade. At length about 
 the middle of the day they reached the foot of a 
 precipice upon the borders of the Black River. 
 ‘There they perceived a well-built house, surrounded 
 by extensive plantations, and a great number of slaves 
 employed at their various labors. ‘Their master was 
 walking among them, with a pipe in his mouth and 
 a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin man, of a 
 brown complexion; his eyes were sunk in his head, 
 and his dark eyebrows were joined together. Vir- 
 ginia, holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and 
 with much emotion begged him, for the love of God, 
 to pardon his poor slave, who stood trembling a few 
 paces behind ‘The planter at first paid little at 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 23 
 
 tention to the children, who, he saw, were meanly 
 dressed. But when he observed the elegance of 
 Virginia’s form, and the profusion of her beautiful 
 light tresses, which had escaped from beneath her 
 blue cap; when he heard the soft tone of her voice 
 which trembled, as well as her own frame, while she 
 implored his compassion ; he took the pipe from his 
 mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible 
 oath, that he pardoned his slave, not for the love of 
 Heaven, but of her who asked his forgiveness. 
 Virginia made a sign to the slave to approach her 
 master, and instantly sprang away, followed by 
 Paul. 
 
 They climbed up the precipice they had de- 
 scended, and having gained the summit, seated 
 themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with fa- 
 tigue, hunger, and thirst. They had left their cot- 
 tage fasting, and had walked five leagues since break 
 of day. Paul said to Virginia, “ My dear sister, it 
 is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hun- 
 ery; we shall find no dinner here; let us go down 
 the mountain again, and ask the master of the poor 
 slave for some food.” “Oh no,” answered Virginia, 
 “he frightens me too much. Remember what 
 mamma sometimes says,-The bread of the wicked 
 is like stones in the mouth.” “ What shall we do 
 then?” said Paul; “these trees produce no fruit fit 
 to eat and I shall not be abie to find even a tama- 
 rind or a lemon to refresh you?” “ God will take 
 eare of us,” replied Virginia; “ He listens to the cry 
 
a4 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 even of the little birds when they ask Him for food.” 
 Scarcely had she pronounced these words, when 
 they heard the dashing of waters which fell from a 
 neighboring rock. ‘They ran thither, and having 
 quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, they 
 gathered and ate a few cresses which grew on the 
 border of the stream. 
 
 While they were looking on this side and that in 
 search of more solid nourishment, Virginia spied a 
 young palm-tree. The kind of cabbage which is 
 found at the top of the palm, enfolded within its 
 leaves, is well adapted for food; but, although the 
 stalk of the tree is not thicker than a man’s leg, it 
 grows to above sixty feet in height. The wood of 
 this tree indeed is composed of very fine filaments, 
 but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge of the 
 hatchet, and Paul was not furnished even with a 
 knife. At length he thought of setting fire to the 
 palm-tree ; but a new difficulty occurred, — he had 
 no steel with which to strike fire, and although the 
 whole island is covered with rocks, I do not believe 
 it possible to find a single flint. Necessity, however, 
 is fertile in expedients, and the most useful inven- 
 tions have arisen from men placed in the most des- 
 titute situations. Paul determined to kindle a fire 
 in the manner of the negroes. With the sharp end 
 of a stone he made a small hole in the branch of a 
 tree that was quite dry, which he held between his 
 feet; he then with the edge of the same stone 
 brought to a point another dry branch of a different 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 
 
 sort of wood, and afterward placing the piece of 
 pointed wood in the small hole of the branch which 
 he held with his feet, and turning it rapidly between 
 his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of 
 fire issued from the points of contact. Paul then 
 heaped together dried grass and branches, and set 
 fire to the palm-tree, eireb soon fell to the ground 
 with a great crash. The fire was useful to him in 
 stripping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves 
 within which the cabbage was inclosed. 
 
 Paul and Virginia ate part of the cabbage raw, 
 and part dressed upon the ashes, which they found 
 equally palatable. They made this frugal repast 
 with delight, from the remembrance of the benevo- 
 lent action they had performed in the mor ning ; yet 
 their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the un- 
 easiness which their long absence would give their 
 mothers. Virginia often recurred to this subject; 
 but Paul, who felt his strength renewed by their 
 meal, assured her that it would not be long before 
 they eased their mothers’ minds by reaching home. 
 
 After dinner they were much embarrassed by the 
 recollection that they had no longer any guide, and 
 that they were ignorant of the way. ‘Paul, whose 
 spirit was not subdued by ditficulties, said to Vir- 
 ginia, “The sun shines full upon our huts at noon; 
 we must pass, as we did this morning, over that 
 mountain with its pies points, which you see yon 
 der. Come, let us go.” This mountain was that of 
 the Three Breasts, so called from the form of its 
 
26 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 three peaks. They descended the steep bank of the 
 Black River, on the northern side, and arrived, 
 _ after an hour’s walk, on the banks of a large stream 
 which stopped their further progress. 
 
 This large portion of the island, wholly covered 
 with forests, is even-now so little known that many 
 of its rivers and rgountains have not yet received a 
 name. The river, on the banks of which they stood, 
 rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. ‘The noise of the 
 water frightened Virginia, and she durst not wade 
 through the current. Paul therefore took her up in 
 his arms, and went thus loaded over the slippery 
 rocks, which formed the bed of the river, careless 
 of the tumultuous noise of its waters. “ Do not be 
 afraid,” cried he te Virginia; “I feel very strong 
 with you. If that planter. at the Black River had 
 refused you the pardon of his slave, I would have 
 fought with him.” “ What!” answered Virginia, 
 “with that great wicked man? ‘To what have I ex- 
 posed you! Good God! how difficult it is to do 
 good, and it is so easy to do wrong.” 
 
 When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to 
 continue his journey carrying his sister, and he flat- 
 tered himself that he was able to climb in that way 
 the mountain of the Three Breasts, which was still 
 et the distance of half a league; but his strength 
 soon failed, and he was obliged to set down his bur- 
 den, and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then 
 said to him, “My dear brother, the sun is going 
 down ; you have still some strength left, but mine 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. -° yy 4 
 
 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 surprises 
 us in this wood, I will light a fire, and bring down 
 another palm-tree ; you shall eat the cabbage, and I 
 will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you.” In 
 the mean time, Beit being 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. Of these she made a sort 
 of buskin, with which she covered her feet, that 
 were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony 
 paths ; for, in her eager desire to do good, she had 
 forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling her feet 
 cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke off 
 a branch of bamboo, and. continued her walk, lean- 
 ing with one hand on the staff, and with the other 
 on Paul. 
 
 Thus they walked on slowly through the woods ; 
 but from the height of the trees, and the thickness 
 of their foliage, they soon lost sight of the mountain 
 of the Three Breasts, by which they had directed 
 their course, and of the sun also which was now set- 
 ting. At length they wandered, without perceiving 
 it, from the beaten path in which they had hitherto 
 walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees 
 and rocks, which appeared to have no opening. 
 Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran back- 
 ward and forward, half-frantic, in search of a path 
 which might lead them out of this thick wood: but 
 
28 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 he fatigued himself to no purpose. He climbed to 
 the top of a high tree, whence he hoped at least to 
 discern the mountain of the Three Breasts ; but all 
 he could perceive around him were the tops of trees, 
 some of which were gilded by the last beams of the 
 setting sun. Already the shadows of the mountains 
 were spreading over the forests in the valleys. The 
 wind lulled, as it usually does, at the evening hour. 
 The most profound silence reigned in those awful 
 solitudes, interrupted only by the cry of the stags, 
 who came to their lairs in that unfrequented spot. 
 Paul, in the hope that some hunter would hear his 
 voice, called out as loud as he was able, “ Come, 
 come to the help of Virginia.” But the echoes of 
 the forests alone answered his call, and repeated 
 again and again, “ Virginia — Virginia.” Paul at 
 length descended from the tree, overcome with 
 fatigue and vexation, and reflected how they might 
 best contrive to pass the night in that desert. But 
 he could find neither fountain nor palm-tree, nor 
 even a branch of dry wood to kindle a fire. He 
 then felt by experience, the sense of his own weak- 
 ness, and began to weep. Virginia said to him, 
 «“ Do not weep, my dear brother, or I shall be over- 
 whelmed with grief. I am the cause of all your 
 sorrow, and of all that our mothers are suffering at 
 this moment. I find we ought to do nothing, not 
 even good, without consulting our parents. Oh I 
 have been very imprudent!” and she began to shed 
 tears. She then said to Paul, “ Let us pray to God, 
 my dear brother, and he will have pity on us.” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 23 
 
 Scarcely had they finished their prayer, when they 
 heard the barking of a dog. “It is the dog of some 
 hunter,” said Paul, “ who comes here at night to lay 
 in wait for the stags.” Soon after the dog barked 
 again with more violence. “Surely,” said Virginia, 
 “it is Fidéle, our own dog; yes, I know his voice. 
 Are we then so near home? at the foot of our own 
 mountain?” A moment after Fidéle was at their 
 feet, barking, howling, moaning, and devouring them 
 with his caresses. Before they had recovered their 
 surprise, they saw Domingo running toward them. 
 At the sight of the good old negro, who wept for 
 joy, they began to weep too, without being able to 
 utter one word. When Domingo had recovered 
 himself a little, “O my dear children,” cried he, 
 “how miserable have you made your mothers! How 
 astonished were they when they returned from mass, 
 where I went with them, on not finding you at home! 
 Mary, who was at work at a little distance, could 
 not tell us where you were gone. I ran backward 
 and forward about the plantation, not knowing 
 where to look for you. At last I took some of your 
 old clothes, and showing them to Fidéle, the poor 
 animal, as if he understood me, immediately began 
 to scent your path; and conducted me, wagging his 
 tail all the while, to the Black River. It was there 
 a planter told me that you had brought back a 
 maroon negro woman, his slave, and that he had 
 granted you her parden. But what pardon! he 
 showed her to me with her fect chained to a block 
 
30 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks fastened 
 round herneck ! 
 
 “ From there Fidéle, still on the scent, led me up 
 the precipice of the Black River, where he 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 which was still smoking. At last 
 he led me to this very spot. We are at the foot of 
 the mountain of the Three Breasts, and still four 
 good leagues from home. Come, eat, and gather 
 strength.” He then presented them with a cake, 
 some fruits, and a very large gourd filled with a 
 liquor composed of wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar, 
 and nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared to 
 invigorate and refresh them. Virginia sighed at the 
 recollection of the poor slave, and at the uneasiness 
 which they had given their mothers. She repeated 
 several times, “ Oh, how difficult it is to do good!” 
 
 While she and Paul were taking refreshment, 
 Domingo kindled a fire, and having sought among 
 the rocks for a particular kind of crooked wood, 
 which burns when quite green, and throws out a 
 ereat blaze, he made a torch, which he lighted, it 
 being already night. But when they prepared to. 
 continue their journey, a new difficulty occurred ; 
 Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their feet 
 being violently swollen and-inflamed. Domingo 
 knew not whether it were better to leave them, and 
 eo in search of help, or remain and pass the night 
 with them on that spot. “ What is become of the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 31 
 
 time,” said he, “ when I used to carry you both to- 
 gether in my arms? But now you are grown big 
 and I am grown old.” While he was in this per- 
 plexity, a troop of maroon negroes appeared at the 
 distance of twenty paces. The chief of the band, 
 approaching Paul and Virginia, said to them, “ Good 
 little white people, do not be afraid. We saw you 
 pass this morning, with a negro woman of the Black 
 River. You went to ask pardon for her of her 
 wicked master, and we, in return for this, will carry 
 you home upon our shoulders.” He then made a 
 sign, and four of the strongest negroes immediately 
 formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees 
 and lianas, and, having seated Paul and Virginia on 
 it, they carried them thus upon their shoulders. Do- 
 mingo marched in front, with his lighted torch, and 
 they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the whole 
 troop, and overwhelmed with their benedictions. 
 Virginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul, with 
 emotion, “ O my dear brother! God never leaves a 
 good action without reward.” 
 
 It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of 
 their mountain, on the ridges of which several fires 
 were lighted. Scarceiy had they begun to ascend, 
 when they heard voices exclaiming, “Is it you, my 
 *hildren?” They answered, and the negroes with 
 them, “ Yes, it is we;” and soon after perceived 
 their mothers and Mary coming toward them with 
 lighted sticks in their hands. “ Unhappy children! ” 
 cried Madame de la Tour, “from whence do you 
 
32 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 come? What agonies you have made us suffer !” 
 “ We come,” said Virginia, “ from the Black River, 
 where we went to ask pardon for a poor maroon 
 slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this morning, 
 because she was dying of hunger; and these ma- 
 roon negroes have brought us home.” Madame de 
 la Tour embraced her daughter without being able 
 to speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet with 
 her mother’s tears, exclaimed, “ You repay me for 
 all the hardships I have suffered.” Margaret, ina 
 transport of delight, pressed Paul in her arms, cry- 
 ing, “ And you also, my dear child! you have done 
 a good action.” When they reached the cottage 
 with their children, they gave plenty of food to the 
 negroes, who returned to their woods, praying for all 
 sorts of blessings to fall on those good white people. 
 
 Every day was to these families a day of tranquil- 
 lity and of happiness. Neither ambition nor envy dis- 
 turbed their repose. They did not seek an empty 
 reputation away from home, to be had by intrigue 
 and lost by calumny; they were content to be the 
 sole witnesses and judges of their own actions. In 
 this island, where, as in all the European colonies, 
 every malignant anecdote is circulated with avidity, 
 their virtues, and even their names were unknown. 
 Only when a traveller on the road of the Shaddock 
 Grove inquired of any of the inhabitants of the 
 plain, “ Who live in those two cottages above?” he 
 was always answered, even by those who did not 
 know them, “They are good people.” ‘Thus the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. oo 
 
 modest violet, concealed beneath the thorny bushes, 
 - sheds its fragrance, while itself remains unseen. 
 Slander, which under an appearance of justice 
 naturally inclines the heart to falsehood or to hatred, 
 was entirely banished from their conversation ; for 
 it is impossible not to hate men if we believe them 
 to be wicked, and to live with the wicked without 
 concealing that hatred under a false pretense of 
 good feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at ease with 
 others and with ourselves. Without passing judg- 
 ment then upon particular persons, they only sought 
 how they could do good to all in general, and though 
 they had but little power, they had an unceasing 
 good-will, which made them always ready with a 
 kind deed. Solitude, so far from making them sav- 
 ages, had made them more thoroughly civilized. If 
 the scandal of society gave them nothing to talk 
 about, Nature was at hand to fill them with delight. 
 They adored the bounty of that Providence which 
 had enabled them to spread abundance and beauty 
 amidst those barren rocks, and to enjoy those pure 
 and simple pleasures which are ever grateful and 
 ever new. 
 - Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and 
 more intelligent than Europeans are at fifteen, and 
 had embellished the plantations which Domingo had 
 only cultivated. He had gone with him to the 
 neighboring woods, and rooted up young plants of 
 lemon-trees, oranges, and tamarinds, the round heads 
 
 of which are of so fresh a green, together with date 
 : 
 
 . 
 
54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 palm-trees, producing fruit filled with a sweet cream 
 which has the fine perfume of the orange flower. 
 Those trees, which were already of a considerable 
 size, he planted round this little inclosure. He had 
 also sown the seeds of many trees which the second 
 year bear flowers or fruit: such as the agathis, en- 
 circled with long clusters of white flowers, which 
 hang upon it like the crystal pendants of a lustre ; 
 the Persian lilac, which lifts high in air its gray flax- 
 colored branches; the papaw-tree, the branchless 
 trunk of which forms a column set round with green 
 melons, surmounted by a capital of large leaves like 
 those of the fig-tree. 
 
 The seeds and kernels of the gum-tree, termina- 
 lia, mangoes, alligator pear, the guava, the breadfruit- 
 tree, and the narrow-leaved rose-apple, were planted 
 with profusion; and the greater number of those 
 trees already afforded their young cultivator both 
 shade and fruit. His industrious hands had diffused 
 the riches of Nature even on the most barren parts 
 of the plantation. Several kinds of aloes, the In- 
 dian fig, adorned with yellow flowers spotted with 
 red, and the thorny torch-thistle, grew upon the 
 dark summits of the- rocks, and seemed to aim at 
 reaching the long lianas, which, loaded with blue or 
 crimson flowers, hung scattered over the steepest 
 part of the mountain. Those trees were disposed 
 in such a manner that you could command the whole 
 at one view. He had placed in the middle of this 
 hollow the plants of the lowest growth: behind 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 34 
 
 grew the shrubs; then trees of an ordinary height ; 
 above which rose the venerable lofty trees which 
 bordered the circumference. Thus from its centre 
 this extensive inclosure appeared like a verdant am- 
 phitheatre of fruits and flowers, inclosing ‘plats of 
 vegetables, strips of meaduw-land, and fields of rice 
 and corn. But, in blending these vegetable pro- 
 ductions to his own taste, he did not wander from 
 Nature’s arrangement. Guided by her suggestions, 
 he had thrown upon the rising grounds such seeds 
 as the winds might scatter 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 Nature’s own hands. 
 The waters, which rushed from the summits of the 
 rocks, formed in the valley here fountains, there 
 large clear mirrors, which reflected in a setting of 
 bright verdure the trees in blossom, the bending 
 rocks, and the azure heavens. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the 
 ground, these plantations were for the most part 
 easy of access. We had, indeed, all given him our 
 advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this 
 end. He had formed a path which wound round 
 the valley, and various ramifications from it led from 
 the circumference to the centre. He had drawn 
 some advantage from the most rugged spots; and 
 had blended, in harmonious variety, smooth walks 
 with the inequalities of the soil, and wild with do- 
 mestic trees. With that immense quantity of rolling 
 
86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 stones which now block up those paths, and which 
 are scattered over most of the ground of this island, 
 he formed here and there pyramids; and at their 
 base he laid earth, and planted the roots of rose 
 bushes, the Barbadoes flower-fence, and other shrubs 
 which love to climb the rocks. In a short time those 
 gloomy, shapeless pyramids were covered with ver- - 
 dure, or with the glowing tints of the most beauti- 
 ful flowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the 
 streams, shaded by the overhanging boughs of aged 
 trees, formed vaulted caves impenetrable to the sun, 
 and where you might enjoy coolness during the heats 
 of the day. One path led to a clump of forest-trees, 
 in the centre of which, sheltered from the wind, grew 
 a cultivated tree, loaded with fruit. Here was a 
 corn-field, there an orchard. From that avenue you 
 had a view of the cottages; from this, of the inac- 
 cessible summit of the mountain. Beneath a tufted 
 bower of gum-trees, interwoven with lianas, no ob- 
 ject whatever could be discerned even at noon; 
 while the point of the neighboring rock, which pro- 
 jects from the mountain, commanded a view of the 
 whole inclosure, and of the distant ocean, where 
 sometimes we spied a vessel which was coming from 
 iurope, 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 37 
 
 which were bestowed upon some of the charming 
 retreats of this labyrinth. That rock, of which I 
 was speaking, and from which my approach could 
 be seen from afar, was called the DiscOVERY OF 
 Frienpsure. Paul and Virginia, in 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 the sight of a vessel at sea. ‘The idea 
 struck me of engraving an inscription upon the stalk. 
 of this reed. Whatever pleasure I have felt during 
 my travels at the sight of a statue or monument of 
 antiquity, I have felt still more in reading a well- 
 written inscription. It seems to me as if a human 
 voice issued from the stone, and, making itself 
 heard after the lapse of ages, addressed wan in the 
 midst of a desert, and told him that he was not 
 alone; that other men, on that very spot, have felt, 
 and thought, and suffered like himself. If the in- 
 scription belongs to an ancient nation, which no 
 longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, 
 and inspires the feeling of its immortality, by show- 
 ing that a thought has survived the ruins of an 
 empire. . 
 
 I inscribed then, on the little mast of Paul and 
 Virginia’s flag, these lines of Horace : — 
 
 “ Fratres Helene, lucida sidera, 
 Ventorumque regat pater, 
 Obstrictis alliis, preter lapyga.” 
 
BS PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 “May the brothers of Helen, bright stars, 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 sometimes 
 seated himself, in order to contemplate the agitated 
 
 Sea; —— 
 “ Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes !”’ 
 
 “ Happy art thou, my son, to know only the pasto- 
 ral divinities.” 
 
 And this other one above the door of Madame de 
 la Tour’s cottage, where the families used to assem- 
 ble: — 
 
 “ At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.” 
 
 “ Here is a calm conscience, and a life ignorant 
 of deceit.” 
 
 But Virginia did not approve of my Latin; she 
 said that what I had placed at the foot of her 
 weather-flag was too long and too learned. “TI 
 should have liked better,” added she, “to have seen 
 inscribed, ver agitated, yet constant.” My reflection 
 made her blush. 
 
 The 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 
 rose-apple trees, planted round a greensward where 
 Virginia and Paul sometimes danced, was called 
 Concord. An old tree, beneath the shade of which 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 
 
 Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to relate 
 their misfortunes, was called, The Tears wiped away. 
 They gave the names of Brittany and Normandy 
 to little portions of ground where they had sown 
 corn, strawberries, and pease. Domingo and Mary, 
 wishing, in imitation of their mistresses, to recall 
 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 calabash-tree. ‘Thus, with 
 the productions of their respective climates, those 
 exiled families cherished the dear illusions which 
 bind us to our native country, and softened their re- 
 erets in a foreign land. Alas! I have seen, en- 
 livened by a thousand delightful appellations, those 
 trees, those fountains, those stones, which are now 
 overthrown, and like the plains of Greece, present 
 nothing but ruins and affecting remembrances. 
 
 But perhaps the most charming spot of this in- 
 closure was that which was called Virginia’s Rest- 
 ing-place. At the foot of the rock which bore the 
 name of the Discovery of Friendship is a nook, 
 from whence issues a fountain, forming, near its 
 source, a little spot of marshy soil in the midst 
 of a field of rich grass. At the time Margaret 
 was delivered of Paul, I made her a present of 
 an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and 
 which she planted on the border of this fenny 
 sround, in order that the tree might one day serve 
 to mark the epoch of her son’s birth. Madame de 
 
: 
 
 40 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 la Tour planted another cocoa, with the same view, 
 at the birth of Virginia. These nuts produced two 
 cocoa-trees, which formed the only records of the 
 two families; one was called Paul’s tree, the other 
 Virginia’s tree. They both grew in the same pro- 
 portion as their two owners, a little unequally ;_ but 
 they rose, at the end of twelve years, above the cot- 
 tages. Already their tender stalks were interwoven 
 and their young clusters of cocoas hung over the 
 basin of the fountain. Except this little plantation, 
 the nook of the rock had been left as it was deco- 
 rated by Nature. On its brown and moist sides large 
 plants of maiden-hair glistened with their green and 
 dark stars; and tufts of wave-leaved hart’s-tongue, 
 suspended like long ribbons of purpled green, 
 floated on the winds. Near this grew a chain of 
 the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which re- 
 semble the red gillyflower; and the long-podded 
 capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are of the color 
 of blood, and more glowing than coral. Hard by, 
 the herb of balm, with its leaves within the heart, 
 and the sweet basil, which has the odor of the gilly- 
 flower, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. From 
 the steep side of the mountain hung the graceful 
 lianas, like floating drapery, forming magnificent 
 canopies of verdure upon the sides of the rocks. 
 The sea-birds, allured by the stillness of those 
 retreats, resorted thither to pass the night. A< 
 the hour of sunset we could see the curlew and 
 the stint skimming along the sea-shore; the black 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 
 
 frigate-bird poised high in air; and the white bird 
 of the tropic, which abandons, with the star of day, 
 the solitudes of the Indian Ocean. Virginia loved 
 to rest 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 was making cheeses of their milk, she 
 loved to see them browse on the maiden-hair which 
 erew upon the steep sides of the rock, and hung 
 suspended upon one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. 
 Paul, observing: 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, established themselves in this new col- 
 ony. Virginia, at certain times, distributed among 
 them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon as 
 she appeared the whistling blackbird, the amadavid 
 bird, the note of which is so soft; the cardinal, with 
 its plumage the color of flame, forsook their bushes ; 
 the paroquet, green as an emerald, descended from 
 the neighboring fan-palms; the partridge ran along 
 the grass; all came running helter-skelter toward 
 her, like a brood of chickens, and she and Paul de- 
 lighted to observe their sports, their repasts, and 
 sheir loves. 
 
 Amiable children! thus passed your early days 
 in innocence, and in the exercise of benevolence. 
 How many times, on this very spot, have your moth- 
 ers, pressing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for 
 
42, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the consolations that you were preparing for their de 
 clining years, and that they could see you begin life 
 under such happy auspices! How many times, be- 
 neath the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with 
 them of your rural repasts, which cost no animal its 
 life! Gourds filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes of 
 rice placed upon plantain leaves, baskets loaded with 
 mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine-apples, 
 furnished at once 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 those of the morrow. He was continually 
 planning something useful for their little society. 
 Here he discovered that the paths were rough; 
 there that the seats were uncomfortable; sometimes 
 the young arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and 
 Virginia might be better pleased elsewhere. 
 
 In the rainy season the two families met together 
 in the cottage, and employed themselves in weav- 
 ing mats of grass and baskets of bamboo. Rakes, 
 spades, and hatchets were ranged along the walls in 
 the most perfect order; and wear these instruments 
 of agriculture were placed its products, —sacks of 
 rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantains. 
 Some degree of luxury is usually united with plenty, 
 and Virginia was taught by her mother and Marga- 
 ret to prepare sherbet and cordials from the juice 
 of the.sugar-cane, the lemon, and the.citron. 
 
 When night.came, they all supped together by the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 43 
 
 light of a lamp; after which Madame dela Tour or 
 Margaret told stories of travellers lost during the 
 night in forests of Europe infested by banditti; or 
 of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest 
 upon the rocks of a desert 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 showing their hospi- 
 tality toward such unfortunate persons. At length 
 the two families would separate and retire to rest, 
 impatient to meet again the next morning. Some- 
 times they were lulled to repose by the beating rains 
 which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cot- 
 tages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, which 
 ‘brought to their ear the distant murmur of the 
 waves breaking upon the shore. They blessed God 
 for their own safety, of which their feeling became 
 stronger from the idea of remote danger. 
 
 Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some 
 affecting history of the Old or New Testament. 
 Her auditors reasoned but little upon these 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 particu- 
 lar days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. 
 Every day was to them a holiday, and all which sur- 
 rounded thein one holy temple, where they forever 
 adored an Infinite Intelligence, Almighty, and ‘the 
 friend of human kind. <A sentiment of confidence 
 in His supreme power filled their minds with conso- 
 
44 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 lation for the past, with fortitude for the present, and 
 with hope for the future. Behold how these women, 
 compelled by misfortune to return to a state of na- 
 ture, had unfolded in their own bosoms, and in those 
 of their children, the feelings which Nature gives us, 
 our best support under evil. 
 
 But as clouds sometimes arise which cast a gloom 
 over the best-regulated tempers, whenever any mem- 
 ber of this little society appeared sad, the rest 
 gathered around, endeavoring to banish painful 
 thoughts rather by sentiment than by arguments. 
 Each used in this their especial character. Marga- 
 ret exerted her gayety, Madame de la Tour em- 
 ployed her mild theology, Virginia her tender ca- 
 resses, Paul his cordial frankness. Even Mary and. 
 Domingo hastened to offer their succor, and to weep 
 with those that wept. Thus weak plants are inter- 
 woven 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. Rich plant- 
 ers used to come to church in their palanquins, who 
 several times sought the acquaintance of families so 
 bound up in each other, and would have invited 
 them to parties of pleasure. But they always de- 
 clined these overtures with respectful politeness, per- 
 suaded that the powerful seek the weak only to feed 
 their own complacency, and that the weak cannot 
 please them without flattering them, whether they 
 are good or evil. On the other hand, they avoided 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 
 
 with equal care, too intimate an acquaintance with 
 the small planters, who are as a class jealous, calum- 
 hiating, and gross. They thus acquired with some 
 the character of being timid, and with others of 
 being proud; but their reserve was accompanied 
 with so much obliging politeness, above all toward 
 the unfortunate, that they insensibly acquired the 
 respect of the rich and the confidence of the poor. 
 After service the poor often came to require some 
 kind office at their hands. Perhaps it was a person 
 troubled in mind who sought their advice, or a child 
 Jed them to its sick mother in the neighborhood. 
 They always took with them remedies for the ordi- 
 nary diseases of the country, which they administered 
 in that soothing manner which stamps so much value 
 upon the smallest favors. Above all, they succeeded 
 in banishing the disorders of the mind, which are 
 so intolerable in solitude, and under the infirmities 
 of a weakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke 
 with such sublime confidence of the Divinity, that 
 the sick, while listening to her, believed that He was 
 present. Virginia often returned home with her 
 eyes wet with tears, and her heart overflowing with 
 delight, at having had an opportunity of doing good. 
 After these visits of charity, they sometimes pro- 
 Jonged their walk by the valley of the Sloping 
 Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, where I 
 used to prepare dinner for them upon the banks of 
 the little river which glides near my cottage. I pro- 
 cured for these occasions some bottles of old wine, 
 
46 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 in order to heighten the gayety of our Indian repast 
 by the more genial productions of Europe. At other 
 times we met upon the sea-shore, at the mouth of 
 uther little rivers, which are here scarcely larger 
 than brooks. We brought from the plantation our 
 vegetable provisions, to which we added such as the 
 sea furnished in great variety. We caught on these 
 shores the mullet, the roach, and the sea-urchin, lob- 
 sters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all other kinds of 
 shell-fish. In this way we often enjoyed the most 
 tranquil pleasures in situations the most frightful. 
 Sometimes, seated upon a rock under the shade 
 of the velvet sunflower-tree, we saw the enormous 
 waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath our feet 
 with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like 
 a fish, would advance on the reefs to meet the com- 
 ing billows; then, at their near approach, would run 
 back to the beach, closely pursued by the foaming 
 breakers, which threw themselves with a roaring 
 noise far on the sands. But Virginia at this sight 
 uttered piercing cries, and said that such sports 
 frightened her too much. 
 
 Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and 
 dances of the two young people. Virginia sang the 
 happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of those 
 who were impelled, by avarice, to cross the furious 
 ocean, rather than cultivate the earth, and enjoy its 
 peaceful bounties. Sometimes she performed a pan- 
 tomime with Paul, in the manner of the negroes. | 
 [he first language of man is pantomime ; it is known 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 
 
 to all nations, and is so natural and so expressive, 
 that the children of the European inhabitants catch 
 it with facility from the negroes. Virginia recalling, 
 from among the histories which her mother had 
 read to her, those which had affected her most, rep- 
 resented the principal events in them with beautiful 
 simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo’s 
 tamtam she appeared upon the greensward, bearing 
 a pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a timid 
 step toward the source of a neighboring fountain, 
 to draw water. Domingo and Mary, who person- 
 ated the Shepherds of Midian, forbade her to ap- 
 proach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul 
 flew to her succor, beat away the shepherds, filled 
 Virginia’s pitcher, and placing it upon her head, 
 bound her brows at the same time with a wreath of 
 the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which 
 served to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. 
 Then, joining their sports, I took upon me the part 
 of Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul my daughter 
 Zephora in marriage. 
 Another time she represented Ruth, accompany- 
 ing Naomi who returns poor and widowed to her 
 own country, where she finds herself a stranger after 
 her long absence. Domingo and Mary personated 
 the reapers. Virginia followed their steps, pretend- 
 ing to glean here and there a few ears of corn. She 
 was interrogated by Paul with the gravity of a patri- 
 arch, and answered with a faltering voice his ques- 
 tions. Soon, touched with compassion, he granted 
 
48 | PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 an asylum to innocence, and hospitality to misfor- 
 tune. He filled Virginia’s lap with all kinds of 
 food; and, leading her toward us as before the old 
 men of the city, declared his purpose to take her in 
 marriage. At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recall- 
 ing the desolate situation in which she had been left 
 by her relations, her widowhood, the kind reception 
 she had met with from Margaret, succeeded now by — 
 the soothing hope of a happy union between their 
 children, could not forbear weeping; and these 
 mixed recollections of good and evil caused us all 
 to join in her tears of sorrow and of 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. The 
 scene was generally placed in an opening of the for- 
 est, where such parts of the wood as were penetra- 
 ble formed around us numerous arcades of foliage, 
 beneath which we were sheltered from the heat dur- - 
 ing the whole day; but when the sun descended 
 toward the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of 
 the trees, diverged among the shadows of the forest 
 in strong 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 dazzling mass of brightness. The foliage of the 
 trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, 
 gluwed with the lustre of the topaz and the emerald 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 
 
 Their brown and mossy trunks appeared changed into 
 columns of antique bronze ; and the birds, which had 
 retired in silence to their leafy shades to pass the 
 night, surprised to see the radiance of a second 
 morning, hailed the star of day with innumerable 
 carols. 
 
 Night soon overtook us during those rural enter- 
 tainments; but the purity of the air, and the mild- 
 ness of the climate, admitted of our sleeping in the 
 woods secure from the injuries of the weather, and 
 no less secure from the molestation of robbers. At 
 our return the following day to our respective hab- 
 itations, we found them exactly in the same state in 
 which they had been left. In this island, which then 
 had no commerce, there was so much simplicity and 
 good faith, that the doors of several houses were 
 without a key, and a lock was an object of curiosity 
 to many of the natives. 
 
 There were, however, some days in the year cele- 
 brated by Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar 
 manner: these were the birthdays of their mothers. 
 Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some 
 wheaten cakes, which she distributed among a few 
 poor white families born on the island, who had 
 never eaten European bread, and who, uncared for 
 by the blacks, forced to live in the woods on tapioca 
 roots, had not to sustain their poverty either the 
 stupidity which attends slavery or the courage which 
 springs from education. These cakes were all the 
 
 gifts that Virginia could offer to ease their condition, 
 4 
 
50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 but shé gave them in so delicate a manner that they 
 were worth vastly more. In the first place Paul was 
 commissioned to take the cakes himself to these fam- 
 ilies, and get their promise to come and spend the 
 next day at Madame de la Tour’s and Margaret's. 
 They might then be seen coming, —a mother of a 
 family perhaps with two or three thin, yellow, mis- 
 erable-looking daughters, so timid that they dared 
 not lift their eyes from the ground. Virginia soon 
 put them at their ease; she brought them refresh- 
 ments, the excellence of which she endeavored to 
 heighten by relating some particular circumstance 
 which, in her own estimation, greatly improved them. 
 This drink had been prepared by Margaret ; this 
 other by her mother; her brother had himself. 
 picked this fruit from the top of the tree. She 
 would get Paul to dance with them, nor would she 
 leave them till she saw that they were happy. She 
 wished them to partake of the joy of her own fam- 
 ily. “We are happy,” she would say, “only when 
 we are seeking the happiness of others.” When 
 they left, she would have them carry away some little 
 thing that appeared to please them, enforcing their 
 acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, that she 
 might not appear to know that they were in want. 
 If she remarked that their clothes were much tat- 
 tered, she obtained her mother’s permission to give 
 them some of her own, and then sent Paul to leave 
 them secretly at their cottage-doors. She followed 
 thus the example of God, concealing the benefactor 
 and revealing onlv the benefit. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 
 
 You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from in- 
 fancy with prejudices at variance with happiness, 
 cannot imagine all the instruction and pleasure 
 which Nature has to give. Your soul, confined to a 
 little round of human knowledge, soon reaches the 
 limit of its artificial enjoyment ; but Nature and the 
 heart are inexhaustible. agi 
 
 Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor almanac, 
 nor books of chronology, history, or philosophy. 
 The periods of their lives were regulated by those 
 of Nature. They knew the hours of the day by the 
 shadows of the trees, the seasons by the times when 
 those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years by 
 the number of their harvests. These soothing im- 
 ages diffused an inexpressible charm over their con- 
 versation. “It is time to dine,” Virginia would say 
 to the family ; “ the shadows of the plantain-trees are 
 at their roots ;” or, “ Night approaches ; the tama- 
 rinds close their leaves.” “ When will -you come to 
 see us?” some of her companions in the neighbor- 
 hood would inquire. “At the time of the sugar- 
 canes,” Virginia would answer. “ Your visit will be 
 then still more delightful,” her young acquaintances 
 would reply. -When she was asked what was her 
 own age, and that of Paul, “ My brother,” said she, 
 “is as old as the great cocoa-tree of the fountain ; 
 and I am as old as the little cocoa-tree. The man- 
 goes have borne fruit twelve times, and the orange- 
 trees have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I 
 came into the world.” ‘Their lives seemed linked to 
 
52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the trees like those of fawns or dryads. They knew 
 no other historic epochs than that of the lives of 
 their mothers, no other chronology than that of 
 their orchards, and no other philosophy than that 
 of doing good, and resigning themselves to the will 
 of God. ane 
 
 After all, what need had these young people of 
 riches or learning after our sort? Even their ne- 
 cessities and their ignorance added to their happi- 
 ness. No day passed in which they did not do one 
 another some service or give some knowledge ; and 
 while there might be some errors in this last, yet 
 man in a simple state has no dangerous ones to fear. 
 
 Thus grew those children of Nature. No care 
 had troubled their peace, no intemperance had cor- 
 rupted their blood, no misplaced passion had de- 
 praved their hearts. Love, innocence, and _ piety 
 were each day unfolding the beauty of their souls, 
 disclosing matchless grace in their features, their at- 
 titudes, and their motions. Still in the morning of 
 life, they-had all its blooming freshness ; and surely 
 such in the garden of Eden appeared our first par- 
 ents, when; coming from the hands of God, they 
 first 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. 
 
 Sometimes, when alone with Virginia, he has a 
 thousand times told me, he would say to her, at his 
 return from labor, “ When I am wearied, the sight 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 58 
 
 of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the 
 mountain I perceive you below in the valley, you ap- 
 pear to me in the midst of our orchard like a rosebud. 
 If you go toward our mother’s house, the partridge, 
 running to meet its young, has a shape less beautiful, 
 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 the air where you have passed, 
 in the grass where you have been seated. When I 
 come near you, you delight all my senses. The 
 azure of heaven is less charming than the blue of 
 your eyes, and the song of the amadavid bird less 
 soft than the sound of your voice. If I only touch 
 you with the tip of my finger, my whole frame trem- 
 bles with pleasure. Do you remember the day when 
 ewe crossed over the great stones of the river of the 
 Three Breasts? 1 was very tired before we reached 
 the bank; but as soon as I had taken you in my 
 arms, I seemed to have wings like a bird. Tell me 
 by what charm you have so enchanted me? Is it by 
 your wisdom? Our mothers have more than either 
 of us. Is it by your caresses? They embrace me 
 much oftener than you. I think it must be by your 
 goodness. I shall never forget how you walked 
 barefooted to the Black River, to ask pardon for 
 “the poor runaway siave. Here, my beloved, take 
 this flowering branch of a lemon-tree which I have 
 gathered in the forest; you will place it at night 
 near your bed Eat this honey-comb, which I have 
 
54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 taken for you from the top of a rock. But first lean 
 upon my bosom, and I shall be refreshed.” 
 
 Virginia would answer him: “ O my dear brother, 
 the rays of the sun in the morning on the tops of 
 the rocks give me less joy than the sight of you. 
 J love my mother, I love yours ; but when they call 
 you their son, I love them a thousand times more. 
 When they caress you, I feel it more sensibly than 
 when I am caressed myself. You ask me why you 
 love me. Why, all creatures that are brought up 
 together love one another. Look at our birds; 
 reared up in the same nests, they love like us ; they 
 are always together like us. Hark! how they call 
 and answer from one tree to another. So when the 
 echoes bring to my ears the air which you play upon 
 your flute on the top of the mountain, I repeat the 
 words at the bottom of the valley. You are dear to, 
 me more than ever since the day when you were ready 
 to fight the master of the slave for me. Since that 
 time how often I have said to myself, ‘Ah, my 
 brother has a good heart; but fer him, I should 
 have died of terror.” I pray to God every day for 
 my mother and for yours; for you and for our poor 
 servants; but when JI pronounce your name, my de- 
 votion seems to increase, —I ask so earnestly of 
 God that no harm may befall you! Why do you go 
 so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and flowers 
 for me? How tired you are!” and with her little — 
 white handkerchief she would wipe the damps from 
 his forehead and cheeks, and kiss him tenderly. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 
 
 For some time past, however, Virginia had felt 
 her heart agitated by new sensations. Her beauti- 
 fully blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek its fresh- 
 ness, 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 melancholy without vexation. She 
 fled her innocent sports, her gentle labors, and the 
 society of her beloved family; wandering here and 
 there among the most unfrequented parts of the 
 plantation, and seeking everywhere that rest which 
 she could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight of 
 Paul, she advanced sportively toward him ; then, all 
 at once, when just about to accost him, was seized 
 with sudden confusion ; her pale cheeks overspread 
 with blushes, and her eyes no longer daring to meet 
 those of her brother. 
 
 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 soothe her by his em- 
 braces; but she turned away her head, and fled 
 trembling toward her mother. T he caresses of her 
 brother excited too much emotion in her agitated 
 heart. Paul could not comprehend the caprices so 
 novel and sostrange. Misfortunes never come single. 
 
 One 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 in Capricorn daits 
 
56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 its vertical fires over Mauritius, during the space 
 of three-weeks. The southeast wind, which pre- 
 vails throughout almost the whole year, no longer 
 blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the high- 
 ways, and hung suspended in the air; the ground 
 was everywhere broken into clefts; the grass was 
 burnt; hot exhalations issued from the sides of the 
 mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, 
 became dry; no refreshing cloud ever arose from 
 the sea; fiery vapors during the day ascended from 
 the plains, and appeared at sunset like a vast con- 
 flagration. Night brought no coolness to the heated 
 atmosphere ; the red moon, rising in a misty horizon, 
 appeared of supernatural magnitude. The droop- 
 ing cattle, on the sides of the hills, stretching out 
 their necks toward heaven, and panting for air, 
 made the valleys reécho with their melancholy low- 
 ings ; even the Caffre by whom they were led threw 
 himself upon the earth in search of coolness ; but 
 the scorching sun had everywhere penetrated, and 
 the stifling atmosphere resounded with the buzzing 
 noise of insects, who sought to allay their thirst in 
 the blood of men and of animals. 
 
 On one of those sultry 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 her way, by the light of the 
 moon, toward her fountain, and gazed at its spring, 
 which, notwithstanding the drought, still flowed like 
 silver threads down the brown sides of the rock 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 57 
 
 She flung herself into the basin ; its coolness reani- 
 mated her spirits, and a thousand soothing remem- 
 brances presented themselves to her mind. She 
 recollected that in her infancy her mother and Mar- 
 garet amused themselves by bathing her with Paul 
 in this very spot; that Paul afterward, reserving 
 this bath for her use only, had dug out its bed, cov- 
 ered the bottom with sand, and sown aromatic herbs 
 around the borders. She saw, reflected through the 
 water upon her naked arms and bosom, the two 
 cocoa-trees which were planted at her birth and that 
 of her brother, and which interwove about her head 
 their green branches and young fruit. She thinks 
 of Paul’s friendship, sweeter than the odors, purer 
 than the waters of the fountain, stronger than the 
 intertwining palm-trees, and she sighed. She thinks 
 on the hour of the night, and the profound solitude, 
 and a raging fire seizes her. Forthwith she flies 
 affrighted from those dangerous shades, and those 
 waters hotter than the torrid sunbeam ; she runs to 
 her mother to find a refuge from herself. More than 
 once wishing to unfold her sufferings, she presses 
 her mother’s hand within her own; more than once 
 she is ready to pronounce the name of Paul; but 
 her oppressed heart leaves her lips no power of ut- 
 terance, and, leaning her head on her mother’s 
 bosom, she can only bathe it with her tears. 
 Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned 
 the source of her daughter’s uneasiness, did not 
 think it well to speak to her on that subject. “ My 
 
58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 dear child,” said she, “address yourself to God, who 
 disposes, at his will, of health and of life. He tries 
 you to-day to recompense you to-morrow. Remem- 
 ber that we are only placed upon earth for the ex- 
 ercise of virtue.” 
 
 Meanwhile the excessive heat drew vapors from 
 the ocean, which hung over the island like a vast 
 parasol. The summits of the mountains gathered 
 them about, while long flakes of fire issued from 
 time to time from their misty peaks. Soon the 
 most terrible thunder reéchoed through the woods, 
 the plains, and the valleys; the rains fell from the 
 skies in cataracts; foaming torrents rushed down 
 the sides of this mountain; the bottom of that 
 valley became a sea; the table-land on which the 
 cottages were built, a little island; and the en- 
 trance of this valley a sluice, along which rushed 
 headlong with the moaning waters, earth, trees, and 
 rocks. 
 
 The trembling family were all in prayer to God in 
 the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which 
 cracked horribly from the struggling winds. So 
 vivid and frequent were the lightnings that, although 
 the doors and window-shutters were well fastened, 
 every object without was distinctly seen through the 
 joints in the wood-work. Paul, followed by Do- 
 mingo, went with intrepidity from one cottage to 
 another, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest ; 
 here supporting a partition with a buttress, there 
 driving in a stake, and only returning to the family 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 59 
 
 to calm their fears by the hope that the storm was 
 passing away. In fact, in the evening the rains 
 ceased, the trade-winds of the southeast pursued thei: 
 ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were thrown 
 toward the northeast, and the setting sun appeared 
 in the horizon. 
 
 Virginia’s first wish was to visit the spot called 
 her Resting-place. Paul approached her with a 
 timid air, and offered her the assistance of his arm, 
 which she accepted, smiling, and they left the cot- 
 tage together. The air was fresh and clear; white 
 vapors arose from the ridges of the mountains, fur- 
 rowed here and there by the foam of the torrents, 
 which were now beginning to dry up on all sides. 
 As for the garden it was completely torn to pieces 
 by deep water-courses, the roots of the fruit-trees 
 were for most part laid bare, and vast heaps of sand 
 covered the borders of meadows, and had choked 
 up Virginia’s Bath. The two cocoa-trees, however, 
 were still erect, and still retained their freshness ; 
 but they were no longer surrounded by turf, or ar- 
 bors, or birds, except a few amadavid birds, who, 
 upon the points of the neighboring rocks, lamented 
 in 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 
 ,arden, and it is now destroyed. Every thing then 
 upon earth perishes, and it is only heaven that is 
 vot subject to change.” “ Why,” answered Paul, 
 
60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 “cannot I give you something that comes from 
 heaven! but I have nothing even upon earth.” Vir- 
 ginia with a blush replied, “You have the picture 
 of Saint Paul.” Scarcely had she spoken when he 
 flew to his mother’s cottage in search of it. This 
 picture was a small miniature, representing Paul the 
 Hermit. Margaret had a great reverence for it. She 
 had for a long time worn it hung at her neck when 
 she was a girl, and since she became a mother she 
 had placed it round the neck of her child. It had 
 even happened, that being, while pregnant, aban- 
 doned by the whole world, and continually employed 
 in contemplating the image of this benevolent recluse, 
 her offspring had contracted some resemblance to 
 this revered object. It was this that had led her to 
 bestow upon him the name of Paul, giving him for his 
 patron a saint who had passed his life far from man- 
 kind, by whom he had been first deceived, and then 
 forsaken. Virginia, upon receiving this little picture 
 from the hands of Paul, said to him, with emotion, 
 “ My dear brother, I will never part with this while 
 I live; nor will I ever forget that you have given 
 me the only thing which you possess in the world.” 
 At this tone of friendship, this unhoped-for return 
 of familiarity and tenderness, Paul attempted to em- 
 brace her ; but, light as a bird, she fled, and left him 
 astonished, and unable to account for a conduct so 
 extraordinary. 
 
 Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, 
 “Why do we not unite our children by marriage? 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 
 
 They have a strong attachment to each other which 
 my son does not yet wholly understand. When Na 
 ture shall speak to him, in vain we shall shut our 
 eyes; there is every thing then to fear.” Madame 
 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 children, 
 whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength 
 to rear. Your negro, Domingo, is almost too old to 
 labor; Mary is infirm. As for myself, my dear 
 friend, at the end of fifteen years, I find my strength 
 much lessened ; one grows old rapidly in hot cli- 
 mates, and, above all, under the pressure of misfor- 
 tune. Paul is our only hope; let us wait till years 
 have formed his constitution and 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 with the means of pur; 
 chasing some slaves; and at his return we could 
 unite him to Virginia; for I am persuaded no one 
 on earth can render her so happy as your son. We 
 will speak to our neighbor about it.” 
 
 They accordingly asked my advice, and I was of 
 their opinion. “The Indian seas,” said I, “ are calm, 
 and, in choosing a favorable season, the voyage out 
 is seldom longer than six weeks, and the same for 
 the return. We will furnish Paul with a little vent- 
 ure from my neighborhood, where he is much be- 
 loved. If we were only to supply him with some 
 
62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 raw cotton, of which we make no use for want of 
 mills to.work it ; some ebony, which is here so com 
 mon that it serves us for firing; and some rosin, 
 which is found in our woods; all those articles will 
 sell advantageously in the Indies, while to us they 
 are useless.” 
 
 I engaged to obtain permission from Monsieur de 
 la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage; and I 
 wished beforehand to mention the affair to Paul. 
 But what was my surprise 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 in the world more advantageous than the 
 culture of the ground, which yields sometimes fifty 
 or a hundred fold? If we wish to engage in com- 
 merce, can we not do so by carrying our superfluities 
 to the town, without my wandering to the Indies. 
 Our mothers tell me that Domingo is old and fee- 
 ble, but I am young, and gather strength every day. 
 If any accident should happen during my absence, 
 above all, to Virginia, who already suffers — Oh 
 no, no! —I cannot resolve to leave them.” 
 
 This answer threw me into great perplexity, for 
 Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the 
 situation of Virginia, and the desire which she had 
 of gaining the delay of a few years by separating 
 the young people from one another. These were 
 motives which I thought unwise to suggest to Paul. 
 
 About this time a ship from France brought Ma- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 
 
 dame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. The fear of 
 death, without which hard hearts would never feel, 
 had alarmed her. She was recovering from a dan- 
 gerous disorder, which had left her in a state of 
 weakness rendered incurable by age. She desired 
 her niece to return to France; or, if her health 
 forbade her to undertake so long a voyage, she en- 
 joined on her to send Virginia, on whom she would 
 bestow a good education, procure for her a splendid 
 marriage, and leave her the inheritance of her whole 
 fortune. 
 
 The perusal of this letter spread general conster- 
 nation through the family. Domingo and Mary 
 ‘began to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, ap- 
 peared ready to burst with indignation ; while Vir- 
 ginia, fixing her eyes upon her mother, had not 
 power to utter a word. 
 
 “ And can you now leave us?” cried Margaret to 
 Madame de la Tour. « No, my dear friend, no, my 
 beloved children,” replied Madame de la four, 41 
 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 has been deeply 
 wounded by the cruelty of my relations and the loss 
 of my husband. But I have since found more con- 
 solation and happiness with you in these humble 
 huts, than all the wealth of my family could now 
 lead me to expect in my own country.” 
 
 At this language every eye overflowed with tears 
 
64 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of delight. Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in 
 his arms, exclaimed, “ Neither will I leave you! I 
 will not go to the Indies. We will all labor for you, 
 my dear mamma; and you shall never feel any want 
 with us.” But of the whole society, the person who 
 displayed the least transport, and who probably felt 
 the most, was Virginia; and, during the remainder 
 of the day, that gentle gayety which flowed from her 
 heart, and proved that her peace was restored, com- 
 pleted the general satisfaction. 
 
 The next day, at sunrise, just as they had con- 
 cluded offering up, as usual, their morning prayer, 
 which preceded their breakfast, Domingo informed 
 them that a gentleman on horseback, followed by 
 two slaves, was coming toward the plantation. This 
 person was Monsieur de Ja Bourdonnais. He en- 
 tered the cottage, where he found the family at 
 breakfast. Virginia had prepared, according to the 
 custom of the country, coffee and rice boiled in 
 water ; to these she had added hot yams and fresh 
 bananas. The leaves of the plantain-tree supplied 
 the want of table-linen ; and calabash shells, split in 
 two, served for cups. The Governor discovered at 
 first some surprise at the homeliness of the dwell- 
 ing; then, addressing himself to Madame de la 
 Tour, he observed, that although public affairs drew 
 bis attention too much from the concerns of individ- 
 uals, she had many claims to his good offices. “ You 
 have an aunt at Paris, Madam,” he added, “a woman 
 of quality, and immensely rich, who expects that 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 
 
 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 per- 
 mit her to undertake so long a voyage. “ At least,” 
 resumed Monsieur de Ja Bourdonnais, “ you cannot, 
 without injustice. deprive 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 secure your daughter being sent 
 to her; and that I have received official letters, in 
 which I am ordered to exert my authority, if neces- 
 sary, to that effect. But, as I only wish to employ 
 my power for the purpose of rendering the inhabi- 
 tants of this colony happy, I expect from your good 
 sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few years, upon 
 which depend your daughter’s establishment in the 
 world, and the welfare of your whole life. Where-_— 
 fore do we come to these islands? Is it not to ac- 
 quire a fortune? And will it not be more agreeable 
 to return and find it in your own country ?” 
 
 So saying, he placed-upon the table a great bag of 
 piastres, which had been brought hither by one of 
 his slaves. “This sum,” he continued, “is allotted 
 by your aunt for the preparations necessary for your 
 daughter’s voyage.” Gently reproaching Madame de 
 la Tour for 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 mother did address herself to you, sir, and 
 
 you received her ill.” “ Have you another child, 
 5 
 
66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Madam?” said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Ma- 
 dame de la Tour. “No, sir,” she replied; “this is 
 the son of my friend; but he and Virginia are equally 
 dear to us.” “Young man,” said the Governor to 
 Paul, “when you have acquired a little more expe- 
 rience of the world, you will know that it is the mis- 
 fortune of people in place to be deceived, 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 Creoles, upon 
 coffee, mixed with rice, boiled in water. He was 
 delighted with the order and neatness which pre- 
 vailed in the little cottage, the harmony of the two 
 interesting families, and the zeal of their old ser- 
 vants. “Here,” exclaimed he, “J discern only 
 wooden furniture; but I find serene countenances 
 and hearts of gold.” Paul, enchanted with the affa- 
 bility of the Governor, said to him, “I wish to be 
 your friend; you are a good man.” Monsieur de la. 
 Bourdonnais received with pleasure this insular com- 
 pliment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured him 
 that he might rely upon his friendship. 
 
 After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour aside 
 and informed her that an opportunity presented it- 
 self of sending her daughter to France, in a ship 
 which was going to sail in a short time; that he 
 would recommend her to a lady, a relation of his 
 own, who would be a passenger; and that she must 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 
 
 not think of renounciiig an immense fortune, on ac- 
 count of being separated from her daughter a few 
 years. “ Your aunt,” he added as he was leaving 
 “cannot live more than two years; of this I am as- 
 sured by her friends. ‘Think of it seriously. For- 
 tune does not visit us every day. Consult your 
 friends. Every person of good sense will be of my 
 opinion.” She answered, “that, desiring no other 
 happiness henceforth in the world than that of her 
 daughter, she would leave her departure for France 
 entirely to her own inclination.” 
 
 Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an 
 opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for a 
 short time, and provide, by this means, for their mu- 
 tual happiness 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 advanced in years, and I am already in- 
 firm. If I should die, what would become of you, 
 without fortune, in the midst of these deserts? You 
 would then be left alone, without any person who 
 could afford you much help, and forced to labor 
 without ceasing as a hired servant in order to sup- 
 port your wretched existence. This idea fills my 
 soul with sorrow.” Virginia answered, “God has 
 appointed us to labor. You have taught me to 
 ‘abor, and to bless Him every day. Thus far He 
 has not forsaken us; He never will forsake us. His 
 providence peculiarly watches the unfortunate. You 
 have told me this often, my dear mother! I cannot 
 
68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 it; she throws over her eyes the veil 
 which she has over her heart; but when it is lifted 
 by some cherishing hand, then the hidden pains of 
 her passion escape as through a newly opened bar- 
 rier, and the sweet outpourings of confidence suc- 
 ceed that reserve and mystery in which she had en- 
 folded herself. Virginia, deeply affected by this new 
 proof of her mother’s tenderness, related to her how 
 cruel had been those struggles which God alone had 
 witnessed ; declared that she saw the succor of Provi- 
 dence in that of an affectionate mother, who approved 
 of her attachment, and would guide her by her coun- 
 sels ; that being now strengthened by such support, 
 every consideration led her to remain with her 
 mother, without anxiety for the present, and without 
 apprehension for the future. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this confiden- 
 dal conversation had produced an effect altogether 
 different from that which she expected, said, “ My 
 dear child, I will not any more constrain your in- 
 clination ; think over it at leisure, but conceal your 
 feelings from Paul. When a young girl’s heart is 
 taken captive her lover has nothing left to ask of 
 her. 
 
 ” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 
 
 Toward evening, when she was alone with Vir- 
 ginia, there entered a tall man dressed in a blue cas- 
 sock; he was a missionary priest of the island, and 
 the confessor of Madame de la Tour and Virginia. 
 He had been sent bythe Governor. “ My children,” 
 he exclaimed as he entered, “ God be praised! you 
 are now rich. You can now listen to the kind sug- 
 gestion of your excellent hearts, and do good to the 
 poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
 has said to you, and what you have answered. Your - 
 health, dear 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 im- 
 itation of His example, must devote yourself for the 
 welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will 
 have a happy termination. You will surely consent 
 to go, my dear young lady?” 
 
 Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembling, 
 “Tf it be the command of God, I have nothing to 
 say against it. Let the will of God be done!” 
 said she, weeping. 
 
 The priest went away, and informed the Governor 
 of the success of his mission. In the mean time 
 Madame de la Tour sent Domingo to desire I would 
 come hither, that she might consult me upon Vir- 
 ginia’s departure. I was of opinion that she ought 
 uot to go. I consider it as a fixed principle of hap- 
 
10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 piness, that we ought to prefer the advantages of Na 
 ture to those of fortune; and never go in search of 
 that at a distance, which we may find at home. But 
 what could be expected from my moderate counsels, 
 opposed to the illusions of a splendid fortune ; or 
 from my simple reasoning, contradicted by the prej- 
 udices of the world, and an authority which Madame 
 de la Tour held sacred? ‘This lady had only con- 
 sulted me from a sentiment of respect, and had, in 
 reality, ceased to deliberate since she had heard the 
 decision of her confessor. Margaret herself, who, 
 notwithstanding the advantages she hoped for her 
 son from the possession of Virginia’s fortune, had 
 hitherto opposed her departure, made no further ob- 
 jections. As for Paul, ignorant of what was decided, 
 and alarmed at the secret conversation which Ma- 
 dame de la Tour held with her daughter, he aban- 
 doned himself to deep melancholy. “They are 
 plotting something against my peace,” cried he, 
 “for they conceal every thing from me.” 
 
 A report having in the mean time been spread 
 over the island that fortune had visited those rocks, 
 we beheld merchants of all kinds climbing their 
 steep ascent, and displaying in those humble huts 
 the richest stuffs of India, — the fine dimity of Gon- 
 felore, the handkerchiefs of Pellicate and Mussu- 
 lapatan, the plain striped and embroidered muslins 
 of Decca, clear as the day. Those merchants un- 
 rolled the gorgeous silks of China, white satin dam- 
 asks, others of grass-green, and bright red; rose 
 
PAUL. AND VIRGINIA. 71 
 
 colored taffetas, a profusion of satins, pelongs, and 
 gauze of Tonquin, some plain, and some beautifully 
 decorated with flowers; the soft pekins, downy like 
 cloth ; white and yellow nankeens, and the calicoes 
 of Madagascar. 
 
 Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to pur- 
 chase every thing she liked; and Virginia made 
 choice of whatever she believed would be agreeable 
 to her mother, Margaret, and her son. “This,” said 
 she, “ will serve for furniture, and that will be useful 
 to Mary and Domingo.” In short, the bag of pias- 
 tres was emptied before she had considered her own 
 wants; and she was obliged to receive a share of 
 the presents which she had distributed to the family 
 circle. 
 
 Paul, penetrated with sorrow at the sight of those 
 gifts of fortune, which he felt were the presage of 
 Virginia’s departure, came a few days after to my 
 dwelling. With an air of despondency he said to 
 me, “My sister is going; she is already making 
 preparations for her voyage. Come to our house, 
 I pray you; use your influence over her mother and 
 mine, in order to detain her here.” I could not 
 refuse Paul’s solicitations, although well convinced 
 that my representations would be unavailing. 
 
 If Virginia had appeared to me charming when 
 clad in the blue cloth of Bengal, with a red hand- 
 kerchief tied round her head, how much was _ her 
 beauty improved when I saw her attired like the 
 ladies of this country! She was dressed in white 
 
73 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 muslin, lined with rose-colored taffeta. Her small 
 and elegant shape was displayed to advantage by 
 her corset; and her fair hair, woven in tresses, ac- 
 corded admirably with her maidenly head. Her 
 fine blue eyes were filled with an expression of mel- 
 ancholy; and the struggles of passion, with which 
 her heart was agitated, flushed her cheek, and gave 
 her voice a tone of emotion. The contrast between 
 her pensive look and her gay habiliments rendered 
 her more interesting than ever, nor was it possi- 
 ble to see or hear her unmoved. Paul became 
 more and more melancholy; at length Margaret, 
 distressed by the situation of her son, took him aside 
 and said to him, “ Why, my dear son, will you cher- 
 ish vain hopes, which will only render your disap- 
 pointment more bitter! It is time that. I should 
 make known to you the secret of your life and of 
 mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, by her 
 mother, to a rich and noble family; while you are 
 but the son of -a poor peasant girl, and, what is 
 worse, you are a natural child.” 
 
 Paul, who had never before heard this last expres- 
 sion, inquired with eagerness its meaning. His 
 mother replied: “You had no legitimate father. 
 When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a 
 weakness of which you are the offspring. My fault © 
 deprived you of the protection of a father’s family, 
 and my flight from home, of that of a mother’s fam- 
 ly. Unfortunate child! you have no relation in the 
 world but me!” And she shed a flood of tears, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 73 
 
 Paul, pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, “O my 
 dear mother! since I have no relation in the world 
 but you, I will love you still more! But what a 
 secret have you disclosed to me! I now see the 
 reason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged 
 herself from me for two months past and why she 
 has determined to go. Ah! I perceive too well 
 that she despises me!” 
 
 The hour of supper being arrived, we placed our- 
 selves at table; but the different sensations with 
 which we were all agitated, left us little inclination 
 to eat, and the meal passed in silence. Virginia 
 first went out, and seated herself on the very spot 
 where we now are. Paul hastened after her, and 
 seated himself by her side. For some time both of 
 them kept a profound silence. It was one of those 
 delicious nights which are so common between the 
 tropics, and the beauty of which no pencil can trace. 
 The moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, 
 curtained in clouds, which her beams gradually dis- 
 pelled. Her light insensibly spread itself over the 
 mountains of the island, and over their peaks, which 
 elistened with a silvered green. The winds were per- 
 fectly still. We heard along the woods, at the bot- 
 tom of the valleys, and on the summits of the rocks, 
 the weak cry and the soft murmurs of the birds, 
 wantoning in their nests and exulting in the bright- 
 ness of the night and the serenity of the atmos- 
 pheré. The hum of insects was heard in the grass. 
 The stars sparkled in the heavens, and were re- 
 
74. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 flected in the bosom of the sea that repeated their 
 trembling images. Virginia’s eyes wandered over 
 its vast and gloomy horizon, distinguishable from 
 the bay of the island by the red fires in the fishing- 
 boats. She perceived at the entrance of the harbor 
 a light and a shadow; these were the watchlight and 
 the body of the vessel in which she was to embark 
 for Europe, and which, ready to set sail, lay at an- 
 chor, waiting for the wind. Affected at this sight, 
 she turned away her head, in order to hide her tears 
 from Paul. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and myself were 
 seated at a little distance beneath the plantain-trees ; 
 and in the stillness of the night we distinctly heard 
 their conversation, which I have not forgotten. 
 
 Paul said to her: “ You are going, they tell me, in 
 three days. You do not fear then to encounter the 
 danger of the sea, at which you are so much terri- 
 fied!” “J must fulfill my duty,” answered Virginia, 
 “by obeying my parent.” “ You leave us,” resumed 
 Paul, “for a distant relation whom you have never 
 seen.” “ Alas!” cried Virginia, “I would have re- 
 mained my whole life here, but my mother would 
 not have it so. My confessor told me that it was 
 the will of God I should go; that life was a trial — 
 oh, how sore a trial it is!” 
 
 “What,” exclaimed Paul, “you have found so 
 many reasons then for going, and not one for re- 
 maining here! Ah! there is one reason more for | 
 your departure, which you do not tell me. . Riches 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 75 
 
 have great attractions. You will soon find in a new 
 world another to whom you will give the name of 
 brother, which you bestow on me no more. You 
 will choose that brother from among persons who 
 are worthy of you by their birth, and by a fortune 
 which I have not to offer. But where will you go 
 in order to be happier? On what shore will you 
 land which will be dearer to you than the spot which 
 gave you birth? Where will you find a society 
 more interesting to you than this by which you are 
 so beloved ? How will you bear to live without your 
 mother’s caresses, to which you are so accustomed ? 
 What will become of her, already advanced in years, 
 when she no longer sees you at her side at table, in 
 the house, in the walks where she used to lean upon 
 you? What will become of my mother, who loves 
 you with the same affection? What shall I say to 
 comfort them when I see them weeping for your 
 absence? Cruel! I speak not to you of myself; 
 but what will become of me, when in the morning I 
 shall no more see you; when the evening will come 
 and will not reunite us? When I shall gaze on the 
 two palm-trees, planted at our birth, and so long the 
 witnesses of our mutual friendship? Ah! since a 
 new destiny attracts you, since you seek in a country 
 distant from your own other possessions than those 
 which were the fruits of my labor, let me accompany 
 you in the vessel in which you are going to embark. 
 I will animate your courage in the midst of those 
 tempests at which you are so terrified even on 
 
76 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 shore. I will lay your head on my bosom. I will 
 warm your heart upon my own; and in France, 
 where you go in search of fortune and of grandeur, 
 I will attend you as your slave. Happy only in your 
 happiness, you will find me in those palaces where 
 I shall see you cherished and adored, at least suffi- 
 ciently noble to make for you the greatest of ali. 
 sacrifices, by dying at your feet.” 
 
 The violence of his emotion stifled his voice, and 
 we then heard that of Virginia, which, broken by 
 sobs, uttered these words: “It is for you I go; for 
 you, whom I see every day bent beneath the labor 
 of sustaining two infirm families. If I have ac- 
 cepted this opportunity of becoming rich, it is only 
 to return you a thousand-fold the good which you 
 have done us. Is there any fortune worthy of your 
 friendship? Why do you talk tome of your birth ? 
 Ah! if it was again possible to give me a brother, 
 should I make choice of any other than you? O 
 Paul! Paul! you are far dearer to me than a 
 brother! How much has it cost me to avoid you! 
 Help me to tear myself from my very self, till 
 Heaven can bless our union. Now I stay, I go, I 
 live, I die; do with meas you will. Unhappy that 
 I am! I could have withstood your caresses, but I 
 cannot support you affliction.” 
 
 At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, 
 holding her pressed fast to his bosom, cried, in a 
 piercing tone, “I will go with her; nothing shall 
 divide us!” We ran toward him; and Madame de 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. (a) 
 
 la Tour said to him, “ My son, if you go, what will 
 become of us?” 
 
 He, trembling, repeated the words, “My son! —~ 
 My son!— You, my mother,” cried he; “you, who 
 would separate the brother from the sister! We 
 have both been nourished at your bosom ; we have 
 both been reared upon your knees; we have learnt 
 of you to love each other; we have said so a thou- 
 sand times; and now you would separate her from 
 me! You send her to Europe, that barbarous 
 country which refused you an asylum, and _ to rela- 
 tions by whom you were abandoned. You will tell 
 me that I have no right over her, and that she is 
 not my sister. She is every thing to me, — riches, 
 birth, family, my sole good! I know no other. 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? I will follow 
 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 compassion! May 
 the ocean, to which you trust her, restore her to you 
 no more! May the waves, rolling back our corpses 
 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 
 
78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, “O my friend, I 
 cull 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 L 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 dis- 
 pose 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, which I never 
 sullied by a falsehood.” 
 
 As the sun softens and precipitates an icy rock 
 from the summit of the Apennines, so the impet- 
 uous passions of the young man were subdued by 
 the voice of her he loved. He bent his head, and 
 a flood of tears fell from his eyes. His mother, 
 mingling her tears with his, held him in her 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. ‘This unfortunate 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. It is late; it is midnight ; 
 the Southern Cross is just above the horizon.” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 
 
 He suffered himself to be led away in silence; 
 and, after a night of great agitation, he arose at 
 break of day, and returned home. 
 
 But why should I continue any longer to you the 
 recital of this history? There is never but one 
 aspect of human life which we can contemplate with 
 pleasure. Like the globe upon which we revolve, 
 our fleeting course is but a day; and if one part of 
 that day be visited by light, the other is thrown into 
 darkness. . 
 
 “Father,” I answered, “finish, I conjure you, the 
 history which you have begun ina manner so inter- 
 esting. If the images of happiness are most pleas- 
 ing, those of misfortune are more instructive. What 
 became, I pray you, of unhappy Paul?” 
 
 The first object which Paul saw on his way home 
 was the negro woman Mary, who, mounted upon a 
 rock, was earnestly looking toward the sea. As 
 soon as he perceived her, he called to her from a 
 distance, “ Where is Virginia?” Mary turned her 
 head toward her young master, and began to weep. 
 Paul, beside himself, turned upon his steps and ran 
 to the harbor. He was there informed that Virginia 
 had embarked at break of day ; that the vessel had 
 immediately after set sail, and could no longer be 
 discerned. He instantly returned to the plantation, 
 which he crossed without uttering a word. 
 
 Although the pile of rocks behind us appears 
 almost perpendicular, those green platforms which 
 separate their summits are so many stages by means 
 
80 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 so high and steep that it appears like a forest 
 in air, surrounded by tremendous precipices. The 
 clouds, which are attracted round the summit of the 
 Thumb, supply innumerable rivulets, which fall to 
 so great a depth in the valley situated behind that 
 mountain, that from this elevated point we do not 
 hear the sound of their fall. From that spot you - 
 can discern a considerable part of the island, with 
 its precipices crowned with their majestic peaks ; 
 and, among others, Peter-Booth, and the Three 
 Breasts, with their valley filled with woods. You also 
 command an extensive view of the ocean, and even 
 perceive the Isle of Bourbon forty leagues toward 
 the west. It was from this height that Paul gazed 
 upon the vessel which had borne away Virginia. He 
 saw it, more than ten leagues out at sea, appearing 
 like a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He 
 remained a great part of the day with his eyes fixed 
 upon this object: when it had disappeared, he still 
 fancied he beheld it; and when it was lost in the 
 mists of the horizon, he seated himself on that wild 
 point, forever beaten by the winds, which never 
 cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum 
 trees upon it. Their hoarse, moaning murmurs 
 are like the distant sound of organs and inspire a 
 deep melancholy. There I found Paul, with his 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 81 
 
 head reclined on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground. I had followed him since break of day, 
 and after much importunity, I prevailed with him to 
 descend and return to his family. I went home with 
 him, where the first impulse of his mind, upon see- 
 ing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly 
 for having deceived him. Madame de la Tour told 
 us that a favorable wind having sprung up at three 
 o’clock in the morning, and the vessel being ready 
 to set sail, the Governor, attended by some of his 
 staff and the missionary, had come with a palanquin 
 in search of Virginia, and that, notwithstanding her 
 own objections, her tears, and those of Margaret, all 
 the while exclaiming that it was for the good of 
 them all, they had carried away her daughter almost 
 dying. “At least,” cried Paul, “if I had bid her 
 farewell, I should now be more calm. I would have 
 said to her, Virginia, if, during the time we have 
 lived together, one word may have escaped me 
 which has offended you, before you leave me for- 
 ever, tell me that you forgive me. I would have 
 said to her, Since I am destined to see you no more, 
 farewell, my dear Virginia, farewell! Live, far from 
 me, contented and happy!” 
 
 When he saw that his mother and Madame de la 
 Tour were weeping, “ You must now,” said he, “ seek 
 some other than me to wipe away your tears ;” and 
 then, rushing out of the house and groaning aloud, 
 he wandered up and down the plantation. He hov- 
 
 ered especially about those spots which had been 
 6 
 
&2 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 most dear to Virginia. He said to the goats and 
 their little kids which followed him, bleating, “ What 
 do you ask of me? You will see no more with me- 
 her who used to feed you with her own hand.” 
 He went to the bower called Virginia’s Resting- 
 place; and, as the birds flew around him, exclaimed, 
 “ Poor birds! you will fly no more to meet her who 
 cherished you!” and observing Fidéle running 
 backward and forward in search of her, he heaved 
 a deep sigh, and cried, “ Ah! you will never find 
 her again.” At length he went and seated himself 
 upon the rock where he had conversed with her the 
 preceding evening; and at the view of the ocean, 
 upon which he had seen the vessel disappear which 
 bore her away, he wept bitterly. 
 
 We continually watched his steps, apprehending 
 some fatal consequence from the violent agitation 
 of his mind. His mother and Madame de la Tour 
 conjured him, in the most tender manner, not to 
 increase their affliction by his despair. At length 
 Madame de la Tour soothed his mind by lavishing 
 upon him such epithets as were best calculated to 
 revive his hopes. She called him her son, her dear 
 son, her son-in-law whom she destined for her 
 daughter. She prevailed with him to return to the 
 house, and receive a little nourishment. He seated 
 himself with us at table, next to the place which 
 used to be occupied by the companion of his child- 
 nood, and, as if she had still been present, he spoke 
 to her, and offered whatever he knew was most 
 
~ 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 83 
 
 agreeable to her taste; and then, perceiving his 
 wandering, he began to weep. For some days he 
 employed himself in gathering together every thing 
 which had belonged to Virginia, — the last nosegays 
 she had worn, the cocoa-shell in which she used to 
 drink ; and, as if those relics of his friend had been 
 the most precious treasures which the world con 
 tained, he kissed them and hid them in his bosom 
 Amber does not shed so sweet a perfume as the ob- 
 jects 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 be- 
 gan, with the assistance of Domingo, to repair the 
 garden. 
 
 Soon after, this young man, till now indifferent as 
 a Creole 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 Vir- 
 ginia. He then wished to be instructed in geog- 
 raphy, in order that he might form a just idea of 
 the country where she had disembarked; and in 
 history, that he might know the manners of the soci- 
 ety in which she was placed. Just so he had be- 
 come versed in agriculture, and in the art of laying 
 out the most irregular grounds with advantage and 
 beauty, by this same sentiment of love. Without 
 doubt it is to the fond dreams of this restless and 
 ardent passion that mankind are indebted for a great 
 
 aumber of arts and sciences, while its disap pointments 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 have given birth to hilosophy, which teaches us to 
 bear i ionation. Thus Nature, 
 
 having made love the general link which binds all 
 bethee has render spring of societ 
 a ~ 
 
 the first incitement to knowl ; Wwe 
 
 “Paul found little aiemotion in the study of geog- 
 raphy, which, instead of describing the natural his- 
 tory of each country, gives us only a view of its po- 
 litical boundaries. History, and_especiall 
 history, interested him little more. He there saw 
 only general and periodical evils of which he did 
 not discern the cause; wars, for which there was no 
 reason and no object ; nations without principle, and 
 princes without humanity. He preferred the read- 
 ing of romances, which, being filled with the partic- 
 ular feelings and interests of men, represented situa- 
 tions similar to his own. No book gave him so much 
 pleasure as “'‘Telemachus,” from the pictures which 
 it draws of pastoral life, and of those passions which 
 are natural to the human heart. He read aloud to 
 his mother and Madame de la Tour those parts 
 which affected him most sensibly, when, sometimes, 
 touched by the most tender remembrances, his voice 
 became choked and his eyes were filled with tears. 
 He fancied he had found in Virginia the wisdom 
 of Antiope, with the misfortunes and the tender- 
 ness of Eucharis. With very different 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 Euro. 
 
 - 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 
 
 pean society, he trembled, not without reason, lest 
 Virginia should become corrupted, and should forget 
 him. 
 
 More than a year and a half had indeed passed 
 away before Madame de la Tour received any tid- 
 ings of her daughter. During that period she had 
 only accidentally heard that Virginia had arrived 
 safely in France. At length a vessel, which stopped 
 on its way to the Indies, brought to Madame de la 
 Tour a packet, and a letter written with her own 
 hand. Notwithstanding the care taken by her lov- 
 ing and gentle daughter, Madame de la Tour was 
 certain that she was not at all happy. Her letter 
 paints so naturally her situation and her character 
 that I have retained it almost word for word : — 
 
 “MY DEAREST AND BELOVED MOTHER: 
 
 “T have already sent you several letters written 
 with my own hand, but having received no answer, I 
 fear they have not reached you. I have better hopes 
 for this, from the means I have now taken of send- 
 ing you tidings of myself, and of hearing from you. 
 
 “T have shed many tears since our separation ; I, 
 - who never used to weep but for the misfortunes of 
 others! My aunt was much astonished, when, hav- 
 ing upon my arrival inquired what accomplishments 
 I possessed, I told her that I could neither read nor 
 write. She asked me what then I had learned since 
 { came into the world; and when I answered that I 
 had been taught to take care of the household af 
 
86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fairs, and obey your will, she told me that I had re- 
 ceived the education of a servant. The next day 
 she placed me as a boarder in a great abbey neat 
 Paris, where I have masters of all kinds, who teach 
 me, among other things, history, geography, gram- 
 mar, mathematics, and riding. But I have so little 
 capacity for all these sciences, that I make but small 
 progress with my masters. I feel that I am but a 
 poor creature, with very little ability to learn what 
 they can teach. My aunt’s kindness, however, does 
 not lessen. .She gives me new dresses for each sea- 
 son; 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 renounce the name of La Tour, which is as 
 dear to me as it is to you, from all you have told 
 me of the sufferings my father endured in order to 
 marry you. She has teplaced your name by that of 
 your family, which is also dear to me, because it was 
 your name when a girl. Seeing myself in so splen- 
 did a situation, I implored her to let me send you 
 some assistance. But how shall I repeat her an- 
 swer? 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. 
 
 “T endeavored, upon my arrival, to send you tid- 
 ings of myself by another hand, since I could not 
 myself write ; but, finding no person here in whom 
 { could place confidence, I applied night and day te 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. QT 
 
 reading and writing ; and God gave me grace to at 
 tain my end in a short time. I intrusted my first 
 letters to some of the ladies here, who, I have reason 
 to think, carried them to my aunt. This time I 
 have had recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. 
 I send you her direction, by means of which I shall 
 receive your answer. My aunt has forbid my hold- 
 ing any correspondence whatever, which might, she 
 says, become an obstacle to the great views she has 
 for my advantage. No person is allowed to see me 
 at the grate but herself, and an old nobleman, one 
 of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased with 
 me. I am sure I am not at all so with him; nor 
 should I, even if it were possible for me to be 
 pleased with any one at present. 
 
 “JT live inthe midst of affluence, and have not a 
 sou at my disposal. They say I might make an im- 
 proper use of money. Even my clothes belong to 
 my waiting-women, who quarrel about them before 
 I have left them off. In the bosom of riches, I am 
 poorer than when J lived with you; for I have noth- 
 ing to give. When I found that the great accom- 
 plishments they taught me would not procure me the 
 power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to 
 my needle, of which happily you had taught me the 
 use. I send several pair of stockings of my own 
 making for you and Mamma Margaret, a cap for 
 Domingo, and one of my red_ handkerchiefs for 
 Mary. I also send with this packet some kernels 
 and seeds of various kinds of fruits, which I gathered 
 
88: PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 during my hours of recreation, in the abbey park. 
 I have added also some seeds of violets, daisies, but- 
 tercups, poppies, blue-bottle, and scabiouses, which 
 I picked up in the fields. There are many more 
 beautiful flowers in the meadows of this country than 
 in ours, but nobody cares for them. Iam sure that 
 you and Mamma Margaret will be better pleased 
 with this bag of seeds, than you were with the bag 
 of piastres, 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 blending their foliage 
 with our cocoa-trees. You will fancy yourself in 
 Normandy, which you love so much. 
 
 “ You desired me to relate to you my joys and my 
 griefs. I have no joys far from you. As for my 
 griefs, I endeavor to soothe them by reflecting that 
 I am in the situation in which you placed me by the 
 will of God. But my greatest affliction is, that no 
 one here speaks to me of you, and that I must speak 
 of you to no one. My waiting-women — or rather 
 those of my aunt, for they belong more to her than 
 to me — say to me when I attempt to turn the con- 
 versation upon the objects most dear to me, ‘ Re- 
 member, Mademoiselle, that you are a F rench- 
 woman, and must forget that country of savages.” 
 Ah! sooner will I forget myself than forget the spot 
 on which I was born, and where you dwell! It is 
 this country which is to me a land of savages; for 
 T live alone, having no one to whom I can impart 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 
 
 those feelings of tenderness for you which J shall 
 bear with me to the grave. I am, 
 “ My dearest and beloved mother, 
 “ Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 
 “ VIRGINIA DE LA TOUR. 
 
 “J recommend to your goodness Mary and Do- 
 mingo, who took so much care of my infancy. 
 Caress Fidéle for me, who found me in the wood.” 
 
 Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said 
 one word of him, she who had not forgotten even 
 the house-dog. But he was not aware that, however 
 long may be a woman’s letter, she keeps her tender- 
 est sentiment for the close. 
 
 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 the nature of those plants, and the spots most 
 proper for their cultivation. “ The violet,” said she, 
 “ produces a little flower of a deep purple color, 
 which loves to hide itself beneath the bushes, but is 
 soon discovered by its delightful odors.” She de- 
 sired 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, spotted 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 winds.” She 
 
50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 begged him to sow this upon the rock where she had 
 spoken to him at night for the last time, and for her 
 sake to give it henceforth the name of the Fare 
 well 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 
 and a V entwined together, and formed of hair which 
 he knew from its beauty to be the hair of Virginia. 
 
 The whole family listened with tears to the letter 
 of that sensitive and pure girl. Her mother an- 
 swered it in the name of the little society, and de- 
 sired her to remain or return at her will; assuring 
 her, that they had lost their chief happiness since 
 her departure, and that, for herself, she was incon- 
 solable. 
 
 Paul also sent her a long letter, in which he as- 
 sured her that he would make the garden worthy of 
 her, and blend the plants of Europe with those of Af- 
 rica as she had blended their initials together in her 
 work. He sent her some fruit from the cocoa-trees 
 of the fountain, which were now arrived at maturity; 
 telling her that he would not add seeds of any 
 other trees of the island, that the desire of seeing 
 their fruit again might hasten her return. He con- 
 jured her to comply without delay with the ardent 
 wishes of her family, and, above all, with his own, 
 since he could never hereafter taste any happiness 
 while far from her. 
 
 With a careful hand Paul sowed the European 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 91 
 
 geeds, particularly the violet and the scabious, the 
 flowers of which seemed to bear some analogy to 
 the character and situation of Virginia who had so 
 especially recommended them; but whether they 
 were injured by the voyage, or whether the soil of 
 this part of Africa was unfavorable to their growth, 
 a very small number of them blew, and none came 
 to perfection. 
 
 Meanwhile that envy which pursues human hap- 
 piness, especially in the French colonies, spread 
 some reports over the island which gave great un- 
 easiness to Paul. The passengers in the vessel that 
 had brought Virginia’s letter asserted that she was 
 upon the point of being married, and named the 
 nobleman of the court to whom she was betrothed. 
 Some even declared that the affair had already taken 
 place and that they had been witnesses of it. Paul 
 at first despised this report, brought by one of those 
 trading ships, which often spread false reports in 
 their passave; but when some inhabitants of the 
 island by an insulting commiseration affected to pity 
 him for the issue, he began to give some credit to 
 the story. He had seen in the novels which he had 
 lately read, that perfidy was treated_as_a_ subject of 
 
 pleasantry ; EO Fapan maar eae 
 ful representations of European manners, he feared 
 that the heart of Virginia was corrupted, and had 
 forgotten its former_engagements. Thus his ace 
 
 ntirements only served to render him miserable; 
 and what increased his apprehension was, that sev- 
 
92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 eral ships arrived from Europe, during the space 
 of six months, and not one brought any tidings of 
 Virginia. 
 
 This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by 
 a most cruel agitation, came often to visit me, that I 
 might confirm or banish his inquietude, by my ex- 
 perience of the world. 
 
 I live, as I have already told you, a league and a 
 half from hence, upon the banks of a little river 
 which glides along the Sloping Mountain; there I 
 lead a solitary life, without wife, children, or slaves. 
 
 After having enjoyed, and lost, the rare felicity of 
 living with a congenial mind, the state of life which 
 appears the least wretched is that of living alone. 
 Every man who has much cause to complain of his 
 fellows seeks solitude. It is very remarkable that 
 all those nations which have been rendered unhappy 
 by their opinions, their manners, or their forms of 
 government, have produced numerous classes of 
 citizens altogether devoted to solitude and celibacy. 
 Such were the Egyptians in their decline, the Greeks 
 of the Lower Empire; and such in our days are the 
 Indians, the Chinese, the modern Greeks, the Ital- 
 ians, and most part of the eastern and southern 
 nations of Europe. 
 
 Solitude restores to men, in a degree, natural_en- 
 joyments, in removing them from social unhappi 
 ness. In the midst of society, divided by so many 
 prejudices, the spirit is in a constant state of agita- 
 tion; it is continually revolving in itself a thousand 
 
 Ls 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 93 
 
 turbulent and contradictory opinions, by which the 
 members of an ambitious and miserable circle seek 
 to raise themselves above each other. But in soli- 
 tude the soul lays aside the morbid illusions which 
 troubled her, and resumes the pure consciousness: 
 of herself, of Nature, and of its Author. Thus, the 
 muddy water of a torrent which has ravaged the 
 plains, turning aside from its course into some little 
 basin, deposits its slime, resumes its primitive clear- 
 ness, and, once more pure, reflects within its own 
 banks the verdure of the earth and the light of 
 heaven. Solitude also reéstablishes the harmony 
 of the powers of the body and the soul. Among the 
 class who liye a solitary life are those who push the 
 career of man to its furthest limit, as the Brahmin of 
 India. In short I believe solitude to be so necessary 
 to happiness even in the world, that it seems to me 
 impossible to derive lasting pleasure from any sen- 
 timent whatsoever, or to regulate our conduct on any 
 sound principle, if we do not create for ourselves an 
 interior solitude, from whence our opinion rarely goes 
 forth, and into which the opinions of others never 
 enter. I would not say, however, that man should 
 live absolutely alone ; he is linked with mankind by 
 his necessities ; his labors are due to men; he owes 
 himself also to Nature. But as God has given to 
 each one of us organs perfectly adapted. to the ele- 
 nents of the globe on which we live, — feet for the 
 ground, lungs for the air, eyes for the light,—without 
 the power of changing the use of any of these facul- 
 
94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ties, He has reserved for Himself alone, who is the 
 Author of life, the heart, which is its principal 
 organ. 
 
 Thus I pass my days far from mankind, whom I 
 wished to serve, and by whom I have been perse- 
 cuted. After having travelled over many countries 
 of Europe, and some parts of America and Africa, 
 I at length pitched my tent in this thinly peopled 
 island, allured by its mild temperature and its soli- 
 tude. A cottage which I built in the woods, at the 
 foot of a tree: a little field which I cultivated with 
 my own hands; a river which glides before my door, 
 suffice for my wants and for my pleasures. I blend 
 with these enjoyments that of some chosen books, 
 which teach me to become better. They make that 
 world, which I have abandoned, still contribute to 
 my satisfaction. ‘They place before me pictures of 
 those passions which render its inhabitants so miser- 
 able; and the comparison which I make between 
 their destiny and my own, leads me to feel a sort of 
 negative happiness. Like a man saved from ship- 
 wreck and 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. 
 
 Since men are no longer in my path, nor I in 
 theirs, I no longer hate them: I pity them. If I 
 meet some unfortunate one, I endeavor to aid him 
 by my counsels, as a passer-by on the border of a 
 torrent stretches his hand to a drowning man. But 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 
 
 I have rarely found any but the innocent attentive 
 to my voice. Nature calls the rest of men in vain; 
 each one forms an image of her for himself, which 
 he clothes with his own passions. He pursues all 
 his life this vain phantom which leads him astray, 
 and afterward complains to Heaven of the error 
 which is his own. Among the great number of un- 
 fortunate ones that I have endeavored to bring back 
 to Nature, I have not found one who was not in- 
 toxicated with his own misery. They have listened 
 to me at first with attention, in the hope that I would 
 aid them to acquire glory or fortune; but when they 
 saw that I only wished to teach them to do without 
 these, they considered me miserable because I did 
 not run after their wretched happiness ; they blamed 
 my solitary life; they pretended that they alone 
 were useful to men, and endeavored to draw me into 
 their vortex. But if I communicate with all the 
 world I give my confidence to none. It is often suf- 
 ficient for me to serve as a lesson to myself. In my 
 present calm I review the past agitations of my own 
 life, to which I have given so much value, — patron- 
 age, fortune, reputation, pleasure, and the opinions 
 which are ever at strife throughout the world. I 
 liken so many men whom I have seen disputing over 
 these chimeras, and who are no more, to the waves 
 of my river which break in foam against the rocks 
 ‘in their bed, and disappear never to return. 
 
 _ For me I suffer myself to be led calmly down the 
 &tream of time to the ocean of the future, which has 
 
56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 no shores; and by the contemplation of the present 
 harmony of Nature, I raise my soul toward its Au- 
 thor, and hope for a more happy destiny in another 
 world. 
 
 Although one does not see from my hermitage, 
 situated in the midst of the forest, that variety of 
 objects which is presented to us from the elevated 
 spot where we now are, there is much there that is 
 interesting, especially for a man who, like me, prefers 
 self communion to looking abroad upon external ob- 
 jects. The river which flows before my door passes 
 in a straight line through the wood, appearing like 
 a long canal shaded by all varieties of foliage; there 
 are the black date and the ebony; that which they 
 call here the apple, the olive, and cinnamon ; thickets 
 of palms raise their naked stems a hundred feet 
 high, their summits crowned with tufts of palm 
 leaves, and appearing above the rest of the trees 
 like a forest planted upon a forest. There inter- 
 twine lianas of various foliage, which reach from 
 one tree to another, forming here arcades of flowers 
 and there canopies of verdure. Most of these trees 
 emit aromatic odors, which can be perceived even 
 after several hours in the garments of those who 
 have passed through the forest. At the time of 
 their blossoming one might think they were covered 
 with snow. At the end of summer many sorts of 
 foreign birds come, guided by an incomprehensible 
 instinct across vast oceans, to feed upon the seeds 
 of the plants which grow upon the island, and to 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 97 
 
 contrast the brilliancy of their plumage with the 
 foliage browned by the sun. Among these are va- 
 rious species of paroquets, and the blue pigeons 
 called here Dutch pigeons. Monkeys, the domesti- 
 cated inhabitants of our forests, sport in the dark 
 branches, from which they can be distinguished by 
 their grayish green skins and black faces: some 
 swinging in the air, suspended by their tails ; others 
 leaping from branch to branch with their little ones 
 in their arms. The murderous gun has never fright- 
 ened these peaceable children af Nature. Nothing 
 is heard but cries of joy, the warbling and chirping 
 of southern birds, which are repeated by the echoes 
 of the forest. The river which runs rippling over a 
 bed of rocks through the trees, reflects here and there 
 in its limpid waters their venerable masses of verd- 
 ure and shadow, as well as the sports of their in- 
 habitants; a short distance beyond it is precipitated 
 over ledges of rocks, forming in its fall a sheet of 
 water smooth as glass, and breaking at the bottom 
 into a foaming mass. Innumerable confused sounds 
 issue from these tumultuous waters, which, dispersed 
 by the winds of the forest, sometimes seem near and 
 sometimes far off, and sometimes deafening as the 
 elang of cathedral bells. ‘The air being constantly 
 renewed by the motion of the water, causes, on the 
 borders of this river, a verdure and freshness, not- 
 withstanding the heats of summer, that are rarely 
 found in this island even on the mountains. 
 
 At some-distance there isa rock, far enough fron 
 
 4 
 
58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the cascade that one may not be deafened by the 
 noise ofthe torrent, and yet near enough for one to 
 enjoy the sight of it, the coolness of the air, and the 
 murmur of the water. Sometimes when it was very 
 warm we would go to dine in the shadow of this rock, 
 — Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul, 
 and I. Virginia, who, in all her actions thought of 
 the good of others, in eating fruit always put the 
 seed or kernel into the ground. “ From them there 
 will come,” said she, “trees which will give their 
 fruit to some traveller, or at least to a bird.” One 
 day she had eaten a papaw at the foot of this rock 
 and planted the seed. Soon after several sprung up, 
 and one of them was of the kind which bears fruit. 
 This tree was not 4s high as Virginia’s knees when 
 she left, but as it grew rapidly, two years after it was 
 twenty feet high. and the upper part of its trunk was 
 encircled by several rows of ripe fruit. Paul com- 
 ing to the place by chance was filled with joy on 
 seeing this tall tree, which had sprung from the little 
 seed that he had seen planted by his friend; and at _ 
 the same time was seized with profound sadness at 
 this evidence of the length of her absence. Things 
 which we see constantly do not remind us of the 
 flight of time; they grow old with us insensibly ; but 
 it is those which we see again after several years 
 that remind us how rapidly runs the river of our 
 days. Paul was as surprised and excited at the 
 ~ sight of this tall papaw in fruit, as a traveller is, 
 after a long absence from his country, not to find 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 99 
 
 on his return, his contemporaries, and to see their 
 chiidren, who he had left at the breast, themselves 
 fathers of families. At one moment he wished to 
 hew it down because it made him feel how long the 
 time was since the departure of Virginia; then, re- 
 garding it as a monument of her benevolence, he 
 kissed its trunk and addressed it in words full of 
 love and regret. 
 
 O tree, whose posterity still exists in our woods, 
 I myself have looked upon ye with more interest 
 and veneration than upon triumphal arches of the 
 Romans. May Nature, which destroys every day 
 the monuments of the ambition of kings, multiply 
 in our forests those of the benevolence of a young 
 and poor girl ! 
 
 It was then at the foot of this papaw-tree that I 
 was sure of meeting Paul when he came into my 
 neighborhood. One day I found him there de- 
 pressed and melancholy, and had a conversation 
 with him that I will repeat to you if I do not weary 
 you too much with my long digressions, pardonable 
 at my age. I will tell it in the form of dialogue, 
 that you may judge of the natural good sense of the 
 young man. He said to me:— 
 
 “JT amvery unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour 
 left us two years and two months since, and for eight 
 months and a half she has sent us no news of her- 
 self. She is rich, I am poor; she has forgotten me. 
 
 will sail for France, I will serve the king, I will 
 make a fortune, and the aunt of Mademoiselle de la 
 
100 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Tour will give me her niece in marriage when J 
 shall have become a great lord.” 
 
 The old man. —“ O my friend, have you not told 
 me that you are not of good birth?” 
 
 Paul. — “ My mother has told me so; but, for my- 
 self, I do not know what good birth is. I have never 
 perceived that I had less than others or that others 
 had more than I.” 
 
 The old man. —“ Want of birth will in France 
 bar the way to all high position. More than that, 
 you cannot be admitted into any distinguished 
 corps.” 
 
 Paul. — “ You have told me more than once that 
 one of the causes of the-grandeur of France was 
 that the least subject could attain any thing; and 
 you have cited many celebrated men who, having 
 sprung from a low condition, have done honor to 
 their country. Do you wish then to damp my 
 courage ?” | 
 
 The old man.— “ My son, never would I do that. 
 I have told you the truth of time past, but things 
 are much changed now; every thing has become 
 venal in France; every thing is in the possession of 
 a small number of families or of certain bodies of 
 men. The king is a sun that the nobles and these 
 corporate bodies surround like clouds; it is nearly 
 impossible that one of his rays should fall upon 
 you. Formerly, in an administration less compli- 
 
 cated, such phenomena have been seen. ‘Then tal- » 
 
 2nts and merits showed themselves everywhere, as 
 
 =~ 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 101 
 
 new lands after they are cleared yield with abun- 
 dance. But great kings, who know men and how to 
 choose them, are rare. The ordinary race of mon- 
 archs are swayed by the nobles and courtiers that 
 surround them.” 
 
 Paul. —“ But perhaps I shall ‘evel one of these 
 nobles who will protect me.” 
 
 The old man. — “In order to be protected by the 
 great you must serve their ambition or their pleas- 
 ures. You will never succeed there, for you are 
 without birth and you are honest.” 
 
 Paul. — “But I will perform such courageous 
 actions, I will be so faithful to my words, so exact 
 in the performance of my duties, so zealous and so 
 constant in my friendships, that I will deserve to be 
 adopted by one of them, as I have seen instances 
 in the ancient histories which you have made me 
 read.” 
 
 The old man. — “O my friend! among the Greeks 
 and Romans, even in their decline, the nobles re- 
 spected virtue ; we have had multitudes of men in 
 France who have distinguished themselves in every 
 possible manner, and who have sprung from the 
 mass of the people, but I do not know of a single 
 one who had been adopted by a great family. Vir- 
 tue, without our kings, would be condemned in 
 France to be eternally plebeian. As I have told 
 you, sometimes they honor it when they perceive it, 
 but in the present day the distinctions which should 
 be reserved for virtue can only be obtained by 
 money.” 
 
102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Paul. — “Tf I cannot find a nobleman to adopt 
 me, I will seek to please some public body. I will 
 espouse its interests and opinions; I will make my- 
 self beloved by it.” 
 
 The old man.— “ Will you act then like other men: 
 will you sacrifice your conscience to be successful ? ” 
 
 Paul.— “Oh no, I will never seek any thing but 
 the truth.” 
 
 The old man. — “ Instead of making yourself be- 
 loved, you would make yourself hated. Besides, 
 public bodies interest themselves very little in the 
 discovery of truth. All opinions are indifferent to 
 the ambitious provided they govern.” 
 
 Paul. — “Wow unfortunate I am! every thing 
 repulses me. I am condemned to pass my life in 
 obscure labor far from Virginia!” And he sighed 
 profoundly. 
 
 The old man. —“ Let God be your only patron, 
 and the human race the body you would serve. Be 
 constantly attached to them both. Families, corpo- 
 rations, people, and kings have their prejudices and 
 passions; it is often necessary to serve them by 
 vices; God and the human race only demand vir- 
 tues. But why do you wish to be distinguished — 
 from the rest of mankind? It is a sentiment 
 which is not natural, since if every one possessed it, 
 every man would be at war with his neighbor. Be 
 contented with fulfilling your duty in the station 
 where Providence has placed you; be grateful for 
 vour lot which permits you to have a conscience of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 
 
 your own, and which does not oblige you, like ‘the 
 great, to let your happiness rest on the opinion of 
 the little; or like the little to cringe to the great 
 in order to obtain the means to live. You are in a 
 country and a condition in which, in order to live, 
 it is not necessary for you to deceive nor flatter nor 
 debase yourself, as most of those who seek fortune 
 in Europe are obliged to do; in which the exercise 
 of no virtue is forbidden you; in which you may be 
 with impunity good, true, sincere, well - informed, 
 patient, temperate, chaste, pious, without any shaft 
 of ridicule coming to blast your wisdom, which is 
 yet only in flower. Heaven has given you liberty, 
 health, a good conscience, and friends; the kings 
 whose favor you desire are not so happy.” 
 
 Paul.—“ Ah! I only want Virginia. Without 
 her, I have nothing; with her, I should have all. 
 She alone is my birth, my glory, and my fortune. 
 But since her aunt will give her for a husband a 
 man with a great name, and with study and books 
 one can become learned and celebrated, I am going 
 to study. I will become a man of science; I will 
 serve usefully my country with my knowledge, with- 
 out injuring any one, without depending upon any 
 one; I will become celebrated, and my glory shall be 
 achieved by myself alone.” 
 
 The old man.— “My son, talents are yet more 
 rare than birth or riches; and without doubt they 
 are a greater good than either, since nothing can 
 take them from us, and everywhere they obtain for 
 
104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 us public esteem. But they cost dearly ; one only ac- 
 quires them by privations of all sorts, — by exquisite 
 sensibility, which exposes us to unhappiness from 
 within and from without, by the persecutions of our 
 contemporaries. The lawyer in France envies not 
 the glory of the soldier, nor the soldier that of the 
 naval officer; but every one will cross your path, 
 because every one prides himself upon having tal- 
 ents and wit. You will serve mankind, you say; but 
 he who makes the earth produce one grain more of 
 wheat, renders them a greater service than he who 
 gives them a book.” 
 
 Paul. —“ Ah! she who planted this papaw has 
 made a more useful and more grateful present to the 
 inhabitants of this island than if she had given them 
 a whole library,” and at the same time he threw his 
 arms around the tree and kissed it with transport. 
 
 The old man. — “ The best of books, which only 
 preaches equality, brotherly love, charity, and peace, 
 — the Gospel, has served as a pretext for centuries 
 in Europe for the action of the evil passions. How 
 many tyrannies both public and private are still 
 practiced in its name! After that, who will flatter 
 himself that he can be useful to men by a book? 
 Recall the fate of most of the philosophers who 
 have preached to them wisdom. Homer, who 
 clothed it in such noble verse, asked alms all his 
 life ; Socrates, who gave to the Athenians such admi- 
 rable lessons by his discourses and his manners, wa; 
 judicially sentenced by them to be poisoned. His 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 105 
 
 sublime disciple, Plato, was delivered into slavery 
 by the order of the very prince who protected him ; 
 and before them, Pythagoras, whose humanity ex- 
 tended even to animals, was burned alive by the 
 Crotoniates. What do I say? many even of these 
 illustrious names have descended to us disfigured by 
 some traits of satire with which they were charac- 
 terized, — human ingratitude taking pleasure in thus 
 recognizing them ; and if in the crowd the glory of 
 some names has come down to us pure and without 
 blemish, it is because those who bore them lived 
 apart from the society of their contemporaries ; like 
 those statues which are found buried in the fields 
 of Greece and Italy, which by being hidden in the 
 bosom of the earth have escaped uninjured the fury 
 of the barbarians. 
 
 “You see then that to acquire the stormy glory of 
 literature, you must have virtue, and be ready to 
 sacrifice your own life. Besides, do you think that 
 in France this glory interests the rich? Do you 
 suppose they care for men of letters, whose knowl- 
 edge brings them neither honors nor power, nor 
 even admission at court? There is, it is true, little 
 persecution in this age, which is indifferent to every 
 thing but wealth and luxury ; but knowledge and 
 virtue lead no longer to distinction, because every 
 thing in the state is to be purchased with money. 
 Formerly men of letters found sure rewards in 
 places in the Church, the magistracy, or the admin- 
 stration; now they are only considered useful to 
 
106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 make buoks; but this fruit, little prized by people 
 ~ of the world, is worthy its divine origin. To these 
 books is reserved the privilege of shedding lustre 
 on obscure virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of en- 
 lightening nations, and of telling the truth even to 
 kings. This is unquestionably the most august 
 function with which Heaven can honor a mortal on 
 earth. Where is the man who would not be consoled 
 for the injustice or contempt of those who are the dis- 
 pensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when he re- 
 flects that his work may pass from age to age, from 
 nation to nation, serving as a barrier to error and 
 tyranny; and that from amid the obscurity in which 
 he has lived there will shine forth a glory which will 
 efface that of most kings, the monuments of whose 
 deeds perish in oblivion, notwithstanding the flatter- 
 ers who erect and extol them ?” 
 
 Paul. — “ Ah! T only desire that glory that it may 
 be reflected upon Virginia and make her dear to the 
 whole world. But you, who know so much, tell me 
 if we shall ever be married. I should like to be 
 learned that I may know the future.” 
 
 Lhe old man.—“ Who would live, my son, if he 
 knew the future? a single misfortune foreseen gives 
 us so much useless inquietude! The foreknowledge 
 of one certain calamity poisons all the days that 
 precede it. We must not even pry too curiously 
 into the things that surround us; and Heaven, which 
 has given us the power of reflection to foresee our 
 necessities, has given us those necessities to set limits 
 to its exercise.” 
 
4 
 f' 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 
 
 Paul. —“You tell me that in Europe, with 
 money one acquires dignities and honors. I will 
 go to Bengal to enrich myself, that I may afterward 
 go to Paris and marry Virginia. I will embark at 
 once.” 
 
 The old man.—“ What! would you leave her 
 mother and yours ?” 
 
 Paul. —“ You yourself have advised me to go to 
 the Indies.” 
 
 The old man. — “ Virginia was then here; but you 
 are now the only support of her mother and your 
 own.” 
 
 Paul. —* Virginia will assist them through her 
 rich relation.” 
 
 The old man.—“ The rich only give to those who 
 do them honor in the world. There are many rela- 
 lations of the rich more to be pitied than Madame 
 de la Tour, who for want of aid, sacrifice their lib- 
 erty for bread, and pass their lives immured in a 
 convent.” 
 
 Paul. —“ What a country is Europe! Oh, Vir- 
 ginia must come back! What need has she of a 
 rich relation? She was so happy in these cabins, so 
 beautiful, and so adorned, with a red handkerchief 
 twisted about her head or flowers in her hair! Re- 
 turn, Virginia! leave your fine house and your gran- 
 leur. Come back to these rocks, to the shade of 
 these woods and our cocoa-trees. Alas, you are 
 perhaps now unhappy !” — and he began to weep. 
 « My father,” continued he, “ hide nothing from me; 
 
108 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 if you cannot tell me whether I shall marry Virginia, 
 at least tell me if she loves me still, surrounded as 
 she is by those grand seigneurs who speak to the 
 king, and who go to see her.” 
 
 The old man. —“ Ah, my dear friend! I am sure, 
 for many reasons, that she loves you, but above all 
 because she is virtuous.” At these words he threw 
 himself upon my neck in a transport of joy. 
 
 Paul. — “ But do you think the women of Europe 
 are false, as they are represented in the comedies 
 and books which you have lent me?” 
 
 The old man. —‘“ Women are false in countries 
 where men are tyrants. Everywhere violence pro- 
 duces deceit.” 
 
 Paul. —“ How can one be a tyrant to a woman ?” 
 
 The old man. — “ By giving them in marriage with- 
 out consulting them, —a young girl to an old man, 
 a woman of sensibility to an indifferent husband.” 
 
 Paul. —“ Why not marry those who suit each 
 other, —the young to the young, lovers to those who 
 love them ?” 
 
 The old man. — “ Because few young men in 
 France have property enough to marry, and only 
 acquire it as they become old. When young, they 
 seduce the wives of others; when old, they cannot 
 secure the affection of their own. They have de- 
 celved when they were young: they are deceived 
 in their turn when they are old. This is one of the 
 reactions of that universal justice which governs the 
 world; one excess is always balanced by another 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINLA. 163 
 
 Thus the greater part of Europeans pass their life 
 in this double disorder, and this disorder increases 
 everywhere in the same proportion that wealth is ac- 
 cumulated in the hands of the few. The state is like 
 a garden where the small trees cannot grow if too 
 many large ones overshadow them ; but there is this 
 difference, that the beauty of a garden may result 
 from a small number of large trees, and that the 
 prosperity of a state always depends upon the mul- 
 titude and equality of its citizens, and not on a small 
 number of rich men.” 
 
 Paul. —“ But why is it necessary to be rich in 
 order to marry?” 
 
 The old man. —“n order to pass one’s days in 
 abundance, without working.” 
 
 Paul. —“ But why not work? I am sure I work 
 hard enough.” 
 
 The old man. —“ Because in Europe labor with 
 the hands is considered a degradation ; they call it 
 mechanical labor. That of cultivating the earth is 
 the most despised of all. An artisan is there held 
 in higher esteem than a peasant.” 
 
 Paul. —“ What! the art which nourishes man is 
 despised in Europe! TI do not understand you.” 
 
 The old man. — “ It is not possible for one educated 
 according to Nature to comprehend the depraved 
 state of society. One can form a precise idea of 
 order but not of disorder. Beauty, virtue, happi- 
 ness have their proportions; deformity, vice, and 
 misery have none.” 
 
110 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Paul. —“The rich then are very happy ! They 
 encounter no obstacles; they can lavish happiness 
 on those they love.” 
 
 The old man.—“ They are for the most part sa- 
 tiated with pleasure, for the reason that it costs them 
 no pains. Have you not yourself experienced that 
 tle pleasure of repose is bought by fatigue ; that of 
 eating, by hunger; that of drinking, by thirst 
 Well! that of loving and being loved is only ac- 
 quired by innumerable privations and sacrifices. 
 Wealth, by anticipating all their necessities, deprives 
 its possessors of all these pleasures. Add to the 
 ennui consequent upon satiety the pride which 
 springs from their opulence; and that the least pri- 
 vation wounds, while the greatest enjoyments have > 
 no longer the power to gratify them. The perfume 
 of a thousand roses pleases but for a moment; but 
 the pain a single thorn causes endures long after the 
 wound. <A single evil in the midst of their pleasures, 
 is, for the rich, a thorn among flowers. For the 
 poor, on the contrary, one pleasure in the midst of 
 their troubles is a flower among thorns ; they taste 
 keenly the pleasure. All effects are heightened by 
 contrast. Nature has balanced all things. Which 
 condition, upon the whole, do you think preferable, 
 __to have almost nothing to hope, and every thing 
 to fear, or almost nothing to fear, and all to hope ? 
 The first state is that of the rich, and the second 
 that of the poor. But either of these extreines is 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 111 
 
 equally difficult for man to bear, whose happiness 
 consists in possessing a competence and virtue.” 
 
 Paul. —* What do you understand by virtue?” 
 
 The old man. —“ My son, to you who sustain your 
 family by your labor, it is not necessary to define it. 
 Virtue is the effort that we make for the good of 
 others, with the desire to please God for our motive.” 
 
 Paul. —“Oh how virtuous is Virginia! It is 
 through virtue that she wished to be rich, in order 
 to be benevolent. It is through virtue that she left 
 this island: virtue will bring her back.” 
 
 The idea of her speedy return firing the imagina- 
 tion of the young man, all his inquietude vanished. 
 Virginia had not written because she would soon ar- 
 rive. It took so little time to come from Europe 
 with a good wind! He enumerated the vessels 
 which had made the passage of four thousand five 
 hundred leagues in less than three months. Per- 
 haps the vessel in which she had embarked would 
 not be more than two; ship-builders were so ingen- 
 ious now, and sailors so expert! He talked of the 
 arrangements he would make for her reception, of 
 the new dwelling he would build, of the pleasures and 
 surprises he would contrive for her each day when she 
 should be his wife. His wife! The idea was ecstasy. 
 * At least, my father,” he said to me, “ you shall do 
 nothing but for your pleasure. Virginia being rich, 
 we shall have many negroes who will labor for us. 
 You will be always with us, having no other care 
 than to amuse yourself and be happy.” And, slmost 
 
112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 beside himself, he went to impart to his family the 
 joy with which he was intoxicated. 
 
 Soon, however, great fears succeeded great hopes. 
 Violent passions always throw the soul into opposite 
 extremes. The next day Paul came to see me, over 
 whelmed with sadness. He said to me: “ Virgini 
 has not written me. If she had left Europe, sh 
 would have warned me of her departure. Ah! th: 
 reports which I have heard of her are but too well 
 founded. Her aunt has married her to some great 
 lord. She, like so many others, has been undone 
 by the love of riches. In those books which por- 
 tray women so well, virtue is but a subject for ro- 
 mance. Had Virginia possessed virtue, she would 
 not have forsaken her mother and me. While I 
 pass my life in thinking of her she forgets me. I 
 am wretched and she is diverting herself. Ah! that 
 thought distracts me. All work is hateful to me, 
 all society wearies me. Would to God that war were 
 declared in India! I would go there and die.” 
 
 «“ My son,” I answered, “ that courage which would 
 seek death is only the courage of a moment. It is 
 often excited by the vain applause of men. There 
 is another sort of courage, which is more rare and 
 more necessary, which enables us to support every 
 day, without witness and without applause, the vexa- 
 tions of life: that is patience. It rests not upon the 
 opinions of others or the impulse of the passions, }ut 
 upon the will of God. Patience is the courage of 
 
 virtue.” ; 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 118 
 
 “Ah!” cried he, “then I am without virtue! 
 Every thing overwhelms me and drives me to de- 
 spair.” 
 
 “ Virtue,” I replied, “that is always equal, con- 
 stant, and invariable, does not belong to man. In 
 the midst of the many passions which agitate us, 
 our reason is disordered and obscured; but there 
 are beacon lights at which we can always relight the 
 flame ; these are literature. 
 
 “ Literature, my son, is the gift of Heaven. It is 
 a ray of that wisdom which governs the universe, 
 that man, inspired by a celestial art, has learned to 
 keep on the earth. Like the rays of the sun, it en- 
 lightens, it rejoices, it warms; it is a divine fire. 
 Like fire, it appropriates all Nature for our use. By 
 it we bring around us all things, all men, places and 
 times. It is this that reminds us of the rules of 
 human life. It calms the passions, it represses the 
 vices, it excites to virtue by the august examples of 
 good and great men which it records, and of whom 
 it presents to us the ever-honored images. Itis a 
 daughter of Heaven which has descended to earth 
 to charm away the evils of the human race. The 
 greatest writers have always appeared in the worst 
 times — the hardest to be borne by society — times 
 of barbarism and depravity. My son, literature has 
 consoled an infinite number of men more unhappy 
 than you. Xenophon, exiled from his country after 
 having saved to her ten thousand of her sons; Scipio 
 
 Africanus, wearied to death by the calumnies of the 
 8 
 
114 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Romans; Lucullus, by their intrigues; Catinat, by 
 the ingratitude of his court. The Greeks, so ingen- 
 ious, gave to each one of the Muses who preside 
 over literature, a particular part of our understand- 
 ing to govern; we ought then to give to literature 
 our passions to govern, that it may impose upon 
 them a yoke and acurb. They ought to fulfill, with 
 regard to the powers of our souls, the same functions 
 as the Hours who harnessed and drove the horses in 
 the chariot of the Sun. 
 
 “Read then, my son. The wise men, who have 
 written before our time, are travellers who have pre- 
 ceded us in the paths of misfortune, and who reach 
 out to us their hands to invite us to join their 
 society, when all else have abandoned us. <A good 
 book is a good friend.” 
 
 “ Ah!” cried Paul, “I did not need to read when 
 Virginia was here. She had not studied more than 
 T, and when she looked at me and called me her 
 friend, I could not be unhappy.” 
 
 “Without doubt,’ I said to him, “there is no 
 friend so agreeable as a mistress by whom one is 
 beloved. There is, besides, in woman a lively 
 gayety, which dissipates the sadness of man. Her 
 graces cause the dark phantoms of reflection to van- 
 ish. In her countenance is tender consolation and 
 confidence. What joy is not heightened by her joy? 
 What frowns are not dispelled by her smiles? What 
 anger can resist her tears? Virginia will return 
 with more philos»phy than you have. She will be 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 115 
 
 much surprised not to find the garden finished, she 
 who thought of its embellishment, notwithstanding 
 the persecutions of her aunt, far from her mother 
 and from you.” 
 
 The idea of Virginia’s near return renewed the 
 courage of Paul, and he resumed his rural occupa- 
 tions ; happy, in the midst of his pain, to give to his 
 labor an object which pleased his passion. 
 
 At daybreak on the morning of December 24th, 
 1744, Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag 
 hoisted on the Mountain of Discovery. This flag 
 was the signal of a vessel which had been seen at 
 sea. He ran to the town to learn if it bore any 
 news from Virginia. He waited there till the return 
 of the pilot, who had gone according to custom to 
 see what vessel it was. He did not return till 
 evening, when he brought the Governor word that 
 the vessel signaled was the Saint Géran, of seven 
 hundred tons burden, commanded by a captain 
 named Aubin; that it was now four leagues out at 
 sea, and would anchor at Port Louis the next af- 
 ternoon, if the wind became favorable. The pilot 
 brought the Governor the letters which the Saint 
 Géran had brought from France, among which was 
 one for Madame de la Tour in the handwriting of 
 Virginia. Paul seized it, kissed it with transport, 
 placed it in his bosom, and ran to the. plantation. 
 From afar, as he perceived the family waiting for 
 his return on the Rock of Adieus, he raised the 
 etter in the air without being able to speak, and 
 
E 
 . : te a gs m £ 
 - ; . ied » £Y PA AALS iS . 
 . z s } z ~ vy . Af = ¥ ey ’ 
 4 Xs : < e 
 
 116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 instantly the whole family crowded arouna Madame 
 de la Tour to hear it read. Virginia informed her 
 mother that she had experienced much ill-usage from 
 her aunt, who had endeavored to marry her con- 
 trary to her inclinations, then had disinherited her, 
 and at last sent her back at a time when she must 
 arrive at the Isle of France during the season of 
 hurricanes. In vain, she added, had she endeavored 
 to soften her by representing what she owed to her 
 mother and to the habits of her early age. She was 
 treated as a senseless girl, whose head had been 
 turned by reading romances. She could now only 
 think of the joy of again seeing and embracing her 
 beloved family, and she would have gratified this 
 ardent desire at once if the captain would have 
 allowed her to go ashore in the pilot-boat; but he 
 had objected on account of the distance and a heavy 
 swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, reigned in 
 the open sea. 
 
 Scarcely was the letter finished when all the 
 family, transported with joy, cried, “ Virginia has ar- 
 rived,” and mistresses and servants embraced each 
 other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, “ My son, 
 go and inform our neighbor of the arrival of Vir- 
 ginia. Domingo immediately lighted a torch of wood, 
 and he and Paul bent their way to my dwelling. 
 
 It was about ten o’clock at night. I had just ex- 
 tinguished my lamp and retired to rest, when I per- 
 ceived through the palisades of my cabin a light in 
 the wood. Soon after I heard the voice of Paul 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 
 
 calling to me. I arose and had hardly dressed my- 
 self when Paul, almost beside himself, and panting 
 for breath, sprang on my neck, crying, — “ Come, 
 come, Virginia has arrived! Let us go to the port; 
 the vessel will anchor at daybreak.” We started 
 immediately. As we were passing through 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. 
 It was a negro advancing with hasty steps. When 
 he had reached us I asked him whence he came and 
 whither he was going in such great haste. He re- 
 plied, “I come from that part of the island called 
 Poudre d Or; I am sent to the port to inform the 
 Governor that a vessel from France has anchored 
 under the Isle of Amber. It is firmg guns to de- 
 mand help, for the sea is very rough.” Having thus 
 spoken the man hastened on without further delay. 
 
 I then said to Paul, “ Let us go to the quarter of 
 Poudre d Or and meet Virginia there ; it is only three 
 leagues from here,” and we turned to go toward the 
 north of the island. The heat was suffocating. The 
 moon had risen, and was surrounded by three large 
 black circles. A frightful darkness covered the sky. 
 Frequent flashes of lightnmg discovered to us long 
 rows of heavy gloomy clouds, hanging low, and 
 heaped together over the island, driven in with great 
 rapidity from the sea, although not a breath of air 
 was perceptible on the land. As we walked along 
 we thought we heard the rolling of thunder, but on 
 
- } 
 
 118 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 listening attentively we perceived that is was the 
 firing of -guns repeated by the echoes. These 
 ominous sounds, joined to the aspect of the tempest- 
 uous sky, made me tremble. I could not doubt that 
 they were signals of distress from a vessel in great 
 danger. After a half an hour we heard no more 
 firing, and this silence seemed to me more frightful 
 than the dismal sounds which had preceded it. 
 
 We hastened on without saying a word or daring 
 to communicate to each other our mutual appre- 
 hensions. Near midnight we arrived at the sea- 
 shore at Poudre d’Or. The breakers dashed against 
 the shore with a frightful noise; they covered the 
 rocks and the beach with foam of a dazzling white- 
 ness, apparently filled with sparks of fire. Not- 
 withstanding the darkness, by this phosphorescent 
 light we saw the canoes of the fishermen, which they 
 had drawn high up on the beach. | 
 
 At the entrance of a wood, at a little distance 
 from there, we saw a fire, around which several of 
 the inhabitants were assembled. We went there to 
 wait for the morning. While we were seated near 
 this fire one of the men related that in the after- 
 noon he had seen a vessel in the open sea driven 
 toward the island by the currents; that the night 
 had hidden it from his view; that two hours after 
 sunset he had heard signal-guns of distress, but the 
 surf was so high it was impossible to launch a boat 
 to go to her; that soon after he thought he saw her 
 signal-lights, and in that case he feared that the ves: 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 119 
 
 sel, being so near the shore, had passed between the 
 land and the little island of Amber, mistaking that 
 for the Coin-de-Mire, near which vessels pass in 
 going into Port Louis; that if this was so, (of which 
 he could not be certain,) the vessel was in very great 
 peril. Another islander then said that he had often 
 crossed the channel which separates the island of 
 Amber from the coast; that he had sounded it; 
 that the anchorage was very good, and that the vessel 
 was there in as perfect safety as in the best harbor. 
 “] would trust all my fortune in it,’ added he, “and 
 if I were in it I should sleep as tranquilly as if I 
 were on land.” <A third declared that it was impos- 
 sible for this vessel to enter the channel, which was 
 scarcely navigable for a boat. He was sure that he 
 had seen it anchor outside of the Isle of Amber, so 
 that if the wind rose in the morning it could put to 
 sea, or come into port. Other inhabitants gave 
 other opinions. While they continued to discuss 
 them in the usual desultory manner of the indolent 
 Creoles, Paul and I kept profound silence. We re- 
 mained there till daybreak; but a heavy fog made 
 it impossible for us to distinguish any object at sea. 
 We could only see a dark cloud, that they told us 
 was the Isle of Amber, a quarter of a league from 
 the coast. On this gloomy day nothing could be seen 
 but the point of land on which we were, and the 
 veaks of some inland mountains, which occasionally 
 were visible in the midst of the clouds which hung 
 around them. 
 
120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 At about seven o’clock in the morning we heard 
 the sound-of drums in the woods ; it announced the 
 approach of the Governor, Monsieur de la Bourdon: 
 nais, who soon after arrived on horseback, followed 
 by a detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, 
 and a crowd of islanders and negroes. He drew up 
 his soldiers on the beach and ordered a simultaneous 
 discharge. Immediately we saw a flash of light on 
 the water, instantly followed by the report of a 
 cannon. We judged that the ship was at no great 
 distance from us, and all ran toward the place where 
 we had seen the signal. Then we could see the 
 hull and yards of a large vessel. We were so near 
 that, notwithstanding the noise of the waves, we 
 heard the whistle of the officer in command and the 
 shouts of the sailors, who cried three times, “ Vive le 
 roi!” for that is the’cry of the French in extreme 
 danger as well as in great joy; as if in danger they 
 would call their prince to their aid, or testify that 
 they were ready to perish for him. 
 
 From the moment that the Saint Géran perceived 
 that we were near enough to render aid, they had 
 not ceased to fire guns at intervals of three minutes. 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be 
 lighted at certain distances along the shore, and sent 
 
 to all the inhabitants of the neighborhood for provi- 
 sions, planks, cables, and empty barrels. Very soon 
 a crowd of the inhabitants arrived, accompanied by 
 their negroes, laden with provisions and ropes, who 
 came from the habitations of Poudre d Or, from the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 
 
 district of La Flaque, and from the river of Rempart. 
 One of the most aged of these planters, approaching 
 the Governor, said to him, “ Monsieur, all night hol- 
 low sounds have been heard in the mountains; in 
 the woods the leaves of the trees are shaken, though 
 there is no wind; the sea-birds take refuge on 
 land; certainly all these signs predict a hurricane.” 
 “ Well, my friends,” replied the Governor, “ we are 
 prepared for it, and surely the vessel is also.” 
 
 Indeed every thing presaged the near approach of 
 the hurricane. The clouds in the zenith were of a 
 frightful blackness and their edges copper-colored. 
 The air resounded with the cries of the tropic-birds, 
 frigate-birds, cut-waters, and a multitude of other 
 marine birds, which, notwithstanding the obscurity 
 of the atmosphere, came from all points of the 
 horizon, seeking shelter on the island. 
 
 About nine in the morning we heard, in the direc- 
 tion of the ocean, the most terrific noise, like the 
 sound of thunder mingled with that of torrents rush- 
 ing down the steeps of lofty mountains. Every one 
 exclaimed, “ There is the hurricane!” and in an in- 
 stant a frightful gust of wind dispelled the fog which 
 covered the Isle of Amber and its channel. The 
 Saint Géran was presented to our view, —the deck 
 crowded with people, the yards and topmast lowered 
 to the deck, her flag at half-mast, moored by four 
 cables at the bow and one at the stern; it was an- 
 shored between the Isle of Amber and the main- 
 and, within that belt of reefs which encircles the 
 
122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Isle of France, and which it had passed through in a 
 _ place where no vessel had ever passed before. She 
 presented her front to the waves, which rolled in 
 from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into 
 the narrow strait, her prow was so lifted that the 
 keel could be seen, the stern plunging into the sea, 
 disappearing from view as if it were swallowed by 
 the surges.” In this position, driven by the wind and 
 waves toward the land, it was equally impossible for 
 her to return through the passage by which she had 
 entered, or by cutting her cables to strand herself 
 upon the beach from which she was separated by 
 sand-banks and reefs of rock. Every billow which 
 broke upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom 
 of the bay, throwing up the shingle to the distance 
 of fifty feet on the land; then rushing back, laid 
 bare its sandy bed, rolling down the stones with a 
 harsh and frightful sound. The sea, swollen by the 
 violence of the wind, rose higher every moment ; 
 and the whole channel between this island and the 
 Isle of Amber was one vast sheet of white foam full 
 of yawning black depths. Heaps of this foam more 
 than six feet high were piled up at the lower part 
 of the bay, and the wind which swept the surface 
 carried masses of it over the steep sea bank on to 
 the land to. the distance of half a league. These in- 
 numerable white flakes, driven horizontally even to 
 the foot of the mountains, looked like snow issuing 
 from the bosom of the sea. The horizon showed all 
 the signs of a long tempest; the sky and the water 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 
 
 seemed blended together. Thick, horrible clouds 
 Swept across the zenith with the swiftness of birds, 
 while others appeared motionless as rocks. Not a 
 spot of blue sky could be seen in the whole firma- 
 ment ; a wan olive light alone made yisible the earth, 
 the sea, and the skies. 
 
 In the violent rolling of the vessel, what we all 
 dreaded happened. The cables which held her bow 
 broke ; and then being held by a single hawser, she 
 was dashed upon the rocks at half a cable’s length 
 from the shore. One cry of horror burst from us 
 all. Paul rushed forward to throw himself into the 
 the sea, when I seized him by the arm. “My son,” 
 said I, “would you perish?” “Let me go to save 
 her,” cried he, “or let me die!” Seeing that despair 
 had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in or- 
 der to preserve him, fastened a long cord around his 
 waist and held it fast by the end. Paul precipitat- 
 ed himself toward the vessel, sometimes swimming, 
 sometimes walking on the rocks. Sometimes he had 
 hopes of reaching it; for the sea, by the reflux of 
 its waves, left it at times almost dry, so that one could 
 walk around it; but immediately returning with re- 
 newed fury shrouded it beneath mountains of water, 
 raising it again upon its kee] and throwing the un- 
 fortunate Paul far upon the shore, his legs bleed- 
 ing, his breast torn and wounded, and himself half- 
 dead. When the young man had scarcely recovered 
 the use of his senses, he would arise and return with 
 wew ardor toward the vessel, whose joints the sea 
 
124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 was now opening by the terrible blows of its 
 waves. 
 
 The crew, despairing then of safety, precipitated 
 themselves in crowds into the sea upon yards, 
 planks, hen-coops, tables, and barrels. At this 
 moment we saw an object worthy of eternal pity, a 
 young girl in the gallery of the stern of the Saznt 
 Géran, stretching out her arms toward him who 
 made so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia. 
 She had recognized her lover by his intrepidity. 
 The sight of this lovely girl exposed to such horrible 
 danger, filled us with grief and despair. As for Vir- 
 ginia, with a noble and dignified bearing, she waved 
 her hand to us as if bidding us an eternal adieu. 
 All the sailors had thrown themselves into the sea 
 except one who remained upon the deck, who was 
 naked, and strong as Hercules. He approached Vir- 
 ginia with respect; we saw him kneeling at her feet, 
 and attempt to force her to throw off her clothes ; 
 but she repulsed him with dignity and turned away 
 her head. Then were heard redoubled cries from 
 the spectators, “ Save her! save her! do not leave 
 her!” But at that moment a mountain of water of 
 frightful size was ingulfed between the Isle of Am- 
 ber and the coast, and advanced roaring toward the 
 vessel, which it menaced with its black flanks and 
 foaming summit. At this terrible sight, the sailor 
 flung himself alone into the sea; and Virginia, see- 
 sng death inevitable, with one hand held her robe 
 about her, pressing the other upon her heart, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 125 
 
 raising upward her serene eyes, seemed an ange. 
 ready to take her flight to the skies. 
 
 Oh, day of horror! alas! all was ingulfed. The 
 wave threw some of the spectators, whom an impulse 
 of humanity had prompted to advance toward Vir- 
 ginia, far up on the beach, as well as the sailor who 
 had wished to save her in swimming. This man, 
 who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeled 
 on the sand, saying, “O my God, thou hast saved my 
 life, but I would have given it gladly for that noble 
 young lady.” Domingo and I drew the unfortunate 
 Paul from the waves senseless, the -blood flowing 
 from his mouth and ears. The Governor -put him 
 in the hands of the surgeons, while we searched 
 along the shore, hoping that the sea might have 
 thrown up the body of Virginia. But the wind hav- 
 ing suddenly changed, as it often does in hurricanes, 
 we had the grief of feeling that we could not even 
 bestow upon the unfortunate girl the last rites of 
 sepulture. We retired from the spot, overwhelmed 
 with consternation, our minds wholly occupied by a 
 single loss, although in the shipwreck so many had 
 perished. ‘Many went away doubting, after witness- 
 ing such a terrible fate for this virtuous girl, whether 
 there was a Providence ; for there are evils so terri- 
 ble and unmerited, that even the faith of the wise is 
 shaken. . 
 
 In the mean time Paul, who had begun to return 
 *o consciousness, had been carried into a neighbor 
 mg house, till he was in a fit state to be taken to his 
 
126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 own home. Thither I bent my way with Domingo 
 to prepare Virginia's mother and her friend for the 
 disastrous event. When we were at the entrance of 
 the valley of the river of Fan Palins, some negroes 
 :nformed us that the sea had thrown many pieces of 
 the wreck into the opposite bay. We descended to 
 it; and one of the first objects I saw upon the beach 
 was the body of Virginia; it was half-covered with 
 sand, and in the attitude in which we had seen her 
 perish. Her features were not changed ; her eyes 
 were closed, but her brow still retained its expres- 
 sion of serenity, and on her cheeks the livid hue of 
 death blended with the blush of virgin modesty. 
 One hand still held her robe, and the other, which 
 was pressed upon her heart, was firmly closed and 
 stiffened. With difficulty I disengaged from its 
 grasp a small case; how great was my emotion when 
 T saw that it was the picture of Saint Paul, that she 
 had promised him never to part with while she lived. 
 At the sight of this last evidence of the constancy 
 and love of the unfortunate girl I wept bitterly. As 
 for Domingo, he beat his breast and pierced the air 
 with his cries of grief. We carried the body of Vir- 
 ginia to a fisherman’s hut, and gave it in charge to 
 some poor Malabar women to wash away the sand. 
 While they were performing this sad office we as- 
 cended the hill with trembling steps to the planta- 
 tion. We found Madame de la Tour and Margaret 
 in prayer, awaiting news from the vessel. As soon 
 as Madame de la Tour saw me, she cried, “ Where 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 
 
 is my daughter — my dear daughter — my child?” 
 My silence and my tears leaving her no doubt as to 
 her misfortune, she was instantly seized with a con- 
 vulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing pain, 
 and her voice was no longer heard but in sighs and 
 sobs. Margaret cried, “ Where is my son? I do 
 not see my son!” and fainted. We ran to her as- 
 sistance, and I assured her that Paul was living and 
 cared for by the Governor. As soon as she recovered 
 consciousness, she devoted herself to the care of her 
 friend, who was roused from one fainting fit only to 
 fall into another. Madame de la Tour passed the 
 whole night in the most cruel sufferings, which 
 caused me to feel that there is no grief like a 
 mother’s grief. When she returned to conscious- 
 ness she turned a sad, fixed look toward heaven. 
 In vain her friend and I pressed her hand in Ours ; 
 in vain we called her by the tenderest names. She 
 appeared wholly insensible to these testimonials of 
 our affection, and no sound issued from her op- 
 pressed breast but deep, hollow moans. 
 
 In the morning Paul was brought home in a pal- 
 anquin ; he had recovered the use of his reason, but 
 was unable to utter a word. His interview with his 
 mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, 
 produced a better effect than all my cares. A ray of 
 consolation appeared on the countenances of these 
 two unfortunate mothers. They pressed close to him, 
 clasped him in their arms and kissed him, and their 
 fears, which had been held back by their excessive 
 
128 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 orief, began to flow. Paul mingled his tears with 
 theirs, and Nature having thus found relief in these 
 three unfortunate creatures, a long stupor succeeded 
 the convulsive expression of their grief, and afforded 
 them a lethargic repose, resembling, in truth, that 
 of death. 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent privately to 
 inform me that the corpse of Virginia had been 
 carried to the town by his order, from whence it 
 would be transferred to the church of Shaddock 
 Grove. I immediately went down to Port Louis, 
 where I found a multitude assembled from all parts 
 of the island, in order to be present at the funeral, 
 as if the island had lost in her that which was most 
 dear. ‘The vessels in the harbor had their yards 
 crossed, their flags at half-mast, and they fired guns 
 at short intervals. A body of grenadiers led the 
 funeral procession, with their muskets reversed, and 
 the drums covered with crape giving only muffled, 
 mournful sounds. Dejection was depicted on the 
 countenances of these warriors, who had so often 
 faced death in battle without a change of counte- 
 nance. Eight young ladies of the principal families 
 of the island, dressed in white, carrying palm 
 branches in their hands, bore the body of their 
 young companion covered with flowers. They were 
 followed by a choir of children chanting hymns. 
 After them came the Governor, his staff, and all the 
 principal inhabitants of the island, and an immense 
 crowd of people. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 
 
 This was what had been ordered by the adminis- 
 tration to do honor to the virtues of Virginia. But 
 when the corpse arrived at the foot of this mountain, 
 in sight of those cottages of which she had been so 
 long the joy, and that her death filled now with de- 
 spair, all the funeral pomp was interrupted; the 
 hymns and chants ceased, and nothing was heard 
 throughout the plain but sighs and sobs. Then 
 many young girls from the neighboring habitations 
 were seen running to touch the coffin of Virginia 
 with handkerchiefs, chaplets, and crowns of flowers, 
 invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked of Heaven 
 a daughter like Virginia ; lovers, a heart as faithful ; 
 the poor, a friend as tender; slaves, a mistress as 
 good. 
 
 When they arrived at the place of interment, 
 some negresses of Madagascar and Caffres of Mo- 
 zambique placed baskets of fruit around the corpse, 
 and hung pieces of stuff upon the adjoining trees, 
 according to the custom of their several countries ; 
 the Indian women from Bengal and from the Mala- 
 bar coast brought cages full of birds which they set 
 at liberty upon her coffin. So much the loss of a 
 beloved object touches all people, and so great is the 
 power of unfortunate virtue that it unites all re- 
 ligions around its tomb. 
 
 It became necessary to place guards around her 
 grave, and to remove from it some of the daughters 
 of the poor families in the neighborhood, who en- 
 
 deavored to throw themselves into it, saying that they 
 9 
 
130 PAUL AND. VIhGINIA. 
 
 had no longer any consolation to hope for in the 
 world, and that nothing remained for them but to 
 die with their only benefactress. 
 
 They buried her near the church of Shaddock 
 Grove, at the foot of a small group of bamboos, 
 where, in returning from mass with her mother and 
 Margaret, she loved to rest, seated by the side of 
 him whom she then called her brother. | 
 
 On the return of the funeral procession, Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais came up here, followed by a part 
 of his numerous retinue. He offered to Madame 
 de la Tour and her friend all the assistance in his 
 power. He expressed in a few words his indignation 
 at the unnatural conduct of her aunt ; then approach- 
 ing Paul, he said to him that which he thought would 
 console him: “ Heaven is my witness, I desired your 
 happiness and that of your family. My friend, you 
 must go to France; I will obtain service for you, 
 and in your absence I will care for your mother as — 
 for my own.” At the same time he offered him his 
 hand; but Paul drew back and turned away, so that 
 he might not see him. 
 
 I remained at the house of my unfortunate friends, 
 to give to them as well as to Paul all the succor that 
 was in my power. At the end of three weeks Paul 
 was able to walk; but his grief seemed to augment 
 as his body regained strength. He was insensible to 
 every thing; his look was vacant; and he made no 
 reply to the questions that were put to him. Ma- 
 dame de la Tour, who was dying, said often to him, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 “My son, while I see you I think I see my dear 
 Virginia.” At the name of Virginia he shuddered, 
 and hastened away from her, notwithstanding the 
 entreaties of his mother, who begged him to remain 
 near her friend. He would go alone into the garden 
 and seat himself at the foot of Virginia’s cocoa-tree, 
 with his eyes fixed upon her fountain. The Govern- 
 ors surgeon, who had taken the greatest care of 
 Paul and of Madame de la Tour and Margaret, told 
 us that in order to draw him from his deep mel- 
 ancholy we must let him do what he pleased without 
 contradiction ; that this was the only means of over- 
 coming the silence in which he persevered. 
 
 I resolved to follow this advice. The first use 
 which Paul made of his returning strength was to 
 leave the plantation. As I would not lose sight of 
 him, I followed him, and told Domingo to take pro- 
 visions and accompany us. In proportion as he de- 
 scended the mountain the young man’s strength and 
 spirits seemed to revive. He took first the road to 
 the Shaddock Grove, and when he was near the 
 church in the avenue of bamboos exactly in the spot 
 where the earth had been freshly stirred, he knelt, 
 and raising his eyes to heaven, offered a long prayer. 
 
 This appeared to me a favorable symptom of the 
 return of his reason, since this mark of confidence 
 in the Supreme Being showed that his mind was 
 beginning to resume its natural functions. Domingo 
 and I, following his example, fell upon our knees and 
 *oined our prayers with his. When he arose he 
 
132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 took the road toward the northern part of the isl- 
 and, paying little attention to us. As I knew that he 
 was not only ignorant of the spot where the body of | 
 Virginia had been buried, and even of the fact that 
 it had been recovered from the waves, I asked him 
 why he had offered his prayer at the foot of these 
 bamboos. He replied, “We have been there so 
 often !” 
 
 He continued his route until we reached the bor- 
 ders of the forest, when night came on. By setting 
 him the example I induced him to take some nour- 
 ishment; and we slept upon the grass at the foot of 
 a tree. The next day I thought he seemed disposed 
 to retrace his steps. He looked for some time 
 across the plain toward the Shaddock Grove, with 
 its avenues of bamboos, and made a movement as if 
 to return there ; but suddenly plunging into the for- 
 est, he directed his course toward the north. I saw 
 what his intention was, and tried in vain to divert 
 him from it. At noon we arrived at the quarter of 
 Poudre d’ Or. We rushed down to the sea-shore di- 
 rectly opposite to the place where the Saint Géran 
 had been wrecked. At the sight of the Isle of Am- 
 ber and the channel, now smooth as a mirror, he 
 cried, “ Virginia! O my dear Virginia!” and sank 
 senseless to the ground. Domingo and I carried 
 him into the forest, where we had some difficulty in 
 recovering him. As soon as he regained his senses 
 he wished to return to the sea-shore ; but on my be- 
 seeching him not to renew his grief and ours by 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Ts3s 
 
 such cruel reminders, he took another direction. 
 For a whole week he visited the various places 
 where he had been in the habit of going with the 
 companion of his childhood. He traced the path by 
 which she had gone to intercede for the slave of the 
 Black River; he revisited the banks of the Three 
 Breasts, where she had rested when unable to walk 
 further, and that part of the wood where she had 
 lost her way. All the haunts which recalled to his 
 memory the anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the 
 benevolence of her he loved, — the river of the Slop- 
 ing Mountain, my house, the neighboring cascade, 
 the papaw-tree she had planted, the grassy fields 
 where she loved to run, the paths of the forest where 
 she used to sing, —all in turn, again caused his tears 
 to flow; and those very echoes which had so often 
 resounded with their joyful shouts, now repeated 
 only those accents of despair, “ Virginia! O my dear 
 Virginia!” 
 
 In this wild and wandering life his eyes became 
 hollow, his skin sallow, and his health rapidly failed. 
 Convinced that our present sufferings are redoubled 
 by the remembrance of the past pleasures, and that 
 the passions gather strength in solitude, I resolved 
 to remove my unfortunate friend from the places 
 which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and to 
 lead him to a more busy part of the island. For 
 this purpose I conducted him to the inhabited parts 
 of the elevated quarter of Williams, where he had 
 never been. Agriculture and commerce occasioned 
 
134. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 in this part of the island much bustle aud variety. 
 A great many carpenters were squaring trees, while 
 others sawed them into planks; carriages were con- 
 tinually passing and repassing on the road; herds 
 of cattle and horses were feeding in vast pastures, 
 and the whole country was dotted with habitations. 
 In several places there, the elevation of the land 
 permitted the cultivation of many of the plants of 
 Europe. Here and there on the plain could be seen 
 the harvesting of wheat; in the opening of the 
 woods, a carpeting of strawberries, and the roads 
 bordered with hedges of roses. The freshness of 
 the air in this region giving tension to the nerves, 
 was favorable to the health of the white population. 
 From these heights, situated near the middle of the 
 island, and surrounded by extensive forests, neither 
 the sea, nor Port Louis, nor the church of Shaddock 
 Grove, nor any other object which was associated 
 with Virginia, could be seen. Even the mountains, 
 which present an irregular form from the side of 
 Port Louis, look from the plains of Williams like 
 a long straight promontory, from which rise lofty 
 pyramids of rock, about whose summits the clouds 
 gather. : 
 
 It was to these plains that I led Paul. I kept 
 him continually in action, walking with him in sun- 
 shine and rain, by night and by day, wandering 
 into the depths of the forest, over cultivated land 
 and grassy fields, hoping to divert his mind by the 
 fatigue of his body, and to change the course of his 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 
 
 reflections by his ignorance of the place where we 
 were. But the soul of a lover finds everywhere 
 traces. of the beloved object. Night and day, the 
 calm of solitude, the noise of crowds, time even, 
 which effaces so many other memories, have no 
 power to remove these, — like the needle once 
 touched by the loadstone, which, however it may be 
 disturbed, turns, as soon as it is still, to the pole that 
 attracts it. When I inquired of Paul, as we wan- 
 dered in the plains of Williams, “ Where shall we 
 go now?” he turned toward the north and said, 
 “ Yonder are our mountains ; let us return there! ” 
 
 I saw that all the means which I had tried to di- 
 vert him were useless, and that no other resource 
 was left me but to attack his passion itself with all 
 the strength of my feeble reason. I therefore re- 
 plied to him, “ Yes, there are the mountains where 
 your dear Virginia lived, and here is the portrait 
 which you gave her, and which, when dying, she 
 held to her heart — that heart whose last beatings 
 were for you.” I then gave Paul the little portrait 
 which he had given Virginia at the cocoa-tree foun- 
 tain. At the sight of it a gloomy joy overspread his 
 countenance. He eagerly seized the picture with 
 his feeble hands and pressed it to his lips. His op- 
 pressed bosom seemed bursting, and from his blood- 
 shot eyes no tears would flow. 
 
 I said to him: “ My son, listen to me ; I am your 
 friend, and have been the friend of Virginia, and 
 ave often, when your hopes were highest, tried te 
 
136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fortify you against the unforeseen accidents of life. 
 What is-it that you deplore so bitterly ? your misfor- 
 tune or Virginia’s ? 
 
 “ Your loss without doubt is great. Virginia was 
 the most lovely of girls, and would have been the 
 most admirable of women. She had sacrificed her 
 interests to yours, and preferred you to fortune, as 
 the only recompense worthy of her virtue. But how 
 do you know that the object from which you ex- 
 pected the purest happiness might not have been to 
 you the source of infinite pain? She was without 
 fortune and disinherited; you would have had noth- 
 ing henceforth to share with her but your labor. 
 Rendered more. delicate by her education, more 
 courageous by her unhappiness, you would have 
 seen her each day sinking from the vain effort to 
 share your fatigue. Had she borne you children, 
 her anxieties and yours would have been augmented 
 by the difficulty of sustaining your parents and your 
 children. 
 
 “You may say to me, ‘ The Governor would have 
 aided us.’ How do you know that in a colony whose 
 governors are so often changed, you would have had 
 others like Monsieur de la Bourdonnais ? — that one 
 might not have been sent destitute of good manners 
 and morals ? — that your wife, in order to obtain some 
 miserable pittance, might not have been obliged to 
 court his favor? Hither she would have been weak 
 and you to be pitied, or she would have been virtu- 
 pus and you remained poor; happy, if on accornt of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 
 
 her beauty and her virtue you were not persecuted 
 by those from whom you had hoped for protection. 
 “There would have remained to you, you say, the 
 happiness, independent of fortune, of protecting a be- 
 loved being who in proportion to her own weakness 
 had attached herself to you; of sharing with her your 
 inquietude and your sadness, and causing your love to 
 grow by your mutual sufferings. Undoubtedly love 
 does delight in these bitter pleasures. Virginia is 
 no more; but there remain to you those who, after 
 you, were dearest to her, — her mother and yours, — 
 and your inconsolable grief is bringing them both 
 to the grave. Let your happiness be, as hers was, 
 in aiding and comforting them. My son, benevo- 
 lence is the happiness of virtue; there is none 
 greater or more sure in this world. Schemes of 
 pleasure, repose, luxury, wealth, and glory are not 
 suited to man, weak, wandering, and transitory as he 
 is. See how one step toward the acquisition of for- 
 tune has precipitated us from one abyss to another ! 
 You were opposed to it, it is true; but who would 
 have thought that Virginia’s voyage would not ter- 
 minate in her happiness and yours? An invitation 
 from a rich and aged relation, the counsel of a wise 
 governor, the approval of the whole colony, the ex- 
 hortations and authority of the priest, have decided 
 the misfortune of Virginia. Thus do we run to our 
 uin, deceived even by the prudence of those who 
 advise us. It would be better, no doubt, not to be- 
 lieve them, nor to trust the advice and the hopes of 
 
138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 a deceitful world. Of the many men that we see oc- 
 cupied. in these plains, those that go to seek their 
 fortune in the Indies, and those who in Europe en- 
 joy repose and profit by the labor of others, there 
 are none that are not destined some day to lose that 
 which is most dear to them, — greatness, wealth, wife, 
 children, friends. Most of these will have to add to 
 their loss the remembrance of their own imprudence. 
 But you have nothing with which to reproach your- 
 self; you have been true to your faith. You have 
 had in the flower of youth the wisdom of a sage, in 
 not putting aside the sentiments of Nature. Your 
 views alone were just, because they were pure, simple, 
 disinterested, and you had sacred claims on Virginia 
 which no fortune could outweigh. You have lost 
 her ; it is neither your imprudence, nor your avarice, 
 nor your false wisdom which has caused your loss, but 
 God, who has employed the passions of others to 
 deprive you of the object of your love; God, from 
 whom you receive all, who knows what is most fitting 
 for you, and whose wisdom has not left you any 
 cause for the repentance and despair which follow 
 those calamities we have brought upon ourselves. 
 “You can then say in your misfortune, ‘I have 
 not merited it.’ Is it then that you deplore for Vir- 
 ginia her end—bher present state? She has met 
 the fate allotted to all, to high birth, to beauty, and 
 even to empires. The life of man, with all his proj- 
 ects. is like building a tower whose crown is death. 
 In being born she was condemned to die. Happy 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 to have died before her mother, before yours, before 
 you ; that is to say, in not dying several times before 
 the last! 
 
 “ Death, my son, is a benefit to all men; it is the 
 night of the restless day that we call life. It is in 
 the sleep of death that the diseases, griefs, vexations, 
 and fears repose, that molest without cessation the 
 unfortunate living. Inquire into the lives of the men 
 who seem most happy; you will learn that they have 
 bought their apparent happiness very dearly: public 
 consideration, by domestic evils ; fortune, by the loss 
 of health; the rare happiness of being beloved, by 
 continual sacrifices ; and often at the expiration of a 
 life devoted to the interests of others, they only see 
 about them false friends and ungrateful relations. 
 But Virginia was happy to her very last moment. 
 When with us she was happy in the gifts of Nature ; 
 far from us, in the practice of virtue; and even in 
 the terrible moment when we saw her perish, she 
 was still happy; for whether she cast her eyes on 
 the assembled colony, made wretched by her danger, 
 or on you, who strove with so much intrepidity to 
 save her, she must have seen how dear she was to 
 all. She was fortified against fears for the future by 
 the remembrance of the innocence of her life; and 
 she received then the reward that Heaven reserves 
 for virtue — a courage superior to danger. She met 
 death with a serene countenance. 
 
 “ My son, God gives to virtue all the trials of life, 
 ‘that it may be shown that virtue alone can use them 
 
 A 
 
140 . PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and find in them happiness and glory. Wheu He 
 designs for it an illustrious reputation, He exhibits 
 it on a grand theatre and contending with death; 
 then does the courage of virtue serve as an example, 
 and the remembrance of its misfortunes receives for- 
 ever from posterity the tribute of tears. What an 
 immortal monument is reserved for virtue in a 
 world where every thing else passes away, and 
 where even the memory of most kings is soon 
 shrouded in eternal forgetfulness. 
 
 “But Virginia still exists. My son, every thing 
 changes on this earth, but nothing is lost. No art 
 of man can annihilate the smallest particle of matter ; 
 and can that which was reasonable, sensitive, loving, 
 virtuous, religious perish when the elements with 
 which it was clothed are indestructible? Ah! if 
 Virginia was happy with us, she is much more so 
 now. There is a God, my son; all Nature proclaims 
 Him ; it is not necessary for me to prove it. It is 
 only the wickedness of men that leads them to deny 
 a justice that they fear. The consciousness of Him 
 is in your heart, as His works are before. your eyes. 
 Do you believe, then, that He will leave Virginia with- : 
 out reward? Do you believe that the same Power 
 that clothed that soul so noble in a form so beautiful, 
 in which you felt a divine power, was not able to draw 
 her from the waves? — that He who has arranged 
 the actual happiness of men by laws unknown to you, 
 cannot prepare other happiness for Virginia by laws 
 of which you are equally ignorant? Before we 
 
 , 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 
 
 were born into this world, if we had been capable 
 of thinking, could we have formed an idea of our 
 present existence? And now that we are in this 
 gloomy and fleeting life, can we foresee what is be- 
 yond that death by which we must leave it? Does 
 God, like man, need this little globe, our earth, as a 
 theatre for the display of His intelligence and good- 
 ness ? and can He only dispose of life in the fields 
 of death? There is not in the ocean a single drop 
 of water which is not peopled with living beings for 
 our use, and does there exist nothing for us in the 
 stars which roll over our heads? What! is there 
 no supreme intelligence and divine goodness except 
 precisely where we are? In these innumerable 
 Shining globes, in the infinite fields of light which 
 surround them, which neither storm nor darkness 
 can ever obscure, is there nothing but useless space 
 and an eternal void? If we dared assign limits to 
 the power of Him from whom we have received all, 
 we might believe that we are here on the boundaries 
 of His empire, where life combats with death, and in- 
 nocence with tyranny. 
 
 “ Without doubt there is some place where virtue 
 receives its recompense. Virginia is now happy. 
 Ah, if from the abode of angels she could communi- 
 cate with you, she would say, as in her last adieu, ‘O 
 Paul! life is only a trial. I have been found faith- 
 ful to the laws of Nature, of love, and of virtue. I 
 crossed the ocean in obedience to my relations ; I 
 tenounced riches in order to keep my faith; and 
 
142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 I preferred to lose my life rather than violate my 
 modesty. Heaven found my probation sufficient. I 
 have escaped forever from poverty and calumny, 
 and from the sight of others’ griefs. Henceforth 
 none of the evils which terrify men can touch me; 
 —and you pity me! Iam pure and unchangeable 
 as a particle of light, and you would recall me into 
 the light of life! O Paul! O my friend! do you 
 remember those days of happiness when from early 
 morning we tasted the delights of Nature, rising with 
 the sun on the peaks of those rocks, and spreading 
 with his rays over the bosom of the forest, we expe- 
 rienced a delight the cause of which we could not 
 comprehend? In the innocence of our desires we 
 wished to be all sight, to enjoy the rich colors of the 
 early dawn ; all smell, to receive the perfume of our 
 plants ; all hearing, to listen to the concerts of our 
 birds; all heart, to acknowledge these blessings. 
 Now, at the source of all beauty, whence flows all that 
 is delightful upon earth, my soul sees, hears, tastes, 
 touches what before she could only feel through im- 
 perfect organs. Ah! what tongue can describe the 
 shores of the eternal orient, which I inhabit forever ! 
 All that infinite power and celestial goodness could 
 create to console one who has suffered ; all that the 
 friendship of numberless beings, enjoying the same 
 felicity, can give of harmony in mutual transports, 
 we enjoy without alloy. Support then the trial 
 which is given you, that you may heighten the hap- 
 piness of your Virginia by a love which shall have 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 
 
 no end — by a Hymen whose torch can never be 
 extinguished. Then I will calm your regrets — 
 then I will wipe away your tears. O my friend, 
 my husband, raise your thoughts toward the infi- 
 nite, that you may support the pains of a moment. ” 
 
 My own emotion put an end to my discourse. 
 Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried, “She is no 
 more ! she is no more!” and a long fainting fit fol- 
 lowed these woful words. When restored to con- 
 Sciousness he said, — “Since death is a benefit, and 
 Virginia is happy, I too will die and rejoin her.” 
 Thus my grounds of consolation only served to nour- 
 ish his despair. I was like a man trying to save a 
 friend sinking in the waves, who will not swim. He 
 was drowning in grief. Alas! the sorrows of early 
 years prepare man to endure those of later life; and 
 Paul had experienced none. 
 
 Iled him back to his home. I there found his 
 mother and Madame de ia Tour in a state of in- 
 creased languor. Margaret was the most dejected. 
 Lively characters, upon whom petty troubles have 
 little effect, are those who the least resist great 
 SOITOWS. 
 
 She said to me: “O my good friend, I thought 
 I saw Virginia last night, clothed in white, in the 
 midst of groves and delicious gardens. She said to 
 me, ‘I enjoy a happiness worthy of envy ;’ and then 
 approaching Paul with a smiling air, she bore him 
 away with her. While I was struggling to retain 
 my son, I felt that I was myself quitting the earth, 
 
144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ~ 
 
 and that I followed him with inexpressible pleas- 
 ure. I then wished to bid adieu to my friend ; as 
 I turned I saw that she was following us, with Do- 
 mingo and Mary. But that which is most strange is, 
 that Madame de la Tour the same night had a dream 
 exactly like mine.” . 
 
 I replied to her, “ My friend, I believe that noth 
 ing happens in this world without the permission of 
 God. Dreams sometimes announce the truth.” 
 
 Madame de la Tour related to me her dream, in all 
 respects like that of Margaret. I had never noticed 
 *n either of these ladies any tendency to superstition 5 
 I was struck with the singular coincidence of their 
 dream, and did not doubt that it would be realized. 
 The belief that future events are sometimes revealed 
 to us in sleep, prevails among all the nations of the 
 earth. The greatest men of antiquity have had faith 
 in it; among others Alexander, Caesar, the Scipios, 
 the two Catos, and Brutus, none of whom were weak- 
 minded persons. Both the Old and New Testament 
 furnish us with numerous examples of dreams which 
 have come to pass. As for myself, I need on this 
 subject only appeal to my own experience, as I 
 have more than once had reason to believe that 
 dreams are warnings given us by some superior in- 
 telligences who interest themselves in us. If one 
 attempts to’combat or defend by reasoning that 
 which is beyond the light of human reason, it will be 
 found impossible. However, if man’s reason is only 
 the image of God’s, since man has the power by 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 
 
 hidden and secret means to make known His will to 
 the ends of the earth, why may not the Intelligence 
 which governs the universe employ like means for 
 the same end? One friend consoles another by a 
 letter, which passes through many kingdoms, and 
 through the hands of those at enmity with each 
 other, to bring joy and hope to one man; why may 
 not the sovereign Protector of innocence come by 
 some secret way to the help of a virtuous soul who 
 puts its trust only in Him? Does He need to em- 
 ploy some visible sign to execute His will, — He 
 whose ways are hidden in all his works ? 
 
 Why should we not have faith in dreams? What 
 is life, so full of vain and fleeting projects, but a 
 dream ? 
 
 However it may be, the dreams of my unfortunate 
 friends were soon realized. Paul died two months 
 after the death of his Virginia, with her name on his 
 lips. A week after the death of her son, Margaret 
 saw her last hour approach with a joy which only 
 virtue can experience. She bade Madame de la 
 Tour a most tender farewell, in the hope, as she 
 said, of a delightful and eternal reunion. “ Death is 
 -he greatest of blessings,” added she, “and we ought 
 to desire it. If life isa punishment, we ought to 
 wish for its end; if it is a trial, we should ask that it 
 may be short.” 
 
 The Governor took care of Domingo and Mary, 
 who were no longer able to labor, and who survived 
 
 their mistresses but a short time. As for poor Fis 
 10 
 
146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 déle, he pined to death soon after he lost his 
 master. 
 
 I took Madame de la Tour to my own home. She 
 bore her great losses with incredible fortitude. She 
 had consoled Paul and Margaret even to their last 
 moments, as if she had only their sorrows to bear. 
 When they were no more, she talked to me of them 
 every day, as of beloved friends who were living 
 near her. She survived them, however, only a 
 month. Far from reproaching her aunt for the af- 
 flictions she had caused, she prayed God to pardon 
 her, and to appease that remorse which we heard 
 began to torment her immediately after she had sent 
 Virginia away with so much inhumanity. 
 
 This unnatural relative received the punishment 
 of her harshness. I heard on the successive arrival 
 of several vessels that her torment was so great that 
 life and death were equally insupportable to her. 
 Sometimes she reproached herself with the untimely 
 fate of her lovely niece, and the death of her mother 
 which so soon followed it. At other times she con- 
 eratulated herself for having repulsed two wretched 
 creatures, who she said had dishonored their family 
 by their low inclinations. Sometimes she would fly 
 into a rage at the sight of the many miserable beg- 
 gars with which Paris abounds, and exclaim, “ Why 
 do they not send these idle creatures to perish in 
 our colonies?” As for the notions of humanity, 
 virtue, and religion adopted by all nations, she said 
 they were only the inventions of their rulers to serve 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 
 
 political purposes. Then flying all at- once to the 
 other extreme, she abandoned herself to supersti- 
 tious terrors, which filled her with mortal fears 
 She would then give abundant alms to the wealthy 
 ecclesiastics who guided her, praying them to ap- 
 pease the Divinity by the sacrifice of her fortune; as 
 if. the wealth she had withheld from the unfortu- 
 nate could please the Father of men! In her i imag- 
 ination she often beheld fields of fire, and bursing 
 mountains, where hideous spectres wandered, loudly 
 calling her. She would throw herself at the feet of 
 her feaGsor, devising for herself tortures and pun- 
 ishmients ; for Heaven — just Heaven — always sends 
 to cruel souls frightful ideas of religion. Thus she 
 lived for several years, by turns an atheist and a 
 fanatic, dreading equally life and death. But what 
 at last brought her deplorable existence to an end 
 was the very object to which she had sacrificed the 
 sentiments of Nature. She had the chagrin of see- 
 ing that her fortune would fall, at her death, to rela- 
 tives whom she hated; she therefore tried to alien- 
 ate the larger part of it. They, however, taking ad- 
 vantage of the attacks of low spirits to which she 
 was subject, caused her to be confined as a lunatic, 
 and her property to be placed under guardianship. 
 Thus her wealth completed her ruin; and as it had 
 hardened the heart of her who possessed it, it cor- 
 rupted the hearts of those who desired it. She soon 
 died ; and to crown her misery, had sufficient use of 
 her reason to know that she was despoiled and de- 
 
148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 spised by those whose opinions had guided her ail 
 her life. 
 
 They laid Paul by the side of Virginia, at the foot 
 of the same trees, and near them their tender moth 
 ers and their faithful servants. No marble marks 
 the spot of their humble graves — no inscription re- 
 cords their virtues; but their memory is indelibly 
 engraved on the hearts of those they have be- 
 friended. Their spirits do not need the display that 
 they shunned during their lives; but if they still 
 take an interest in what passes on earth, they no 
 doubt love to wander beneath the roofs of those 
 dwellings inhabited by industrious virtue ; to console 
 unhappy poverty, to cherish in the hearts of lovers 
 unchanging fidelity, a taste for the blessings of Na- 
 ture, the love of labor, and the fear of riches. 
 
 The voice of the people, which is often silent as to 
 the monuments raised to kings, has given to several 
 parts of this island names which will immortalize the 
 loss of Virginia. Near the Isle of Amber, in the 
 midst of the rocks, is a place called “'The Pass of 
 the Saint Géran,” from the name of the vessel which 
 brought her from Europe and was wrecked there. 
 ‘The extremity of that long point of land which you 
 see three leagues from here, half-covered by the 
 waves, which the Saint Géran could not double the 
 night before the hurricane to enter the port, 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 shrouded in sand, as if the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 149 
 
 sea had wished to restore her corpse to her family, 
 and render the last duties to her modesty on the 
 shores that she had honored by her innocence. 
 Young lovers so tenderly united! Unfortunate 
 mothers! Beloved family! These woods which 
 lent you their shade, these fountains which flowed 
 for you, these hill-sides where you rested together, 
 still deplore your loss. Since then no one has dared 
 to cultivate this desolate spot or occupy these hum- 
 ble cottages. Your goats have become wild; your 
 orchards are destroyed; your birds have fled; and 
 nothing is heard but the cry of the hawks as they 
 whirl above this rocky basin. As for me, since I no 
 longer see you, I am as a friend without friends, a 
 father who has lost his children, a traveller who 
 wanders over the earth where he remains alone. 
 
 With these words the good old man burst into 
 tears and left me; my own had flowed more than 
 once during this sad recital. 
 
: yi . Te 
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 ied inate ied a — lace a a a ee dbtiaxien.-