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PEEFACE. 
 
 Ix introducing to the Public the present 
 edition of this well-known and affecting 
 Tale, — the chef-cToeuvre of its gifted author, 
 the Publishers take occasion to say, that it 
 affords them no little gratification, to ap- 
 prise tho numerous admirers of " Paul and 
 Virginia," that the entire work of St. Pierre 
 is now presented to them. All the previous 
 editions have been disfigured by interpola- 
 tions, and mutilated by numerous omissions 
 and alterations, which have had the effect 
 of reducing it from the rank of a Philo- 
 sophical Tale, to the level of a mere story 
 for children. 
 
 Of the merits of " Paul and Virginia," it 
 is hardly necessary to utter a word ; it tells 
 its own story eloquently and impressively, 
 and in a language simple, natural and true, 
 it touches the common heart of the world. 
 There are but few works that have obtained 
 a greater degree of popularity, none are 
 
 3 
 
4 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 more deserving it ; and the Publishers can- 
 not therefore refrain from expressing a hope 
 that their efforts in thus giving a faithful 
 transcript of tlie work, — an acknowledged 
 classic by the European world, — may be, in 
 some degree, instrumental in awakening 
 here, at home, a taste for those higher works 
 of Fancy, which, while they seek to elevate 
 and strengthen the understanding, instruct 
 and purify the heart. It is in this character 
 that the Tale of " Paul and Virginia " ranks 
 pre-eminent. 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 BEENAEDm DE ST. PIEEEE. 
 
 Love of Nature, that strong feeling of 
 enthusiasm which leads to profound admira- 
 tion of the whole works of creation, belongs, 
 it may be presumed, to a certain peculiarity 
 of organization, and has, no doubt, existed 
 in different individuals from the beginning 
 of the world. The old poets and philoso- 
 phers, romance writers and troubadours had 
 all looked upon iSTature with observing and 
 admiring eyes. They have most of them 
 given incidentally charming pictures of 
 spring, of the setting sun, of particular 
 spots, and of favorite flowers. 
 
 There are few writers of note, of any coun- 
 try or of any age, from whom quotations 
 might not be made in proof of the love with 
 
 5 
 
6 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 which they regarded Nature. And this 
 remark appHes as much to reUgious and 
 philosophic writers as to poets, — equally to 
 Plato, St. Fran9ois de Sales, Bacon and 
 Fenelon, as to Shakspeare, Racine, Calderon, 
 or Burns ; for from no really philosophic or 
 religious doctrine can the love of the works 
 of Nature be excluded. 
 
 But before the days of Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau, Buffon, and Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 this love of Nature had not been expressed 
 in all its intensity. Until their day, it had 
 not been written on exclusively. The lovers 
 of Nature were not, till then, as they may 
 perhaps since be considered, a sect apart. 
 Though perfectly sincere in all the adora- 
 tion they offered, they were less entirely, 
 and certainly less diligently and constantly, 
 her adorers. 
 
 It is the great praise of Bernardin de St. 
 Pierre, that coining immediately after Rous- 
 seau and Buffon and being one of the most 
 proficient writers of the same school, he was 
 in no degree their imitator, but perfectly 
 original and new. He intuitively perceived 
 the immensity of the subject he intended to 
 explore, and has told us that no day of his 
 
BEBNABDIN BE ST. PIEBEE. 7 
 
 life passed 'without his collecting some 
 valuablQ materials for his writings. In the 
 divine works of Nature, he diligently sought 
 to discover her laws. It was his early in- 
 tention not to begin to write until he had 
 ceased to observe; but he found observa- 
 tion endless, and that he was " like a child, 
 who with a shell digs a hole in the sand ta 
 receive the waters of the ocean." He else- 
 where humbly says, that not only the gen- 
 eral history of Nature, but even that of the 
 smallest plant, was far beyond his ability. 
 Before, however, speaking further of him as 
 an author, it will be necessary to recapitu- 
 late the chief events of his life. 
 
 Henri- Jacques Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 was born at Havre in 1737. He always con- 
 sidered himself descended from Eustache de 
 St. Pierre, who is said by Froissart (and I 
 believe by Froissart only), to have so gener- 
 ously offered himself as a victim to appease 
 the wrath of Edward the Third against 
 Calais. He, with his companions in virtue, 
 it is also said, was saved by the intercession 
 of Queen Philippa. In one of his smaller 
 works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and 
 it was certainly one of which he might be 
 
8 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 proud. Many anecdotes are related of his 
 childhood, indicative of the youthful author, 
 — of his strong love of Nature, and his hu- 
 manity to animals. 
 
 That "the child is father of the man," 
 has been seldom more strongly illustrated. 
 There is a story of a cat, which, when re- 
 lated by him many years afterwards to 
 Rousseau, caused that philosopher 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 Avhich afterwards 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 cosf) any animal its life. 
 It has been remarked, and possibly witiA 
 truth, that every tendeily disposed heart, 
 deeply imbued with a love of Nature, is at 
 times somewhat BramimoaL St. Pierre's 
 certainly was. 
 
 When quite young, be advanced with a 
 clenched fist towards a carter who was ill- 
 treating a horse. And when taken for the 
 ^at time, by his father, to Rouen, having 
 
BEBXABDIX BE ST. PIEBBE. 9 
 
 the towers of the cathedral pomted out to 
 hhn, he exclaimed, " My God ! how high 
 they fly." Every one present naturally 
 laughed. Bernardin had only noticed the 
 flight of some swallows who had built their 
 nests there. He thus early revealed those 
 instincts which af terw^ards became the guid- 
 ance of his life : the strength of which pos- 
 sibly occasioned his too great indifl:erence 
 to all monuments 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 mis- 
 management, cannot now be ascertained. 
 It undoubtedly became afterwards, 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 oc- 
 cupied 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 SU 
 
10 
 
 MEMOIB OF 
 
 Pierre had not sufficiently practiced the vir- 
 tue of obedience to submit, as was necessary 
 to tlie discipline of a ship. He was after^ 
 wards 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 to the regulations of the 
 college, for he conceived, from that time, the 
 greatest detestation for places of public edu- 
 cation. And this aversion he has frequently 
 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 estab- 
 lishing him at Rouen, where he completed 
 his studies with brilliant success, in 1757. 
 He soon after obtained a commission as an 
 engineer, with a salary of one hundred louis. 
 Jn this capacity he was sent (1760) to Dussel- 
 dorf, under the command of Count St. Ger- 
 main.' This was a career in whic h he might 
 have acquired both honor and fortune ; but, 
 most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked 
 upon the useful and necessary etiquettes of 
 life of as many unworthy prejudices. In« 
 stead of conforming to them, he sought to 
 trample on them. In addition, he evinced 
 
BEBNABDIX DE ST. PIEBBE. 11 
 
 some disposition to rebel against liis com- 
 mander, and was unsocial with his equals. It 
 is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that at 
 this unfortunate period of his existence, he 
 made himself enemies ; or that, notwith- 
 standing his great talents, or the coolness 
 he had exhibited in moments of danger, he 
 should have been sent back to France. 
 Unwelcome, under these circumstances, to 
 his family, he was ill received by all. 
 
 It is a lesson yet to be learned, that genius 
 gives no charter for the indulgence of error, 
 — a truth yet to be remembered, that only a 
 small portion of the world will look with 
 leniency on the failings of the highly gifted ; 
 and, that from themselves, the consequences 
 of their own actions can never be averted. It 
 is yet, alas ! to he added to the convictions of 
 the ardent in mind, that no degree of excel- 
 lence in science or literature, not even the 
 immortality of a name, can exempt its 
 possessor from obedience to moral disci- 
 pline ; or give him happiness, unless " tem- 
 per's image " be stamped on his daily words 
 and actions. St. Pierre's life was sadly em- 
 bittered by his own conduct. The advent- 
 urous life he led after his return from 
 
12 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Dusseldorf, some of the circumstances of 
 which exhibited liim in an unfavorable hght 
 to others, tended, perliaps, to tinge his im- 
 agination with that wild and tender melan- 
 choly so prevalent in his writings. A 
 prize in the lottery had just doubled his 
 very slender means of existence, when he 
 obtained the appointment of geographical 
 engineer, and was sent to Malta. The 
 Knights of the Order were at this time ex- 
 pecting to be attacked by the Turks. Hav- 
 ing already been in the service, it was sin- 
 gular that St. Pierre should have had the 
 imprudence to sail without his commission. 
 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 mortifications he 
 suffered. After receiving an insufficient in- 
 demnity for the expenses of his voyage, St. 
 Pierre returned to France there to endure 
 fresh misfortunes. 
 
 Not being able to obtain any assistance 
 from the ministry or his family, he resolved 
 on giving lessons in the mathematics. But 
 
BEBNABDIN BE ST. PIEBBE. 13 
 
 St. Pierre was less adapted than most others 
 for succeeding in the apparently easy, but 
 really ingenious and diflftcult, art of teaching. 
 When education is better understood, it 
 will be more generally acknowledged, that, 
 to impart instruction with success, a teacher 
 must possess deeper intelligence than is im- 
 plied 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 anything whatever of music, was 
 scarcely less fitted for the task of instruction, 
 than St. Pierre with all his mathematical 
 knowledge. The pressure of poverty drove 
 him to Holland. He was well received at 
 Amsterdam, by a French refugee named 
 Mustel, who edited a popular journal there, 
 and who procured him employment, with 
 handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, 
 
14 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 however, remain long satisfied with this quiet 
 mode of existence. Allured by the encour- 
 aging reception given by Catherine II. to 
 foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg. 
 Here, until he obtained the protection of 
 the Marechal de Munich, and the friendship 
 of Duval, he had again to contend with pov- 
 erty. The latter generously opened to him 
 his purse, and by the Marechal he was in- 
 troduced to Villebois the Grand Master of 
 Artillery, and by him presented to the Em- 
 press. 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 honor- 
 able 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 imita- 
 tion of Plato or Rousseau, he was to be the 
 legislator. Preoccupied with the reforma- 
 tion of despotism, he did not sufficiently 
 look into his own heart, or seek to avoid 
 a repetition of the same errors that had 
 already changed friends into enemies, and 
 been such a terrible barrier to his success 
 
BERNARDIN BE ST, PIERRE, 15 
 
 in life. His mind was already morbid, and 
 in fancying that others did not understand 
 him, he forgot that he did not understand 
 others. The Empress, witli the rank of 
 captain, bestowed on him a grant of fifteen- 
 hundred francs ; but when General Dubos- 
 quet proposed to take him with him to ex- 
 amine the military position of Finland, his 
 only anxiety seemed to be to return to 
 France : still he went to Finland ; and his 
 own n^tes of his occupations and experi- 
 ments on that expedition prove, that he 
 gave himself up in all diligence to consider- 
 ations of attack and defense. He, who loved 
 Nature so intently, seems only to have seen 
 in the extensive and majestic forests of the 
 north, a theater 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 
 surveyor. 
 
 On his return to St. Petersburg, he found 
 his protector Villebois, disgraced. St. 
 Pierre then resolved on espousing the cause 
 of the Poles. He went into Poland with a 
 high reputation, — that of having refused the 
 favors of despotism, to aid the cause of 
 
16 
 
 MEMOin OF 
 
 liberty. But it was his private life, rathei 
 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 family 
 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 thai) sadness to be shared by 
 the Princess, he soon went back to Poland. 
 His return was still more sad than his de- 
 parture ; for he found himself regarded by 
 her who had once loved him, as an intruder. 
 It is to this attachment he alludes so touch- 
 ingly in one of his letters. " Adieu ! friends 
 dearer than the treasures of India ! Adieu ! 
 forests of the North, that I shall never see 
 again ! — tender friendship, and the still 
 dearer sentiments which surpassed it ! — days 
 of intoxication and of happiness ! adieu ! 
 adieu ! We live but for a day, to die during 
 a whole life ! " 
 
 This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's 
 most partial biographers, as if steeped in 
 tears ; and he sneaks of his romantic and un- 
 
BERJ^-'AEDIX BE ST. PIERRE. 17 
 
 fortunate 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 exhale 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 suffering, from 
 this circumstance, may perhaps have con- 
 duced 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 dis- 
 persed, and after six years of exile, he found 
 himself once more in his own country, with- 
 out 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, indeed, of the 
 2 
 
18 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Voyage a Tile de France," are to be found 
 modified by imagined circumstances in 
 ^' Paul and Virginia." He returned to Paris 
 poor in purse, but rich in observation and 
 mental resources, and resolved to devote 
 himself to literature. By the Baron de 
 Breteuil he was recommended to D'Alem- 
 bert, who procured a publisher for his 
 
 Voyage," and also introduced him to 
 Mile, de FEspinasse. 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, unless to those with whom he was 
 very intimate, he scarcely appeared intelli- 
 gent. 
 
 It is sad to think, that misunderstanding 
 should prevail to such an extent, and heart 
 so seldom really speak to heart, in the inter- 
 course of the world, that the most humane 
 may appear cruel, and the sympathizing in- 
 different. Judging of Mile, de FEspinasse 
 from her letters, and the testimony of her 
 contemporaries, it seems quite impossible 
 that she could have given pain to any one, 
 more particularly to a man possessing St. 
 Pierre's extraordinary and profound sensi- 
 
BEBNAUBIN BE ST. PIERRE. 
 
 19 
 
 bility. Both she and D'Alembert were ca - 
 pable of appreciatmg 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 mortified feelings, and, 
 in spite of an explanatory letter from 
 D'Alembert, did not return to it. The in- 
 flictors 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 " Preambule de T Arcadie," 
 has pathetically and eloquently described 
 the deplorable state of his health and feel- 
 ings, after frequent humiliating disputes 
 and disappointments had driven him from 
 society ; or rather, when, like Rousseau, he 
 was "self-banished " from it. 
 
 "I was struck," he says, "with an ex- 
 traordinary malady. Streams of fire, like 
 lightning, flashed before my eyes ; every 
 object appeared to me double, or in motion ; 
 like (Edipus, I saw two suns. ^ In the 
 finest day of summer, I could not cross the 
 
20 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Seine in a boat without experiencing intoler. 
 able anxiety. If, in a public garden, I merely 
 passed by a piece of water, I suffered from 
 spasms and a feeling of horror. I could not 
 cross a garden in which many people were 
 collected : if they looked at me, I immedi- 
 ately imagined they were speaking ill of me." 
 It was during this state of suffering that he 
 devoted himself with ardor to collecting and 
 making use of materials for that work which 
 was to give glory to his name. 
 
 It w^as only by perseverance, and dis- 
 regarding many rough and discouraging re- 
 ceptions, that he succeeded in making ac- 
 quaintance 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 un- 
 worthy 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 
 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. 
 
BEBNARDIX DE ST. PIEBRE, 21 
 
 " No," replied Rousseau, " St Preux is not 
 what I have been, but what I wish 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 and Virginia." 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 typog- 
 rapher, whose daughter St. Pierre after- 
 wards married, consented to print a manu- 
 script which had been declined by many 
 others. He was well rewarded for the un- 
 dertaking. 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 per- 
 sons of different characters 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 
 
22 
 
 MEMOIB OF 
 
 approved. Among the great names whose 
 admiration of it is on record, may be men^ 
 tioned Napoleon and Humboldt. 
 
 In 1789, he published "Les Voeux d'un 
 Solitaire," and " La Suite des Voeux." By 
 the Moniteiir of the day, these works were 
 compared to the celebrated pamphlet of 
 Sieyes, — "Qu'est-ce que le tiers etat?" 
 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 lOtli of 
 August, Louis XYI. appointed St. Pierre 
 superintendent of the " Jardin des Plantes." 
 Soon afterwards, the King, on seeing him, 
 €omplimented him on his writings, and told 
 him he was happy to have found a worthy 
 successor to Buffon. 
 
 Although deficient in the 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 fifty-seventh year, he 
 married Mile. Didot. 
 
 In 1795, he became a member of the 
 French Academy, and, as was just, after his 
 
BEBNARBIN BE ST. PIEBBE. 2a 
 
 acceptance of this honor, he wrote no more 
 against literary societies. On the suppres- 
 sion 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 publi- 
 cation of ^'Les Harmonies de la Nature," 
 the republication of his earlier works, and 
 the composition of some lesser pieces. He 
 himself alt'ectingly regrets an interruption 
 to these occupations. On being appointed 
 Instructor to the Xormal School, he says,. 
 " I am obliged to hang my harp on the wil- 
 lows of my river, and to accept an employ- 
 ment useful to my family and my country. 
 I am afflicted at having to suspend an occu- 
 pation which has given me so much happi- 
 ness." 
 
 He enjoyed in his old age a degree of opu- 
 lence which, as much as glory, had perliaps^ 
 been the object of his ambition. In any 
 case, it is gratifying to reflect, tliat 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 even* 
 ing of repose and beauty. 
 
24 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 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 honor due to 
 its members. Mons. Parseval Grand Maison 
 pronounced a deserved eulogium on his tal- 
 ents, 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 pub- 
 lic, 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 malice, is 
 forced to the contemplation of his errors. 
 The secret of many of these, as well as of 
 his miseries, seems revealed by himself in 
 this sentence : " I 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 
 perfidious person." Now, taking into coiv 
 
BEBNABBIN DE ST. PIEEBE, 25 
 
 sideration that St. Pierre sometimes imag- 
 ined persons who were really good, to be 
 deserving of these strong and very contu- 
 macious epithets, it would have been diffi- 
 cult indeed to find a society in which he 
 could have been happy. He was therefore 
 wise in seeking retirement, and inclulging 
 in solitude. His mistakes, — for they were 
 mistakes, — arose from a too quick percep- 
 tion of evil, united to an exquisite and dif- 
 fuse 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 ve^y description of trials that were least 
 in harmony with his defects. Few disposi- 
 tions could have run a career like his, and 
 have remained unscathed. But one less ten- 
 der than his own would have been less 
 soured by it. For many years, he bore 
 about with him the consciousness of unac- 
 knowledged 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 
 
26 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 him — ^how often he may have felt himself 
 unworthily treated — or how far that treat- 
 ment may have preyed upon and corroded 
 his heart. Who shall say that with this 
 consciousness there did not mingle a quick 
 and instinctive perception of the hidden mo- 
 tives of^action, — that he did not sometimes 
 cletect, where others might have been blind, 
 the under-shuffling of the hands, in the by- 
 play of the world ? 
 
 Through all his writings, and throughout 
 his correspondence, there are beautiful proofs 
 of the tenderness 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 familiarity .of his 
 imagination with natural objects, when he 
 was living far removed from them, is remark- 
 able, and often affecting. 
 
 " I have arranged," he says to Mr. Ilenin, 
 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 first violet^ I 
 shall come to see you." It is soothing to 
 
BEBNABBIN BE ST. PIEBBE. 27 
 
 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 annoyances of many kinds, these images, 
 impi^ssed 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 fond remembrance of his native 
 land. I should ever prefer my own coun- 
 try to every other," he says, " not because 
 it was more beautiful, but because I was 
 brought up in it. Happy he, wiio sees again 
 the places where all was loved, and all was 
 lovely ! — the meadoAvs 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 
 
28 
 
 MEMOIB OF 
 
 changed to bitterness and gall. His hopes 
 had proved delusions — his expectations, 
 mockeries. Oh! Avho but must look with 
 charity and mercy on all discontent and irri- 
 tation consequent on such a depth of disap- 
 pointment : on what must have then ap- 
 peared to him such unmitigable woe. Und(ir 
 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 descriptions in the "Voyage 
 a rile 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 de- 
 lightful Eden, he had previously spoken of as 
 a " rugged country covered with rocks," — . 
 " a land of Cyclops blackened by fire." 
 Truth, probably, lies between the two 
 representations ; the sadness of exile hav- 
 ing darkened the one, and the exuber- 
 ance of his imagination embellished the 
 other. 
 
 St. Pierre'^s merit as an author has been 
 
BEBNABDIN BE ST. PIEREE, 29 
 
 too long and too universally acknowledged, 
 to make it needful that it should be dwelt 
 on here. A careful review of the circum- 
 stances 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 im- 
 aginative 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, without a servile imitation of 
 any. When at Berlin, he had had it in his 
 power to marry Virginia Tabenheim; and 
 in Russia, Mile, de la Tour, the niece of 
 General Dubosquet, would have accepted 
 his hand. He was too poor to marry either. 
 A grateful recollection caused him to bestow 
 the names of the two on his most beloved 
 oreation. Paul was the name of a friar, 
 with whom he had associated in his child- 
 liood, and whose life he wished to imitate. 
 How little had the owners of these names 
 anticipated that they were to become the 
 baptismal appellations of half a generation 
 
30 
 
 MEMOIB OF 
 
 ill France, and to be re-echoed through the 
 world to the end of time ! 
 
 It was St. Pierre who first discovered the 
 poverty of language with regard to pictur- 
 esque 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 de- 
 scribe a mountain in such a manner that it 
 may be recognized. When you have spoken 
 of its base, its sides, its summits, you will 
 have said all ! But Avhat variety there is to 
 be found in those swelling, lengthened, flat- 
 tened, or cavernous forms ! It is only by 
 periphrasis that all this can be expressed/ 
 The same difficulty exists for plains and 
 valleys. But if you have a palace to de- 
 scribe, there is no longer any difficulty. 
 Every molding 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 
 
BEBNABBIN BE ST. PIEBBE. 31 
 
 sentiment he would express, 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 
 Terse. 
 
 The " Etudes de la Xature " 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 production 
 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, perhaps, 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 admira- 
 tion of the arrangements of Providence, and 
 a desire for virtue. More than one modern 
 poet may be supposed to have drawn a por- 
 tion of his inspiration, from the " Etudes. " 
 
82 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 As a work of science it contains many errors. 
 These, particularly his theory of the tides,=* 
 St. Pierre maintained to the last, and so elo- 
 quently, that it Avas said at the time, to be 
 impossible to unite less reason with more 
 logic. 
 
 In " Paul and Virginia," he was supremely 
 fortunate 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 brins: all his excellences as a 
 writer and man, while his deficiencies and de- 
 fects were necessarily excluded. In no man- 
 ner could he incorporate politics, science, 
 or misapprehension of persons, while his 
 sensibility, morals, and wonderful talent 
 for description, were in perfect accordance 
 with, and ornaments to it. Lemontey and 
 Sainte-Beuve both consider success to be 
 inseparable 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 for- 
 
 * Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melt/ 
 Ing of the ice at the Poles. 
 
BEBNABBIN BE ST, PIEBBE. 33 
 
 tunate 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 Virginias, and Indian Cot- 
 tages ? You ought to give us some every 
 six months." 
 
 The " Indian Cottage," if not quite equal 
 in interest to " Paul and Virginia," is still a 
 charming production, and does great honor 
 to the genius of its author. It abounds 
 in antique and Eastern gems of thought. 
 Striking and excellent comparisons are scat- 
 tered through its pages ; and it is delightful 
 to reflect, that the following beautiful and 
 solemn answer of the Paria was, with St. 
 Pierre, the result of his own experience : — 
 "Misfortune resembles the Black Mountain 
 of Bember, situated at the extremity of the 
 burning kingdom of Lahore ; while you are 
 climbing it, you only see before you barren 
 xocks ; but when you have reached its sum- 
 mit, you see heaven above your head, and 
 at your feet the kingdom of Cachemere." 
 
 When this passage was written, the rug- 
 ged and sterile rock had been climbed by 
 its gifted author. He had reached the sum- 
 mit, — his genius had been rewarded, and he 
 8 
 
84: BERNABBIN BE ST, PIERRE. 
 
 himself saw the heaven he wished to point 
 out to others. Sakah Jones. 
 
 For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I 
 am indebted to St. Pierre's own works, to the " Bio- 
 graphic Universelle," to the " Essai sur la Yie et 
 les Ouvrages de Bernardin de St. Pierre," by M. 
 Aime Martin, and to the very excellent and interest* 
 ing Notice Historique et Litteraire," of M. Saintc 
 Bduve* 
 
PAUL AND YIEGINIA. 
 
 Situate on the eastern side of the mount- 
 ain which rises above Port Louis, in the 
 ' Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the 
 marks of former cultivatian, are seen the 
 ruins of two small cottages. These ruins 
 are not far from the center of a valley, 
 formed by immense rocks, and which opens 
 only towards the north. On the left rises 
 the mountain called the Height of Discovery, 
 whence the eye marks the distant sail when 
 it first touches the verge of the horizon, 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 
 bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain ; 
 
 35 
 
36 
 
 PAUL AND VIEGINIA. 
 
 and the prospect terminates in a forest 
 extending to the furthest bounds of the 
 island. The front view presents the bay, 
 denominated the Bay of the Tomb ; a little 
 on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune ; 
 and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the 
 surface of 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 pre- 
 sents these various objects, the echoes of the 
 mountain incessantly repeat the hollow mur- 
 murs of the winds that shake the neighbor- 
 ing forests, and the tumultuous dashing oi 
 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 37 
 
 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 surround- 
 ing rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising 
 above the shadows of the mountain, appear 
 like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon 
 the azure sky. 
 
 To this scene I loved to resort, as I could 
 here enjoy at once the richness of an un- 
 bounded landscape, and the charm of unin- 
 terrupted solitude. One day, when I was 
 seated at the foot of the cottages, and con- 
 templating 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 ex- 
 pression of his countenance was dignified 
 and interesting. I bowed to him with re- 
 
38 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 spect ; he returned the salutation ; and, 
 after looking at me with some earnestness, 
 came and placed himself upon the hillock 
 on which 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 son," re- 
 plied the old man, " those heaps of rubbish, 
 and that untilled land, Avere, 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, w^ill pause 
 one moment to interest himself in the fate 
 of a few obscure individuals ? What Euro- 
 pean can picture happiness to his imagina- 
 tion amidst poverty and neglect? The 
 curiosity of mankind is only attracted by 
 the history of the great, and yet from that 
 knowledge little use can be derived." — 
 Father," I rejoined, " from your manner 
 and your observations, I perceive that you 
 have acquired much experience of human 
 life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I 
 beseech you, the history of the ancient 
 inhabitants of this desert ; and be assured, 
 that even the men who are most perverted 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 
 
 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 images of the 
 past, thus began his narration : — 
 
 Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who 
 was a native of Normandy, after having in 
 vain solicited a commission in the French 
 army, or some support from his OAvn family, 
 at length determined to seek his fortune in 
 this island, where he arrived in 1726. He 
 brought hither a young woman, whom he 
 loved tenderly, and by whom he was no less 
 tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich 
 and ancient family of the same province : 
 but he had married her secretly and with- 
 out fortune, and in opposition to the will of 
 her relations, who refused their consent be- 
 cause he was found guilty of being descended 
 from parents who had no claims to nobility. 
 Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at 
 Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in 
 order to purchase a few slaves, to assist him 
 in forming a plantation on this island. He 
 landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy 
 
40 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 season which commences about the middle 
 of October ; and soon after his arrival died 
 of the pestilential fever, which prevails in 
 that island six months of the year, and 
 which will forever baffle the attempts of the 
 European nations to form establishments on 
 that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon 
 by the rapacity of strangers, as commonly 
 happens to persons dying in foreign parts ; 
 and his wife, who was pregnant, found her- 
 self a widow in a country where she had 
 neither credit nor acquaintance, and no 
 earthly possession, or rather support, but 
 one negro woman. Too delicate to solicit 
 protection or relief from any one else 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. 
 
 Desert as was the island, and the ground 
 left to the choice of the settler, she avoided 
 those spots which were most fertile and 
 most favorable to commerce : seeking some 
 nook of the mountain, some secret asylum 
 where she might live solitary and unknown, 
 she bent her way from the town towards 
 
FAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 
 
 these rocks, where she might conceal her- 
 self from observation. All sensitive and 
 suffering creatures, from a sort of common 
 instinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to 
 haunts the most wild and desolate; as if 
 rocks could form a rampart against misfor- 
 tune — as if the calm of Nature 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 
 blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour, 
 which neither riches nor greatness can pur- 
 chase : — this blessing was a friend. 
 
 The spot to which Madame de la Tour had 
 fled had already been inhabited for 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 through 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 neighbor- 
 hood, who promised her marriage. He soon 
 abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to 
 seduction, refused to insure a provision for 
 
42 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 the child of which she was pregnant. Mar- 
 garet then determined to leave forever her 
 native village, and retire, 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 rep- 
 utation. With some borrowed money she 
 purchased an old negro slave, with whom 
 she cultivated a little corner of this district. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro 
 woman, came to this spot, where she found 
 Margaret engaged in suckling her child. 
 Soothed and charmed by the sight of a per- 
 son in a situation somewhat similar to her 
 own, Madame de la Tour related, in a few 
 v/ords, her past condition and her present 
 wants. Margaret was deeply afifected by 
 the recital ; and more anxious to merit con- 
 fidence than to create 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- 
 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 exclaimed, — " Ah, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 43 
 
 surely Heaven has put an end to my mis- 
 fortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I 
 am a stranger, with more goodness towards 
 me than I have ever experienced from my 
 own relations ! " 
 
 I was acquainted with 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 pre- 
 vents members of the same family from 
 meeting for years ; but in new colonies we 
 consider those persons as ueighbors from 
 whom v/e are divided only by woods and 
 mountains ; and above all at that period, 
 when this island had little intercourse with 
 the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to 
 friendship, and hospitality towards strangers 
 seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No 
 sooner was I informed that Margaret had 
 found a companion, than I hastened to her, 
 Tji the hope of being useful to my neighbor 
 and her guest. I found Madame de la Tour 
 possessed of all those melancholy graces 
 -v^hich, by blending sympathy with admira- 
 tion gave to beauty additional power. Her 
 
44 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 countenance was interesting, expressive at 
 once of dignity and dejection. Slie appeared 
 to be in tlie last stage of lier pregnancy. I 
 told the two friends that for the future in- 
 terest of their children, and to prevent the 
 intrusion of any other settler, they had bet- 
 ter divide between them the property of 
 this wild, sequestered valley, which is nearly 
 twenty acres in extent. They confided that 
 task to me, and I marked out two equal 
 portions of land. One included the higher 
 part of this inclosure, from the cloudy pin- 
 nacle of that rock, whence springs the river 
 of Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft 
 which you see on the summit of the mount- 
 ain, and which, from its resemblance in 
 form to the battlement of a fortress, is 
 called the Embrasure. It is difficult to find 
 a path along this wild portion of the enclos- 
 ure, 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 
 
 course between those two hills, until it falls 
 into the sea. You may still trace the ves- 
 tiges 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 unyielding, that it 
 will almost resist the stroke of a pickax. 
 When I had thus divided the property, I 
 persuaded my neighbors to draw lots for 
 their respective possessions. The higher 
 portion of land, containing the source of the 
 river of Fan-Palms, became the property of 
 Madame de la Tour ; the lower, comprising 
 the plain on the banks of the river, was 
 allotted to Margaret ; and each seemed satis- 
 fied with her share. They entreated me to 
 place their habitations together, that they 
 might at all times enjoy the soothing inter- 
 course of friendship, and the consolation 
 of mutual kind offices. Margaret's cottage 
 was situated near the center of the valley, 
 and just on the boundary of her own planta- 
 tion. Close to that spot I built another cot- 
 tage for the residence of Madame de la Tour ; 
 and thus the two friends, while they pos- 
 sessed all the advantages of neighborhood. 
 
46 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 construct those two cottages, of 
 which you can now discern neither the en- 
 trance nor the roof. Yet, alas! there still 
 remain but too many traces for my remem- 
 brance ! 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. 
 
 As soon as the second cottage was fxnished, 
 Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. 
 I had been the godfather of Margaret's 
 child, who was cliristened by the name of 
 Paul. Madame de la 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." 
 
 About the time Madame de la Tour recov- 
 ered, these two little estates had already 
 begun to yield some produce, perhaps in a 
 small degree owing to the care which I oc- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 47 
 
 casionally bestowed on their improvement, 
 but far more to the indefatigable labors of 
 the two slaves. Margaret's slave, who was 
 called Domingo, was still healthy and ro- 
 bust, though advanced in years: he pos- 
 sessed some knowledge, and a good natural 
 understanding. He cultivated indiscrimi- 
 nately, on both plantations, the spots ot 
 ground that seemed 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 planted wheat ; and rice hi 
 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 grate* 
 ful shade on the banks of the river, and en- 
 circled the cottages, yielded fruit through- 
 out the year. And lastly, Domingo, to 
 soothe his cares, cultivated a few plants of 
 
48 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 tobacco. Sometimes he was employed in 
 cutting wood for firing from tlie mountain, 
 sometimes in lie wing pieces etf rock within 
 the inclosure, in order to level the paths. 
 The zeal which inspired him enabled him to 
 perform all these labors with intelligence 
 and activity. He was much attached to Mar- 
 garet, and not less to Madame de la Tour, 
 whose negro woman, Mary, he had married 
 on the birth of Virginia ; and he was pas- 
 sionately fond of his wife. Mary was born 
 at Madagascar, and had there acquired the 
 knowledge of some useful arts. She could 
 weave baskets, and a sort of stutf, 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, 
 to sell the superfluous produce of these lit- 
 tle plantations, which was not, however, 
 very considerable. If you add to the per- 
 sonages already mentioned two goats, which 
 were brought up with the children, and a 
 great dog, which kept Avatch at night, you 
 will have a complete idea of the household, 
 as well as of the productions of these two 
 little farms. 
 
PAUL AND VIBGIXI'i' 
 
 49 
 
 Madame cle la Tour and her friend were 
 constantly employed in spinning cotton for 
 the use of their families. Destitute of every- 
 thing which their own industry could not* 
 supply, at home they went barefooted : 
 shoes were a convenience reserved for Sun* 
 day, on which day, at au early hour, they 
 attended mass at the church of the Shad- 
 dock Grove, which you see yonder. That 
 church was more distant from their homes 
 than Port Louis; but they seldom visited 
 the town, lest they should be treated with 
 contempt on account of their dress, Avhich 
 consisted simply of the coarse blue linen of 
 Bengal, usually worn by slaves. But is 
 there, in that external deference which for- 
 tune commands, a compensation for domes- 
 tic happiness ? If these interesting women 
 had something to suffer from the world, 
 their homes on that very account became 
 more dear to them. No sooner did Mary 
 and Domingo, from this elevated spot, per- 
 ceive their mistresses on the road of the 
 Shaddock Grove, than they flew to the foot 
 of the mountain in order to help them to 
 ascend. They discerned in the looks of 
 their domestics the joy which their return 
 
50 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 excited. They found in their retreat neat- 
 ness, independence, all the blessings which 
 are the recompense of toil, and they received 
 the zealous services which spring from affec- 
 tion. United by the tie of similar wants, 
 and the sympathy of similar misfortunes, 
 they gave each other the tender name.s of 
 companion, friend, sister. They had but 
 one will, one interest, one table. All their 
 possessions were in common. And if some- 
 times a passion more ardent than friendship 
 awakened in their hearts the pang of unavail- 
 ing anguish, a pure religion, united with 
 chaste manners, drew their affections to- 
 wards another life : as the trembling flame 
 rises towards heaven, when it no longer finds 
 any aliment on earth. 
 
 The duties of maternity became a source 
 of additional happiness to these affectionate 
 mothers, whose mutual friendship gained 
 new strength at the sight of their children, 
 equally the offspring of an ill-fated attach- 
 ment. They delighted in washing their in- 
 fants together in the same bath, in putting 
 them to rest in the same cradle, and in chang- 
 ing the maternal bosom at which they re- 
 ceived nourishment. ''My friend," cried 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 51 
 
 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 different trees of the same 
 kind, after the tempest has broken all their 
 branches, produce more delicious fruit, if 
 each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
 grafted on the neighboring tree, so these 
 two infants, deprived of all their other rela- 
 tions, when thus exchanged for nourishment 
 by those who had given them birth, imbibed 
 feelings of affection still more tender than 
 those of son and daughter, brother and sis- 
 ter. While they were yet in their cradles, 
 their mothers talked of their marriage. 
 They soothed their own cares by looking 
 forward to the future happiness of their 
 children ; but this contemplation often drew 
 forth their tears. The misfortunes of one 
 mother had arisen from having neglected 
 marriage ; those of the other for having sub- 
 mitted to its laws. One had suffered by 
 aiming to rise above her condition, the other 
 by descending from her rank. But they 
 found consolation in reflecting that their 
 more fortunate children, far from the cruel, 
 prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once 
 
 a OF ILL UB. 
 
62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the pleasures of love and the blessings of 
 equality. 
 
 Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment 
 been seen as that which the two children 
 already testified for each other. If Paul 
 complained of anything, his mother pointed 
 to Virginia : at her sight he smiled, and was 
 appeased. If any accident befell Virginia, 
 the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster ; 
 but the dear little creature would suppress 
 her complaints if she found that he was 
 unhappy. "When I came hither, I usually 
 found them quite naked, as is the custom of 
 the country, tottering in their walk, and 
 holding each other by the hands and under 
 the arms, as we see represented the constel- 
 lation of the Twins. At night these infants 
 often refused to be separated, and were 
 found lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, 
 their bosoms pressed close together, their 
 hands thrown round each other's neck, and 
 sleeping, locked in one another's arms. 
 
 When they began to speak, the first name 
 they learned to give each other were those 
 of brother and sister, and childhood knows 
 no softer appellation. Their education, by 
 directing them ever to consider each other's 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 5a 
 
 wants, tended greatly to increase their affec- 
 tion. In a short time, all the household 
 economy, the care of preparing their 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 motion, he dug the garden with 
 Domingo, or followed him with a little 
 hatchet into the woods ; and if in his ram- 
 bles he espied a beautiful flower, any deli- 
 cious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the 
 top of the tree, he would climb up and bring 
 the spoil 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 towards the house with her 
 petticoat thrown over her head, in order to 
 screen herself from a shower of rain. At a 
 distance, I thought she was alone ; but as I 
 hastened towards her in order to help her on, 
 I perceived she held Paul by the arm, almost 
 entirely enveloped in the same canopy, and 
 both were laughing heartily at their being 
 sheltered together under an umbrella of 
 their own invention. Those two charming 
 
54 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 faces in the middle of a swelling petticoat, 
 recalled to my mind the children of Leda, 
 enclosed in the same shell. 
 
 Their sole study was how they could 
 please and assist one another ; for of all 
 other things they were ignorant, and indeed 
 could neither read nor write. They were 
 never disturbed by inquiries about past 
 times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond 
 the bounds of their mountain. They be- 
 lieved the world ended at the shores of their 
 own island, and all their ideas and all their 
 affections were confined within its limits. 
 Their mutual tenderness, and that of their 
 mothers, employed all the energies of their 
 minds. 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 nothing to conceal. 
 Their' young imaginations had never been 
 terrified by the idea that God has punish- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 55 
 
 ment in store for ungrateful children, since 
 with them, filial affection arose naturally 
 from maternal tenderness. 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, they raised 
 towards heaven their innocent hands, and 
 hearts purified by virtuous affections. 
 
 All their early childhood passed thus, like . 
 a beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright 
 day. Already they assisted their mothers 
 in the duties of the household. As soon as 
 the crowing of the wakeful 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 breakfast. When 
 the rising sun gilded the points of the rocks 
 which overhang the inclosure in Avhich 
 they lived, Margaret and her child re- 
 paired to the dwelling of Madame de la 
 Tour, where they offered up their morning 
 prayer together. This sacrifice of thanks- 
 giving always preceded their first repast, 
 which they often took before the door of 
 the cottage, seated upon the grass, under a 
 
66 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 canopy of plantain : and while the branches 
 of that delicious tree afforded a grateful 
 shade, its fruit furnished a substantial food 
 ready prepared for them by nature, and its 
 long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, 
 supplied the place of linen. Plentiful and 
 wholesome nourishment gave early growth 
 and vigor to the persons of these childreuj 
 and their countenances expressed the purity 
 and peace of their souls. At twelve years 
 of age the figure of Virginia was in some 
 degree formed ; a profusion of light hair 
 ishaded her face, to which her blue eyes and 
 €oral lips gave the most charming brilliancy. 
 Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she 
 spoke ; but when she was silent they were 
 habitually turned upwards with an expres- 
 sion of extreme sensibility, or rather of 
 tender melancholy. The figure of Paul be- 
 gan already to display the graces of youth- 
 ful beauty. He was taller than Virginia : 
 his skin was 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 imparted 
 to them an expression of softness. He was 
 constantly in motion, except when his sister 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGmiA. 
 
 57 
 
 appeared, and then, seated by her side, he 
 became still. Their meals often passed 
 without a word being spoken ; and from 
 their silence, the simple elegance of their 
 attitudes, and the beauty of their naked 
 feet, you might have fancied you beheld' an 
 antique group of white marble, representing 
 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 suggested rather the 
 idea of hajDpy celestial spirits, whose nature 
 is love, and who are not obliged to have re- 
 course 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 tender- 
 ness. She often said to me, " If I were to 
 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 complete devotee. She had be- 
 haved with so much cruelty towards her 
 niece upon her marriap-e, that Madame de la 
 
58 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 Tour had determined no extremity of dis* 
 tress should ever compel her to have re- 
 course to her hard-hearted relation. But 
 when she became a mother, the pride of 
 resentment was overcome by the stronger 
 feelings of maternal tenderness. She wrote 
 to her aunt, informing her of the sudden 
 death of her husband, and the birth of her 
 daughter, and the difficulties in which she 
 was involved, burdened as she was with 
 an infant, and without means of support- 
 She received no answer ; but notwithstand- 
 ing the high spirit natural to her character, 
 she no longer feared exposing herself to> 
 mortification ; and, although she knew her 
 aunt would never pardon her for having 
 niarried a man who was not of noble 
 birth, however estimable, she continued ta 
 write to her, with the hope of awakening 
 her compassion for Virginia. Many years, 
 however, passed without receiving any 
 token of her remembrance. 
 
 At length, in 1738, three years after the 
 arrival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in 
 this island, Madame de la Tour was in- 
 formed that the Governor had a letter ta 
 give her from her aunt. She flew to Port 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 59 
 
 Louis ; maternal joy raised her mind above 
 all trifling considerations, and she was care- 
 less on this occasion of appearing in her 
 homely attire. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
 gave her a letter from her aunt, in which she 
 informed her, that she deserved her fate 
 for marrying an adventurer and a libertine : 
 that the passions brought with them their 
 own punishment; that the premature death 
 of her husband 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, none but the idle failed to grow rich. 
 Having thus censured her niece, she con- 
 cluded by eulogizing herself. To avoid, she 
 said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, 
 she had determined to remain single. In 
 fact, as she was of a very ambitious dis- 
 position, she had resolved to marry none 
 but a man of high rank ; but although she 
 was very rich, her fortune was not found 
 a sufficient bribe, even at court, to counter- 
 balance the malignant dispositions of her 
 * mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her 
 
60 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 After mature deliberations, she added, in 
 a postscript, that she had strongly recom* 
 mended her niece to Monsieur de la Bour* 
 donnais. This she had indeed done, lout in 
 a manner of late too common, which renders 
 a patron perhaps even more to be feared 
 than a declared enemy ; for, in order to 
 justify herself for her harshness, she had 
 cruelly slandered her niece, while she affected 
 to pity her misfortunes. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced 
 person could have seen without feelings of 
 sympathy and respect, was received with 
 the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais, biased as he was against her. 
 When she painted to him her own situation 
 and that of her child, he replied in abrupt 
 sentences, — "We will see what can be done 
 — there are so many to relieve — all in good 
 time — why did you displease your aunt ?— . 
 you have been much to blame." 
 
 Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, 
 her heart torn with grief, and filled with all 
 the bitterness of disappointment. AVhen sho 
 arrived she threw her aunt's letter on the 
 table, and exclaimed to her friend, " There is 
 the fruit of eleven years of patient expecta- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 61 
 
 tion ! " Madame de la Tour being the only 
 person in the little circle who could read, 
 she again took up the letter, and read it 
 aloud. Scarcely . had she finished, 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 and Margaret's hand 
 alternately to her lips and heart; while 
 Paul, his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, 
 clasping his hands together, and stamping 
 with his foot, not knowing whom to blame 
 for this scene of misery. The noise soon 
 brought Domingo and Mary to the spot, 
 and the little habitation resounded with cries 
 of distress, — " Ah, madam ! — My good mis- 
 tress ! — My dear mother ! — Do not weep i " 
 These tender proofs of affection at length 
 dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour. 
 She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and. 
 
62 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 embracing them, said, " You are the cause 
 of my affliction, my children, but you are also 
 my only source of delight ! Yes, my dear 
 children, misfortune has reached me, but only 
 from a distance : here I am surrounded 
 with happiness." Paul and Virginia did not 
 understand this reflection; but when they 
 saw that she was calm, they smiled, and 
 continued to caress her. Tranquillity was 
 thus restored in this happy family, and all 
 that had passed, was but as a storm in the 
 midst of fine weather, which disturbs the 
 serenity of the atmosphere but for a short 
 time, and then passes away. 
 
 The amiable disposition of these children 
 unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- 
 break, their mothers having gone to mass 
 at the church of the Shaddock Grove, the 
 children perceived a negro woman beneath 
 the plantains which surrounded their hab- 
 itation. She appeared almost wasted to a 
 skeleton, and had no other garment than a 
 piece of coarse cloth thrown around her. 
 She threw herself at the feet of Virginia, 
 who was preparing the family breakfast, 
 and said, " My good young lady, have pity 
 on a poor runaway slave. For a whole 
 
PAUL AND VIBGIXIA. C3 
 
 month I have wandered among these mount- 
 ains, half dead with hunger, and often pur- 
 sued by the hunters and tlieir dogs. I fled 
 from my master, a rich planter of the Black 
 River, who has, used me as j^ou see ; " and 
 she showed her body marked with scars 
 from the lashes she had received. She 
 added, " I was going to drown myself, but 
 hearing you lived here, I said to myseli, 
 Since there are still some good white people 
 in this country, I need not die yet." Virginia 
 answered with emotion, — "Take courage, 
 unfortunate creature ! here is something to 
 eat ; " and she gave her the breakfast she 
 had been preparing, which the slave in a 
 few minutes devoured. When her hunger 
 was appeased, Virginia said to her, — " Poor 
 woman ! I should like to go and ask for- 
 giveness for you of your master. Surely 
 the sight of you will touch him with pity. 
 Will you show me the way?" — "Angel of 
 heaven I " 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 
 
64 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 with difficulty, and across rivers, through 
 which they were obhged to wade. At 
 length, about the middle of the day, they 
 reached the foot of a steep descent upon 
 the borders of the Black River. There they 
 perceived a well-built house, surrounded 
 by extensive plantations, and a number 
 of slaves employed in their various labors. 
 Their master was v/alking among them with 
 a pipe in his mouth, and a switch in his hand. 
 He was a tall thin man, of a brown com- 
 plexion; his eyes were sunk in his head, 
 and his dark eyebrows were joined in one. 
 Virginia, 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 attention 
 to the children, who he saw, were meanly 
 dressed. But when he observed the ele- 
 gance of Virginia's form, and the profusion 
 of her beautiful light tresses which had es- 
 caped from beneath her blue cap ; when he 
 heard the soft tone of her voice, which 
 trembled, as well as her whole frame, while 
 she implored his compassion ; he took his 
 pipe from his mouth, and lifting up his 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 65 
 
 stick, swore with a terrible oath, that he 
 pardoned his slave, not for the love of 
 Heaven, but of her who asked his forgive- 
 ness. Virginia made a sign to the slave to 
 approach her master ; and instantly sprang 
 away followed by Paul. 
 
 They climbed up the steep they ha(J 
 descended; and -having gained the sum- 
 mit, seated themselves at the foot of a 
 tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger and 
 thirst. They had left ' their home fast- 
 ing, and walked five leagues since sunrise. 
 Paul said to Virginia, — ^" My dear sister, it 
 is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty 
 and hungry : we shall find no dinner 
 here ; let us go down the mountain again, and 
 ask the master of the poor slave for some 
 food." — " Oh, no," answered Virginia, " he 
 frightens -me too much. Remember what 
 Miamma 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 able to find even a tama- 
 rind or a lemon to refresh you." — " God v/ill 
 take care of us," replied Virginia ; " he 
 listens to the cry even of the little birds 
 5 
 
66 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 when they ask him for food." Scarcely had 
 she pronounced these words when they 
 heard the noise of water faUing from a 
 neighboring rock. ' They ran thither, and 
 having quenched their tliirst at this crystal 
 spring, tliey gathered and ate a few cresses 
 wliicli grew on the border of the stream. 
 Soon afterwards, wliile they were wandering 
 backwards and forwards, in search of more 
 solid nourishment, Virginia perceived in tiie 
 thickest part of the forest, 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 stock, 
 of tne tree is not thicker than a man's leg, 
 it grows to above sixty feet in neight. 
 The wood of the tree, indeed, is composed 
 only 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 diffi- 
 culty occurred : he had no steel with which 
 to strike fire ; and although the whole island 
 is covered with rocks, I do not believe it is 
 possible to find a single flint. IsTecessity, 
 however, is fertile in expedients, and the 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 67 
 
 most useful inventions have arisen from 
 men placed in the most destitute situations. 
 Paul determined to kindle a fire after 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, and 
 which he held between his feet : he then, 
 with the edge of the same stone, brought to 
 a point another dry branch of a dift erent sort 
 of wood, and, afterwards, 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 point of contact. Paul then heaped 
 together dried grass and branches, and set 
 fire to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon 
 fell to the ground with a tremendous crash. 
 The fire was further useful to him in strip- 
 ping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves, 
 within which the cabbage was inclosed. 
 JIaving thus succeeded in obtaining thi^ 
 fruit, they ate part of it raw, and part 
 dressed upon the ashes, which they found 
 <;qually palatable. They made this frugal 
 repast with delight, from the remembrance 
 of the benevolent action thev had performed 
 
68 
 
 FAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 in the morning : yet their joy was embittered 
 by the thoughts of the uneasiness which 
 their long absence from home would occasion 
 their mothers. Virginia often recurred to 
 this subject ; but Paul, who felt his strength 
 renewed by their meal, assured her that 
 il\ ivovM. uofe b^^ loiig before they reached 
 home, and, by the assurance of their safety, 
 tranquilized the minds of their parents. 
 
 After dinner they were much embarrassed 
 by the recollection that they had now no 
 guide, and that they were ignorant of the 
 way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued 
 by difficulties, said to Virginia, — " The sun 
 shines full upon our huts at noon : we must 
 pass, as we did this morning, over that 
 mountain with its three points, which you 
 see yonder. Come, let us be moving." 
 This mountain was that of the Three Breasts, 
 so called from the form of its three peaks. 
 They then descended the steep bank of the 
 Black River, on the northern side ; and ar- 
 rived, after an hour's walk, on the banks 
 of a large river, which stopped their further 
 progress. This large portion of the island, 
 covered as it is with forests, is even now so 
 little known that many of its rivers and 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 69 
 
 mountains have not yet received a name. 
 The stream, on the banks of which Paul and 
 Virginia were now standing, rolls foaming 
 over a bed of rocks. The noise of the water 
 frightened Virginia, and she was afraid to 
 wade through the current: Paul thereforQ 
 took her up in his arms, and went thus 
 loaded over the slippery rocks, Avhich formed 
 the bed of the river, careless of the tumult- 
 uous noise of its waters. " Do not be afraid," 
 cried he to 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 exposed you ! Gra- 
 cious heaven ! how difficult it is to do good ! 
 and yet it is so easy to do wrong " 
 
 When Paul had crossed the river, he 
 wished to continue the journey carrying his 
 sister : and he flattered himself that he 
 could ascend in that way the mountain of 
 the Three Breasts, which was still at the dis- 
 tance of half a league ; but his strength soon 
 failed, and he was obliged to set down his 
 burden, and to rest himself by her side. 
 Virginia then said to him, " My dear brother 
 
70 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 
 
 the sun is going down ; you have still some 
 strength left, but mine has quite failed : do 
 leave me here, and return home alone to ease 
 the fears of our mothers." — " Oh no," said 
 Paul, " I will not leave you ; if night over- 
 takes us in this wood I will light a fire, and 
 bring down another palm-tree : you shall 
 eat the cabbage, and I will form a covering 
 of the leaves to shelter you." In the mean 
 time, Virginia being a little rested, she 
 gathered from the trunk of an old tree, which 
 overhung the bank of the river, some long 
 leaves of the plant called hart's tongue, 
 which grew near its root. Of these leaves 
 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, leaning with one hand on the staff, 
 and with the other on Paul. 
 
 They walked on in this manner 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 
 
PAUL A^^D VIEGINIA. 
 
 Three Breasts, by which they had hitherto 
 directed their course, and also of the sun, 
 (7hich was now setting. At lengtli they 
 wandered, without perceiving it, from the 
 beaten path in which they had hitherto 
 walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth 
 of trees, underwood, and rocks, whence there 
 appeared to be no outlet. Paul made Vir- 
 ginia sit down, while he ran backwards and. 
 forwards, half frantic, in search of a patli. 
 which might lead them out of this thick 
 wood ; but he fatigued himself to no purpose. 
 He then climbed to the top of a lofty tree, 
 whence he hoped at least to perceive the 
 mountain of the Three Breasts : but he 
 could discern nothing around him but the 
 tops of trees, some of which were gilded 
 with the last beams of the setting sun. 
 ready the shadows of th-e mountains were 
 spreading over the forests in the valleys.. 
 The wind lulled, as is usually the case at 
 sunset. The most profound silence reigned 
 in those awful solitudes, which was only in- 
 terrupted by the cry of the deer, 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 
 
72 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 able, — " Come, come to the help of Virginia." 
 But the echoes of the forest alone answered 
 his call, and repeated again and again, " Vir- 
 ginia — Virginia." 
 
 Paul at length descended from the tree, 
 overcome with fatigue and vexation. He 
 looked around in order to make some ar- 
 rangement for passing the night in that des- 
 ert ; but he could find neither fountain, nor 
 palm-tree, nor even a branch of dry wood iit 
 for kindling a fire. He was-then impressed, 
 by experience, with the sense of his own 
 weakness, and began to weep. Virginia 
 said to him,— "Do not weep, my dear 
 brother, or I shall be overwhelmed 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 noth- 
 ing, not even good, without consulting our 
 parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent ! " 
 — and she began to shed tears. "Let us 
 pray to God, my dear brother," she again 
 said, " and he will hear us." They had 
 scarcely finished their prayer, when they 
 heard the barking of a dog. " It must be 
 the dog of some hunter," said Paul, Avho 
 comes here at night, to lie in wait for the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 7b 
 
 deer. Soon after, the dog began barking 
 again with increased violence. " Surely," 
 said Virginia, " it is Fidele, our own dog : 
 yes, — now I know his bark. Are we then so 
 near home ? — at the foot of our own mount- 
 ain?" A moment after Fidele was at their 
 feet, barking, howling, moaning, and devour- 
 ing them with caresses. Before they could 
 recover from their surprise, they saw Dom- 
 ingo running towards them. At the sight of 
 the good old negro, who wept for joy, they 
 began to weep too, but had not the power to 
 utter a syllable. When Domingo had recov- 
 ered himself a little, "Oh, my dear children," 
 said he, " how miserable have you made your 
 mothers ! How astonished they were when, 
 they returned with me from mass, 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 backwards 
 and forwards in the plantation, not know- 
 ing where to look for you. At last I took 
 some of your old clothes, and showing 
 them to Fidele, 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. I 
 
74 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 there saw a planter, who told me you had 
 brought back a Maroon negro woman, hi& 
 slave, and that he had pardoned her at your 
 request. But what a pardon! he showed 
 her to me with her feet chained to a block of 
 wood, and an iron collar with three hook^ 
 fastened round her neck ! After that, Fidele, 
 still on the scent, led me up the steep bank 
 of the Black River, where he again stopped, 
 and barked with all his might. This was on 
 the brink of a spring, near which 'was a fallen 
 palm-tree, and, a fire, still smoking. At last 
 he led me to this very spot. We are now 
 at the foot of the mountain of the Three 
 Breasts, and still four good leagues from 
 home. Come eat, and recover your 
 strength." Domingo then presented them 
 with a cake, some fruit, and a large gourd 
 full of beverage composed of wine, water, 
 lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which their 
 mothers had prepared to invigorate and re- 
 fresh them. Virginia sighed at the recol- 
 lection of the poor slave, and at the un- 
 easiness they had given their mothers. She 
 repeated several times. " Oh, how difficult 
 it is to do good ! " While she and Paul were 
 taking refreshment, it being already night, 
 
PAUL AJVD VIRGINIA. 
 
 75 
 
 Domingo kindled a fire : and having found 
 among the rocks a particular kind of twisted 
 wood, called bois de ronde, which burns when 
 quite green, and throws out a great blaze, 
 he made a torch of it, which he lighted. 
 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. Do- 
 mingo knew not what to do ; whether to leave 
 them and go in search of help, or remain - 
 and pass the night with them on that spot. 
 " There was a time," said he, " when I could 
 carry you both together in my arms ! But 
 now you are grown big, and I am grown old." 
 While he was in this perplexity, a troop 
 of Maroon negroes appeared at a short dis- 
 tance from them. 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 nsk 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 strong- 
 est negroes immediately formed a sort of 
 
76 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 litter with the branches of trees and lianas, 
 and having seated Paul and Virginia on 
 it, carried tliem upon their shoulders. Do- 
 mingo marched in front with his lighted 
 torch, and they proceeded amidst the rejoic- 
 ings of the whole troop, who overwhelmed 
 them with tlieir benedictions. Virginia, 
 affected by this scene, said to Paul, with 
 emotion, — " Oh, my dear brother ! God 
 never leaves a good action unrewarded." 
 
 It was midnight when they arrived at the 
 foot of their mountain, on the ridges of 
 which several fires were lighted. As soon 
 as they began to ascend, they heard voices 
 exclaiming — " Is it you, my children ? " 
 They answered immediately, and the ne- 
 groes also, — " Yes, yes, it is. " A moment 
 after they could distinguish their mothers 
 and Mary coming towards them with lighted 
 sticks in their hands. " Unhappy children," 
 cried Madame de la Tour, " where have you 
 been ? what agonies you have made us suf- 
 fer ! " — " We have been," said Virginia, " to 
 the Black River, where we went to ask par- 
 don for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave 
 our breakfast tliis morning, because she 
 seemed dying of hunger ; and these Maroon 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 77 
 
 negroes have brought us home." Madixme 
 de la Tour embraced her daughter, without 
 beuig able to speak ; and Virgmia, who felt 
 her face wet with her mother's tears, ex- 
 claimed, " Now I am repaid for all the hard- 
 ships I have suffered." Margaret, in a trans- 
 port of delight, pressed Paul in her arms, ex- 
 claiming, " And you also, my dear child, 
 you have done a good action." When they 
 reached the cottages with their children, 
 they entertained all the negroes with a 
 plentiful repast, after which the latter re- 
 turned to the woods praying Heaven to 
 shower down every description of blessing 
 on those good white people. 
 
 Every day was to these families a day of 
 happiness and tranquillity. Neither ambi- 
 tion nor envy disturbed their repose. They 
 did not seek to obtain a useless reputation 
 out of doors, which may be procured by arti- 
 fice and lost by calumny ; but were con- 
 tented to be the sole witnesses and judges of 
 their own actions. In this island, where, as 
 is the case in most colonies, scandal forms 
 the principal topic of conversation, their 
 virtues, and even their names, were un- 
 known. The passer-by on the road to tha 
 
78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes 
 ask the inhabitants of the plain, who lived 
 in the cottages up there ? and was always 
 told, even by those who did not know them, 
 " They are good people." The modest violet 
 thus, concealed in thorny places, sheds all 
 unseen its delightful fragrance around. 
 
 Slander, which, under an appearance of 
 justice, naturally inclines the heart to false- 
 hood or to hatred, was entirely banished 
 from their conversation ; for it is impossible 
 not to hate men if we believe them to be 
 wicked, or to live with the wicked without 
 concealing that hatred under a false pretence 
 of good feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at 
 ease with others and with ourselves. In 
 this little circle, therefore, the conduct of 
 individuals was not discussed, but the best 
 manner of doing good to all ; and although 
 they had but little in their power, their 
 unceasing good- will and kindness of heart 
 made them constantly ready to do what 
 they could for others. Solitude, far from 
 having blunted these benevolent feelings, had 
 rendered their dispositions even more kindly. 
 Although the petty scandals of the day 
 furnished no subject of conversation to them. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 
 
 yet the contemplation of nature filled their 
 minds with enthusiastic delight. They 
 adored the bounty of that Providence, which, 
 by their instrumentality, had spread abun- 
 dance and beauty amid these barren rocks, 
 and had enabled them to enjoy those pure 
 and simple pleasures, which are ever grate- 
 ful and ever new. 
 
 Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger 
 and more intelligent than most European 
 youths are at fifteen ; and the plantations, 
 which Domingo merely cultivated, were 
 embellished by him. He would go with 
 the old negro into the neighboring woods, 
 where he would root up the young plants 
 of lemon, orange, and tamarind trees, the 
 round heads of which are so fresh and green, 
 together with date-palm trees, which pro- 
 duce fruit filled with a sweet cream, possess- 
 ing the fine perfume of the orange flower. 
 These trees, which had already attained to 
 a considerable size, he planted round their 
 little enclosure. He had also sown the seed 
 of many trees which the second year bear 
 flowers or fruit; such as the agathis, 
 encircled with long clusters of white flowers 
 Which hang from it* like the crystax pendants 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of a chandelier ; the Persian hlac, which lifts 
 high in air its gray flax-colored branches ; 
 the pappaw tree, the branchless trunk of 
 which forms a column studded with green 
 melons, surmounted by a capital of broad 
 leaves similar to those of the fig-tree. 
 
 The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, 
 terminalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, 
 the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow-leaved 
 rose-apple, were also planted by him with 
 profusion : and the greater number of these 
 trees already afforded their young cultivator 
 both shade and fruit. His industrious 
 hands diffused the riches of nature over 
 even the most barren parts of the plantation. 
 Several species of aloes, the Indian 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, 
 laden with blue or scarlet flowers, hung 
 scattered over the steepest parts of the 
 mountain. 
 
 I loved to trace the ingenuity he had ex- 
 ercised in the arrangement of these trees. 
 He had so disposed them that the whole 
 could be seen at a single glance. In the 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGINIA, 
 
 81 
 
 middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs 
 of the lowest growth ; behind grew the more 
 lofty sorts ; then trees of the ordinary- 
 height ; and beyond and above all, the vener- 
 able and lofty groves which bordered the 
 circumference. Thus this extensive inclos- 
 ure appeared, from its center, like a verdant 
 amphitheater decorated with fruits and 
 flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, 
 some strips of meadow land, and fields of 
 rice and corn. But, in arranging these vege- 
 table productions to his own taste, he wan- 
 dered not too far from the designs of Nature. 
 Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown 
 upon the elevated spots such seeds as the 
 winds would -scatter about, and near the 
 borders of the springs those which float 
 upon the water. Every plant thus grew in 
 its proper soil, and every spot seemed deco- 
 rated by Nature's own hand. The streams 
 which fell from the summits of the rocks 
 formed in some parts of the valley sparkling 
 cascades, and in others were spread into 
 broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set 
 in verdure, the flowering trees, the over- 
 hanging rocks, and the azure heavens. 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of 
 6 
 
&2 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 the ground, these plantations were, for th^ 
 most part, easy of access. We had, mdeed, 
 all given him our advice and assistance, m 
 order to accomplish this end. He had con- 
 ducted one path entirely round the vallejT, 
 and various branches from it led from the 
 circumference to the center. He had drawn 
 some advantage from the most rugged spots, 
 and had blended, in harmonious union, level 
 walks with the inequalities of the soil, and 
 trees which grow wild with the cultivated 
 varieties. With that immense quantity of 
 large pebbles which now block up these 
 paths, and which are scattered over most o\\ 
 the ground of this island, he formed py- 
 ramidal heaps here and there, at the base^i 
 of which he laid mold, and planted rose- 
 bushes, the Barbadoes flower-fence, and 
 other shrubs which love to climb the rocks, 
 in a short time the dark and shapeless 
 heaps of stones he had constructed were 
 covered with verdure, or with the glowing 
 tints of the most beautiful flowers. Hollow 
 recesses on the borders of the streams shaded 
 by the overhanging boughs of aged trees, 
 formed rural grottoes, impervious to the 
 rays of the sun, in which you might enjoy 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 83 
 
 fi refreshing coolness during the mid day 
 heats. One path led to a clump of forest 
 trees, in the center of which, sheltered from 
 the wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden with 
 produce. Here was a corn-field; there, an 
 orchard ; from one avenue you had a view 
 of the cottages ; from another, of the inac- 
 cessible summit of the mountain. Beneath 
 one tufted bower of gum-trees, interwoven 
 with lianas, no object w^hatever could be 
 perceived : while the point of the adjoining 
 rock, jutting out from the mountain, com- 
 manded a view of the whole inclosure, and 
 of the distant ocean, where, occasionally, we 
 could discern the distant sail, arriving from 
 Europe, or bound thither. On this rock the 
 two families frequently met in the evening, 
 and enjoyed in silence the freshness of the 
 flowers, the gentle murmurs of the fountain, 
 and the last blended harmonies of light and 
 dhade. 
 
 Nothing could be more charming than the 
 names which Avere bestowed upon some of 
 the delightful retreats of this labyrinth. 
 The rock of which I have been speaking, 
 whence they could discern my approach at 
 a considerable distance, was called the Dis- 
 
84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 covery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia 
 had amused themselves by planting a bam- 
 boo on that spot ; and whenever they saw 
 me coming, they hoisted a little white hand- 
 kerchief, by way of signal at my approach, 
 as they had seen a flag hoisted on the 
 neighboring mountain on the sight of a 
 vessel at sea. The idea struck me of en- 
 graving an inscription on the stalk of this 
 reed; for I never, in the course of my 
 travels, experienced anything like the pleas- 
 ure in seeing a statue or other monument of 
 ancient art, as in reading a well- written in- 
 scriiDtion. It seems to me as if a human 
 voice issued from the stone, and, making 
 itself heard after the lapse of ages, addressed 
 man in the midst of a desert, to tell him 
 that he is not alone, and that other men, on 
 that very spot, had felt, and thought, and 
 suffered like himself. If the inscription 
 belongs to an ancient nation, which no longer 
 exists, it leads the soul through infinite 
 space,- and strengthens the consciousness of 
 its immortality, by demonstrating that a 
 thought has survived the ruins of an 
 empire. 
 
 I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul 
 
PAUL AND yiBGINIA, 85 
 
 and A'irginia'3 flag, the following lines of 
 Horace : — 
 
 Fratres Helen^e, lucida sidera, 
 Yentorumque regat pater, 
 Obstrictis, aliis, prseter lapiga. 
 
 "May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, 
 and the Father of the winds, guide you ; and may 
 you feel only the breath of the zephyr." 
 
 There was a gum-tree, under the shade of 
 which Paul was accustomed to sit, to con- 
 template the sea when agitated by storms. 
 On the bark of this tree, I engraved the fol- 
 lowing lines from Virgil : — 
 
 Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes ! 
 
 Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the 
 pastoral divinities." 
 
 And over the door of Madame de la Tour's 
 cottage, where the families so frequently 
 met, I placed this line ; — 
 
 At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 
 
 " Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that 
 knows not deceit." 
 
 But Virginia did not approve of my Latin : 
 she said, that what I had placed at the foot 
 
86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 •of her flag-staff was too long and too learned. 
 
 I should have liked better," added she, 
 " to have seen inscribed, ever agitated, 
 YET CONSTANT." — " Such a iiiotto," I an- 
 swered, " would have been still more appli- 
 cable to virt^ie." My reflection made her 
 blush. 
 
 The delicacy of sentiment of these happy 
 families was manifested in everything around 
 them. They gave the tenderest names to 
 objects in aiDpearance the most indiffei'ent. 
 A border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple 
 trees, planted round a green sward whei'e 
 Virginia and Paul sometimes danced, re- 
 ceived the name of Concord. An old tree, 
 beneath the shade of which Madame de la 
 Tour and Margaret used to recount their 
 misfortunes, was called the Burial-jDlace of 
 Tears. They bestowed the names of Brit- 
 tany and Normandy on two little plots of 
 ground, where they had sown corn, straw * 
 berries, and peas. Domingo and Mary, 
 wishing, in imitation of their mistresses, to 
 recall to mind Angola and FouUepointe, the 
 places of their birth in Africa, gave thosQ 
 names to the little fields where the grass 
 was sown with which they wove their bas* 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 87 
 
 kets, and where they had planted a calabash-^ 
 itree. Thus by cultivating the productions' 
 of their respective climates, these exiled 
 families cherished the dear illusions which 
 bind us to our native country, and softened 
 their regrets in a foreign land. Alas! I 
 have seen these trees, these fountains, these 
 heaps of stones, which are now so com- 
 pletely overthrown, — ^which now, like the 
 desolated plains of Greece, present nothing 
 but masses of ruin and affecting remem- 
 brances, all but called into life by the many 
 charming appellations thus bestowed upoa 
 them ! 
 
 But perhaps the most delightful spot of 
 this inclosure was that called Virginia's 
 resting-place. At the foot of the rock which 
 bore the name of the Discovery of Friend- 
 ship, is a small crevice, whence issues a 
 fountain, . forming, near its source, a little 
 spot of marshy soil in the middle of a field 
 of rich grass. At the time of Paul's birth I 
 had made Margaret a present of an Indian 
 cocoa w^hich had been given me, and which 
 she planted on the border of this fenny 
 ground, in order that the tree might one 
 flay serve to mark the epoch of her son's 
 
88 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 birth. Madame de 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. Their growth was in 
 the same proportion as that of the two 
 young persons, not exactly equal : but they 
 rose, at the end of twelve years, above the 
 roofs of the cottages. Already their tender 
 stalks were interwoven, '■ and clusters of 
 young cocoas hung from them over the basin 
 of the fountain. With the exception of 
 these two trees, this nook of the rock was 
 left as it had been decorated by nature. 
 On its embrowned and moist sides broad 
 plants of maiden-hair glistened with their 
 green and dark stars; and tufts of wave- 
 leaved hart's tongue, suspended like long 
 ribbons of ]3urpled green, floated on the wind. 
 Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar 
 periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble 
 the red gilliflower ; and the long-podded 
 capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are of 
 the color of blood, and more resplendent 
 than coral. Near them, the herb balm, with 
 its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 89 
 
 which has the odor of the clove, exhaled 
 the most delicious perfumes. From the pre- 
 cipitous side of the mountain hung the 
 graceful lianas, like floating draperies, form- 
 ing magnificent canopies of verdure on the 
 face of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured by 
 the stillness of these retreats, resorted here 
 to pass the night. At the hour of sunset 
 we could perceive the curlew and the stint 
 skimming along the seashore ; the 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 took pleasure .in resting herself 
 upon the border of this fountain, decorated 
 with wild and sublime magnificence. She 
 often went thither to wash the linen of the 
 family beneath the shade of the two cocoa- 
 trees, and thither too 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 fern which clothed 
 the steep sides of the rock, and hung sus- 
 pended by one of its cornices, as on a ped- 
 estal. Paul, observing that Virginia was 
 fond of this spot, brought thither, from the 
 neighboring forest, a great variety of birds* 
 
90 
 
 PAUL ANB VIRGINIA, 
 
 nests. The old birds following their young, 
 soon established themselves in this new 
 colony. Virginia, at stated times, distrib- 
 uted amongst them grains of rice, millet, 
 and maize. As soon as she appeared, the 
 whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, 
 whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with its 
 flame-colored plumage, forsook their bushes ; 
 the paroquet, green as an emerald, de- 
 scended from the neighboring fan-palms, the 
 partridge ran along the grass ; all advanced 
 promiscuously towards her, like a brood of 
 chickens : and she and Paul found an ex- 
 haustless source of amusement in observing 
 their sports, their repasts, and their loves. 
 
 Amiable children I thus passed your ear- 
 lier days in innocence, and in obeying the 
 impulses of kindness. How many times, on 
 this very spot, have your mothers, pressing 
 you in their arms, blessed Heaven for the con- 
 solation your unfolding virtues prepared for 
 their declining years, while they at the same 
 time enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing you 
 begin life under the happiest auspices! 
 How many times, beneath the shade of those 
 rocks, have I partaken with them of your 
 rural repasts, which never cost any animal 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 91 
 
 its life ! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, 
 cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, 
 with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, 
 pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished a 
 wholesome repast, the most agreeable to the 
 eye, as well as delicious to the taste, that 
 can possibly be imagined. 
 
 Like the repast, the conversation was 
 mild, and free from everything having a 
 tendency to do harm. Paul often talked of 
 the labors of the day and of the morrow. 
 He was continually planning something for 
 the accommodation of their little society. 
 Here he discovered that the paths were 
 rugged ; there, that the seats were uncom- 
 fortable: sometimes the young arbors did 
 not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia 
 might be better pleased elsewhere. 
 
 During the rainy season the two families 
 met together in the cottage, and employed 
 themselves in weaving mats of grass, and 
 baskets of bamboo. Rakes, spades, and 
 hatchets, were ranged along the walls in the 
 most perfect order ; and near these instru- 
 ments of agriculture were heaped its prod- 
 ucts, — bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and 
 baskets of plantains. Some degree of lux- 
 
92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 nry usually accompanies abundance ; and 
 Virginia was taught by her mother and 
 Margaret to prepare sherbet and cordials 
 from the juice of the sugar-cane, the lemon 
 and the citron. 
 
 When night came, they all supped to- 
 gether by the light of a lamp ; after which 
 Madame de la Tour or Margaret related 
 some story of travelers benighted in those 
 woods of Europe that are still infested by 
 banditti ; or told a dismal tale of some ship- 
 wrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest 
 upon the rocks of a desert island. To these 
 recitals the children listened with eager at- 
 tention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven 
 would one day grant them the joy of per- 
 forming the rites of hospitality towards 
 such unfortunate persons. When the time 
 for repose arrived, the two families sepa- 
 rated and retired for the night, eager to 
 meet again the following morning. Some- 
 times they were lulled to repose by the 
 beating of the rains, w^hich fell in torrents 
 upon the roofs of their cottages, and some- 
 times by the hollow winds, which brought 
 to their ear the distant roar of the waves 
 breaking upon the shore. They blessed 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 93 
 
 God for their own safety, the feeling of 
 which was brought home more forcibly to 
 their minds by the sound of remote danger. 
 
 Madame de la Tour occasionally read 
 aloud some affecting history of the Old or 
 Xew Testament. Her auditors reasoned 
 but little upon these sacred volumes, for 
 their theology centered in a feeling of devo- 
 tion towards the Supreme Being, like that 
 of nature ; and their morality was an active 
 principle, like that of the Gospel. These 
 families had no particular days devoted to 
 pleasure, and others to sadness. Every day 
 was to them a holiday, and all that sur- 
 rounded them one holy temple, in which 
 they ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, 
 the Almighty God, the friend of human 
 kind. A feeling of confidence in his 
 supreme power filled their minds with con- 
 solation for the past, with fortitude under 
 present trials, and with hope in the future. 
 Compelled by misfortune to return almost 
 to a state of nature, these excellent women 
 had thus developed in their own and 
 their children's bosoms the feelings most 
 natural to the human mind, and its best 
 support under affliction. 
 
94 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 
 
 But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast 
 a gloom over the best regulated tempers, so 
 whenever any member of this little society 
 appeared to be laboring under dejection, the 
 rest assembled around, and endeavored to 
 banish her painful thoughts by amusing the 
 mind rather than by grave arguments 
 against them. Each performed this kind 
 office in their own appropriate manner: 
 Margaret, by her gayety; Madame de la 
 Tour, by the gentle consolations of religion ; 
 Virginia, by her tender caresses ; Paul, by 
 his frank and engaging cordiality. Even 
 Mary and Domingo hastened to offer their 
 succor, and to weep with those that wept. 
 Thus do weak plants interweave themselves 
 with each other, in order to withstand the 
 fury of the tempest. 
 
 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. Many wealthy members of 
 the congregation, who came to church in 
 palanquins, sought the acquaintance of 
 these united families, and invited them to 
 parties of pleasure. But they always re- 
 pelled these overtures with respectful 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIN I A. 95 
 
 politeness, as they were persuaded that the 
 rich and powerful seek the society of per- 
 sons in an inferior station only for the sake 
 of surrounding themselves with flatterers, 
 and that every flatterer must applaud alike 
 all the actions of his patron, whether good 
 or bad. On the other hand, they avoided, 
 with equal care, too intimate an acquaint- 
 ance with the lower class, who are ordi- 
 narily jealous, calumniating, and gross. 
 They thus acquired, with some, the charac- 
 ter of being timid, and ivith others, of 
 pride: but their reserve was accompanied 
 with so much obhging politeness, above all 
 towards the unfortunate and the unhappy, 
 that they insensibly acquired the respect 
 of the rich and the confidence of the 
 poor. 
 
 After service, some kind office was often 
 required at their hands by their poor neigh- 
 bors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind 
 sought their advice; sometimes a child 
 begged them to visit its sick mother, in one 
 of the adjoining hamlets. They always took 
 with them a few remedies for the ordinary 
 diseases of the country, which they adminis- 
 tered in that soothing manner which stamps 
 
96 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 a value upon the smallest favors. Above 
 all, they met with singular success in ad- 
 ministering to the disorders of the mind, so 
 intolerable in solitude, and under the in- 
 firmities of a weakened frame. Madame de 
 la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence 
 of the Divinity, that the sick, while listening 
 to her, almost believed him present. Vir- 
 ginia of ten returned home with her eyes full 
 of tears, and her heart overflowing with 
 delight, at having had an opportunity of do- 
 ing good ; for to her generally was confided 
 the task of preparing and administering the 
 medicines, — a task which she fulfilled with 
 angelic sweetness. After these visits of 
 charity, they sometimes extended their walk 
 by the Sloping Mountain, till they reached 
 my dwelling, where I used to prepare dinner 
 for them on the banks of the little rivulet 
 which glidee^ near my cottage. I procured 
 for these occasions a few bottles of old wizie, 
 in order to heighten the relish of our Oriental 
 repast by the more genial productions of 
 Europe. At other times we met on the sea- 
 shore at the mouth of some little river, or 
 rather mere brook. We brought from home 
 the provisions furnished us by our gardens, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 97 
 
 to which we added those supplied us by the 
 sea in abundant variety. We caught no 
 these shores the mullet, the roach, and the 
 sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, 
 and all other kinds of shell-fish. In this 
 way, we often enjoyed the most tranquil 
 pleasures in situations the most terrific. 
 Sometimes, seated upon a rock, under the 
 hade of the velvet sunflower- tree, we saw 
 tho 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 
 ccming billows ; then, at their near approach, 
 vvould run back to the beach, closely pursued 
 by the foaming breakers, which threw them- 
 selves, 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. 
 
 Other amusements were not wanting on 
 these festive occasions. Our repasts were 
 generally followed 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 raging ocean, rather than cultivate the 
 
98 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 €arth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. Some- 
 times she performed a pantomime with Paul, 
 after the manner of the negroes. The first 
 language of man is pantomime : it is known 
 to all nations, and is so natural and ex- 
 pressive, 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 
 «ound of Domingo's tantam she appeared 
 upqn the green sward, bearing a pitcher 
 upon her head, and advanced with a timid 
 step towards the source of a neighboring 
 fountain to draw water. Domingo and 
 Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian, 
 ■forbade her to approach, and repulsed she 
 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 peri- 
 winkle, which served to heighten the deli- 
 cacy of her complexion. Then joining in 
 their sports, I took upon myself the part of 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 99 
 
 Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul, my daugh- 
 ter Zepliora in marriage. 
 
 Another time Virginia would represent 
 the unhappy Ruth, returning poor and 
 widowed with her mother-in-law, who, after 
 so prolonged an absence, found herself as 
 unknown as in a foreign land. Domingo 
 and Mary personated the reapers. The 
 sui)posed daughter of Naomi followed their 
 steps, gleaning here and there a few ears of 
 corn. When interrogated by Paul, — a part 
 which he performed with the gravity of a 
 patriarch, — she answered his questions with 
 a faltering voice. He then, touched with 
 compassion, granted an asylum to innocence, 
 and hospitality to misfortune. lie filled her 
 lap with plenty ; and, leading her towards 
 us as before the elders of the city, declared 
 his purpose to take her in marriage. At 
 this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the 
 desolate situation in which she had been left 
 by her relations, her widowhood, and the 
 kind reception she had met with from Mar- 
 garet, 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 
 
100 
 
 PAUL AND VIEGlJSriA. 
 
 to unite with her in shedding tears of sorrow 
 and of joy. 
 
 These dramas Avere performed with such 
 an air of reality that you might have fancied 
 yourself transported to the plains of Syria 
 or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished 
 wdth decorations, lights, or an orchestra, 
 suitable to the represei^tation. The scene 
 was generally placed in an open space of 
 the forest, tlie diverging paths from which 
 formed around us numerous arcades of 
 foliage, under which we were sheltered from 
 the heat all the middle of the day ; but when 
 the sun descended towards the horizon, its 
 rays, broken by the trunks of the trees, 
 darted amongst the shadows of the forest in 
 long lines of light, producing the most mag- 
 nificent effect. Sometimes its broad disk 
 appeared at the end of an avenue, lighting 
 it up with insufferable brightness. The 
 foliage of the trees, illuminated from beneath 
 by its saffron beams, glowed with the luster 
 of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown 
 and mossy trunks appeared transformed into 
 columns of antique bronze ; and the birds, 
 which had retired in silence to their leafy 
 shades to pass the night, surprised to see 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 101 
 
 the radiance of the second mornmg, hailed 
 the star of day all together with innumer- 
 able carols. 
 
 Night often overtook us during these 
 rural entertainments ; but the purity of the 
 air and the warmth of the climate, admitted 
 of our sleeping in the woods, without incur- 
 ring any danger by exposure to the weather, 
 and no less secure from the molestation of 
 robbers. On our return the following day 
 to our respective habitations, we found them 
 in exactly the same state in which they had 
 been left. In this island, then unsophisti- 
 cated by the pursuits of commerce, such 
 were the honesty and prhnitive manners 
 of the population, that the doors of many 
 houses were without a key, and even a lock 
 itself was an object of curiosity to not a few 
 of the native inhabitants. 
 
 There were, however, some days in the 
 years celebrated by Paul and Virginia in a 
 more peculiar manner ; these were the birth- 
 days of their mothers. Yirgi^iia never failed 
 the day before to prepare som,e wheaten 
 cakes, which she distributed a-mong a few 
 poor white families, born in the island, who 
 had never eaten European bread. These 
 
102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 unfortunate people, uncared for by the 
 blacks, were reduced to live on tapioca in 
 the woods ; and as they had neither the in- 
 sensibility which is the result of slavery, nor 
 the fortitude which spring from a liberal 
 education, to enable them to support their 
 poverty, their situation was deplorable. 
 These cakes were all that Virginia had it hi 
 her j)ower to give away, but she conferred 
 the gift in so delicate a manner as to add 
 tenfold to its value. In the first place, Paul 
 was commissioned to take the cakes himself 
 to these families, and get their promise to 
 come and spend the next day at Madame d(^ 
 la Tour's. Accordingly, mothers of families, 
 with two or three thin, yellow, miserabl(j 
 looking daughters, so timid that they dared 
 not look up, made their appearance. Vir- 
 ginia soon put them at their ease ; she 
 waited upon them with refreshments, the 
 excellence of which she endeavored to 
 heighten by relating some particular cir- 
 cumstance which, in her own estimation, 
 vastly improved them. One beverage had 
 been prepared by Margaret ; another, by her 
 mother : her brother himself had climbed 
 some lofty tree for the very fruit she was 
 
PAUL AND VIBGIJSriA. 103^ 
 
 presenting. She would then get Paul ta 
 dance with them, nor would she leave them 
 till she saw that they were happy. She^ 
 \vished them to partake of thei joy of her 
 own family. " It is only," she said, " by 
 promoting the happiness of others, that we 
 can secure our own." When they left, she 
 generally presented them with some little 
 airticle they seemed to fancy, enforcing their 
 acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, 
 that she might not appear to know they were 
 in want. If she remarked that their clothes 
 were much tattered, 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 thus 
 followed the divine precept, — concealing the 
 benefactor, and revealing only the benefit. 
 
 Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued 
 itom infancy with prejudices at variance 
 \dth happiness, cannot imagine all the in- 
 atruction and pleasure to be derived trom 
 Tiature. Your souls, confined to a small 
 sphere of intelligence, soon reach the limit 
 of its artificial enjoyments : but nature and 
 the heart are inexhaustible. Paul and Vir- 
 ginia had neither clock, nor almanack, nor 
 
104 PA AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 books of chronology, history or philosophy. 
 The periods of their lives were regulated by 
 those of the operations of nature, and their 
 familiar conversation had a reference to the 
 changes of the seasons. They knew tha 
 time of 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 
 images diffused an inexpressible charm over 
 their conversation. "It is time to dine," 
 said Virginia, " the shadows of the plantain- 
 trees are at their roots : " or, " Mght ap- 
 proaches, the tamarinds are closing their 
 leaves." " When will you come and see 
 us ? " inquired some of her companions in the 
 neighborhood. " At the time of the sugar- 
 canes," answered Virginia. " Your Adsit will 
 be then still more delightful," resumed her 
 young acquaintances. 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 one : the mangoes have 
 borne fruit twelve times, and the orang(3- 
 trees have flowered four-and-twenty timci;, 
 since I came into the world." Their lives 
 
PAUL AND YIBGINIA. 105 
 
 seemed linked to that of the trees, like those 
 of Fauns or Dryads. They knew no other 
 historical epochs than those of the lives of 
 their mothers, no other chronology than 
 that of their orchards, and no other philoso- 
 phy than that of doing good, and resigning 
 themselves to tlie will of Heaven. 
 
 What need, indeed, had these young 
 J""' I'^ of riches or learning such as ours? 
 \ 1 their necessities and their ignorance 
 increased their happiness. No day passed 
 in which they were not of some service to 
 one another, or in which they did not mu- 
 tually impart some instruction. Yes, in- 
 struction ; for if errors mingled with it, they 
 were, at least, not of a dangerous character, 
 A pure-minded being has none of that de- 
 scription to fear. Thus grew these children 
 of nature. No care had troubled their 
 peace, no intemperance had corrupted their 
 blood, no misplaced passion had depraved 
 their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety, 
 possessed their souls ; and those intellectual 
 graces were unfolding daily in their feat- 
 ures, their attitudes, and their movements. 
 Still in the morning )f life, they had all its 
 blooming freshness : and surely such in the 
 
106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 garden of Eden appeared our first parents, 
 when coming from the hands of God, they 
 first saw, and approached each other, and 
 conversed together, like brother and sister. 
 Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding 
 as Eve; and Paul, like Adam, united the 
 stature of manhood with the simplicity of a 
 child. 
 
 Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has 
 a thousand times told me, he used to say to 
 her, on his return from labor, — " When I 
 am wearied, ^he sight of you refreshes me. 
 If from the summit of the mountain I per- 
 ceive you below in the valley, you. appear to 
 me in the midst of our orchard like a bloom- 
 ing rosebud. If you go towards our 
 mother's house, the partridge, when it runs 
 to meet its young, has a shape less beauti- 
 ful, 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 through which you have 
 passed, on the grass whereon you have been 
 seated. When I come near you, you delight 
 all my senses. The azure of the sky is less 
 charming than the blue of your eyes, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 
 
 the song of the amadavid bh-d less soft than 
 the sound of your voice. If I only touch 
 you with the tip of my finger, my whole 
 frame trembles with pleasure. Do you re- 
 member the day when we crossed over the 
 great stones of the river of the Three 
 Breasts? I 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 thus 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 slave. Here, my beloved, take 
 this flowering branch of a lemon-tree, which 
 I have gathered in the forest : you will let 
 it remain at night near your bed. Eat this 
 honeycomb too, which I have taken for you 
 from the top of a rock. But first lean on 
 my bosom, and I shall be refreshed." 
 
 Virginia would answer him, — " Oh, my 
 dear brother, the rays of the sun in the 
 morning on the tops of the rocks give ma 
 
108 PAUL AJ^D VIRGINIA, 
 
 less joy than the sight of you. I love my 
 mother, — I love yours ; but when they call 
 you their son, I love them a thousand times 
 more. When they caress you, I feel it more 
 sensibly than when I am caressed myself. 
 You ask me what makes you love me. 
 Why, all creatures that are brought up to- 
 gether love one another. Look at our birds ; 
 reared up in the same nests, they love each 
 other as we do ; 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 on your flute on the top of the mount- 
 ain, I repeat the words at the bottom of the 
 valley. You are dear to me more especially 
 since the day when you wanted to fight the 
 master of the slave for me. Since that 
 time how often have I said to myself, ' Ah, 
 my brother has a good heart ; but for him, 
 I should have died of terror.' I pray to 
 God every day for my mother and for yours, 
 and for our poor servants ; but when I pro- 
 nounce your name, my devotion seems to 
 increase ; — I ask so earnestly of God that no 
 harm may befall you! Why do you go so 
 far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 109 
 
 flowers for me? Have we not enough iu 
 our garden already? How much you are 
 fatigued, — you look so warm ! " — and with 
 her little white handkerchief she would 
 wipe the damps from his face, and then im- 
 print a tender kiss on his forehead. 
 
 For some time past, however, Virginia 
 had felt her heart agitated by new sensa- 
 tions. Her beautiful blue eyes lost their 
 luster, her cheek its freshness, and her 
 frame was overpowered with a universal 
 languor. Serenity no longer sat upon her 
 brow, nor smiles played upon her lips. She 
 would become all at once gay without cause 
 for joy, and melancholy Avithout any sub- 
 ject for grief. She fled her innocent amuse- 
 ments, her gentle toils, and even the society 
 of her beloved family ; wandering about the 
 most unfrequented parts of the plantations, 
 and seeking everywhere the rest which she 
 could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the 
 sight of Paul, she advanced sportively to 
 meet him ; but, when about to accost him, 
 was overcome by a sudden confusion ; her 
 pale cheeks were covered with blushes, and 
 her eyes no longer dared to meet those of 
 her brother. Paul said to her,—" The rocks 
 
110 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 are covered with verdure, our birds begin to 
 sing when you approach, everytliing around 
 you is gay, and you only are unhappy." 
 He then endeavored to sootlie her by his 
 embraces, but she turned away lier head, 
 and fled, trembling, towards her mother. 
 The caresses of her brother excited too 
 much emotion in her agitated heart, and 
 she sought, in the arms of her mother, ref- 
 uge from herself. Paul, unused to the 
 secret windings of the female heart, vexed 
 himself in vain in endeavoring to compre- 
 hend the meaning of these new and strange 
 caprices. Misfortunes seldom come alone, 
 and a serious calamity now impended over 
 these families. 
 
 One of those summers, which sometimes 
 desolate the countries situated between the 
 tropics, now began to spread its ravages 
 over this island. It was near the end of 
 December, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts 
 Over the Mauritius, during the space of three 
 weeks, its vertical fires. The southeast 
 wind, which prevails throughout almost the 
 whole year, no longer blew. Vast columns 
 of dust arose from the highways, and hung 
 suspended in the air ; the ground was every « 
 
PAUL AND YIBGINIA, 
 
 111 
 
 where broken into clefts ; the grass was 
 burnt up ; hot exhalations issued from the 
 sides of the mountains, and their rivulets, 
 for the most part, became dry. ISTo refresh- 
 ing cloud ever arose from the sea : fiery 
 vapors, only, during the day, ascended from 
 the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the 
 reflection of a vast conflagration. Night 
 brought no coolness to the heated atmos- 
 phere ; and the red moon rising in the misty 
 horizon, appeared of supernatural magni- 
 tude. The drooping cattle, on the sides of 
 the hills, stretching out their necks towards 
 heaven, and panting for breath, made the 
 valleys re-echo with their melancholy low- 
 ings : even the Caffre by whom they were 
 led, threw himself upon the earth, in search 
 of some cooling moisture : but his hopes 
 were vain; the scorching sun had pene- 
 trated the whole soil, and the stifling atmos- 
 phere everywhere resounded with the buz- 
 zing noise of insects, seeking to allay their 
 thirst with the blood of men and of ani- 
 mals. 
 
 During this sultry season, Virginia's rest- 
 lessness and disquietude were much in* 
 creased. One night, in particular, being 
 
112 PAUL AND YIBGINIA. 
 
 unable to sleep, she arose from her bed, sat 
 down, and returned to rest again ; but could 
 find in no attitude either slumber or repose. 
 At length she bent her way, by the light of 
 the moon, towards her fountain, and gazed 
 at its spring, which, notwithstanding the 
 drought, still trickled, in silver threads down 
 the brown sides of the rock. She fiung her- 
 self into the basin : its coolness reanimated 
 her spirits, and a thousand soothing remem- 
 brances came to her mind. She recollected 
 that in her infancy her mother and Margaret 
 had amused themselves by bathing her with 
 Paul in this very spot ; that he afterwards, 
 reserving this bath for her sole use, had 
 hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom 
 with sand, and sown aromatic herbs around 
 its borders. She saw in the water, upon her 
 naked arms and bosom, the reflection of the 
 two cocoa trees which were planted at her 
 own and her brother's birth, and which inter- 
 wove above her head their green branches 
 and young fruit. She thought of PauFs 
 friendship, sweeter than the odor of the 
 blossoms, purer than the waters of the fount- 
 ain, stronger than the intertwining palm- 
 tree, and she sighed. Keiiecting on the hour 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 113 
 
 of the night, and the profound sohtude, her 
 imagination became disturbed. Suddenly 
 she flew, affrighted, from those dangerous 
 shades, and those waters wliich seemed to 
 her hotter than the tropical sunbeam, and 
 ran to her mother for refuge. More tlian 
 once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, slie 
 pressed her mother's hand within her own ; 
 more than once she was ready to pronounce 
 the name of Paul : but her oppressed heart 
 left her lips no power of utterance, and, lean- 
 ing her head on her mother's bosom, she 
 bathed it with her tears. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, thougli she easily dis- 
 cerned the source of her daughter's uneasi- 
 ness, did not think proper to speak to her on 
 the subject. "My dear child," said she, 
 *' offer up your supplications to God, who 
 disposes at his will of health and of life, 
 lie subjects you to trial now, in order to ' 
 recompense you hereafter. Remember that 
 we are only placed upon earth for the exer- 
 cise of virtue." 
 
 The excessive heat in the mean time raised 
 vast masses of vai)or from the ocean, which 
 hung over the island like an immense para- 
 sol, and gathered round the summits oi the 
 8 
 
114 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 mountains. Long flakes of fire issued from 
 time to time from tliese mist-embosomed 
 peaks. The most awful thunder soon after 
 re-eclioed 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 
 the valley became a sea, and the elevated 
 platform on w^hich the cottages were built, 
 a little island. The accumulated wateri§, 
 having no other outlet, rushed with violence 
 through the narrow gorge which leads into 
 the valley, tossing and roaring, and bearing 
 along with them a mingled wreck of soil, 
 trees, and rocks. 
 
 The trembling families meantime ad- 
 dressed their prayers to God all together in 
 the cottage of Madame de la Tour, the roof 
 of which cracked fearfully from the force of 
 the winds. So incessant and vivid were the 
 lightnings, that although the doors and win- 
 dow-shutters were securely fastened, every 
 object without .could be distinctly seen 
 through the joints in the woodwork ! Paul, 
 followed by Domingo, went with intre- 
 pidity from one cottage to another, notwith- 
 standing the fury of the tempest ; here sup* 
 
PAUL AJS'D VIRGINIA. 
 
 115 
 
 porting a partition with a buttress, there 
 driving in a stake ; and only returning to 
 the family to calm their fears, by the ex- 
 pression of a hope that the storm was pass- 
 ing away. Accordingly, in the evening the 
 rains ceased, the trade-winds'of the south- 
 east pursued their ordinary course, the tem- 
 pestuous clouds were driven away to the 
 northward, 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 ; she accepted it with 
 a smile, and they left the cottage together. 
 The air was clear and fresh : white vapors 
 arose from the ridges of the mountain, which 
 was furrowed here and there by the courses 
 of torrents, marked in foam, and now begin- 
 ning to dry up on all sides. As for the gar- 
 den, it was completely torn to pieces by 
 deep water-courses, the roots of most of the 
 fruit-trees were laid bare, and vast heaps of 
 sand covered the borders of the meadows, 
 and had choked up Virginia's bath. The 
 iwo cocoa trees, however, were still erect, 
 and still retained their freshness ; but they 
 
116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 were no longer surrounded by turf, or arbors, 
 or birds, except a few amadavid birds, which, 
 upon the points of the neighboring rocks, 
 were lamenting, 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 garden, and it is 
 now destroyed. Everything then upon earth 
 perishes, and it is only Heaven that is not 
 subject to change." — " Why," answered 
 Paul, " cannot I give you something that 
 belongs to heaven ? but I have nothing of 
 my own, even upon the earth." Virginia 
 with a blush replied, " You have the picture 
 of St. Paul." As soon as she had uttered 
 the words, he flew in quest of it to his 
 mother's cottage. This picture was a minia- 
 ture of Paul the Hermit, which Margaret, 
 who viewed it with feelings of great devo- 
 tion, had worn at her neck while a girl, and 
 which, after she became a mother, she had 
 placed round her child's. It had even hap- 
 pened, that being, while pregnant, aban- 
 doned by all the world, and constantly oc- 
 cupied in contemplating the image of this 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 117 
 
 benevolent recluse, her offspring had con* 
 tracted some resemblance to this revered 
 object. She therefore bestowed upon him 
 the name of Paul, giving him for his patron 
 a saint who had passed his life far from 
 mankind by whom he had been first deceived 
 and then forsaken. Virginia, on receivings 
 this httle present 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 you have in this world." At 
 this tone of friendship, — this unhoped-for 
 return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul 
 attempted to embrace her ; but, light as a 
 bird, she escaped him, and fled away, leaving 
 him astonished, and unable to account for 
 conduct so extraordinary. 
 
 Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame do 
 la Tour, Why do we not unite our children, 
 by marriage ? They have a strong attach- 
 ment for each other, and though my son 
 hardly understands the real nature of his 
 feelings, yet great care and watchfulness 
 will be necessary. Under such circum- 
 stances, it will be as well not to leave them 
 too much together." Madame de la Tour 
 
118 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 replied, " They are too young, and too poor 
 What grief would it occasion us to seo 
 Virginia bring into the world unfortunatd 
 children, whom she would not perhaps hava 
 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 
 greatly decreased ; the feebleness of age 
 advances rapidly in hot climates, and, above 
 all, under the pressure of misfortune. Paul 
 is our only hope : let us wait till he comes; 
 to maturity, and his increased strength 
 enables him to support us by his labor ; at 
 present yon 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, he might acquire, by com^ 
 merce, the means of purchasing some slaves ; 
 and at his return we could unite him to 
 Virginia; for I am persuaded no one on 
 earth would render her so happy as jowj 
 son. We will consult our neighbor on thh^ 
 subject." 
 
 They accordingly asked my advice, which 
 was in accordance with Madame de la Tour's; 
 opinion. " The Indian seas," I observed tc 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 119 
 
 them, " are calm, and, in choosing a favor- 
 able time of the year, the voyage out is sel- 
 dom longer than six weeks ; and the same 
 time may be allowed for the return home. 
 We will furnish Paul with a little venture 
 from my neighborhood, where he is much 
 beloved. If we were only to supply him 
 with some raw cotton, of which we make no 
 use for want of mills to work it, some ebony 
 which is here so common that it serves us 
 for firing, and some rosin, which is found in 
 our woods, he would be able to sell those 
 articles, though useless here, to good advan- 
 tage in the Indies." 
 
 I took upon myself to obtain permission 
 from Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to under- 
 take this voyage ; and I determined pre- 
 viously to mention the affair to Paul. But 
 what was my surprise, when this young 
 man said to me, with a degree of good sense 
 nbove 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 
 ■ jf. the ground, which yields sometimes fifty 
 or a hundred-fold ? If we wish to engage irt 
 commerce, can we not do so by carrying ou/ 
 
120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 superfluities to the town without my wan- 
 dering to the Indies ? Our mothers tell me, 
 that Domingo is old and feeble ; but I am 
 young, and gather strength every day. If 
 any accident should happen during my 
 absence, above all to Virginia, who already 
 suffers — Oh, no, no ! — I cannot resolve to 
 leave them." 
 
 So decided an answer threw me into great 
 perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not 
 concealed from me the cause of Virginia's 
 illness and want of si)irits, and her desire of 
 separating these young people till they were 
 a few years older. I took care, however, not 
 to drop anything which could lead Paul to 
 suspect the existence of these motives. 
 
 About this period a ship from France 
 brought Madame de la Tour a letter from 
 her aunt. The fear of death, without which 
 hearts as insensible as hers would never feel, 
 had alarmed her into compassion. When 
 she wrote she was recovering from a dan- 
 gerous illness, which had, however, left her 
 incurably languid and weak. She desired 
 her niece to return to France : or, if her 
 health forbade her to undertake so long a 
 voyage, she begged her to send Virginia, on 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGnVIA, 
 
 121 
 
 whom she promised to bestow a good educa- 
 tion, to procure for her a splendid marriage 
 and to leave her heiress of her whole fortune. 
 She concluded by enjoining strict obedience 
 to her will, in gratitude, she said, for her 
 great kindness. 
 
 At the perusal of this letter general con- 
 sternation spread itself through the whole 
 assembled party. Domingo and Mary began 
 to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, 
 appeared almost ready to burst with in- 
 dignation ; while Virginia, fixing her eyes 
 anxiously upon her mother, had not power 
 to utter a single word. "And can you 
 now leave us ? " cried Margaret to Madame 
 de la Tour. " Xo, my dear friend, no, my 
 beloved children," replied Madame de la 
 Tour ; " I Avill never leave you. I have 
 lived with you, and with you I will die. I 
 have known no happiness but in your affec- 
 tion. If my health be deranged, my past 
 misfortunes are the cause. My heart has 
 been deeply wounded by the cruelty of my 
 relations, and by the loss of my beloved 
 husband. But I have since found more 
 consolation and more real happiness with 
 you in these humble huts, than all the 
 
122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 wealth of my family could now lead me 
 to expect in my own country." 
 
 At this soothing language every eye over- 
 flowed with tears 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 yoUp 
 dear mamma ; and you shall never feel any 
 want with us." But of the Avhole society, 
 the person who disjplayed the least transport, 
 and who probably felt the most, Avas Vir- 
 ginia : and during the remainder of the day,^ 
 the gentle gayety which flowed from her 
 heart, and proved that her peace of mind 
 was restored, completed the general satis- 
 faction. 
 
 At sunrise the next day, just as they had 
 concluded offering up, as usual, their morn- 
 ing prayer before breakfast, Domingo came 
 to inform them that a gentleman on horse- 
 back, followed by two slaves, was coming 
 towards the plantation. It was Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais. He entered 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^ 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 123 
 
 a;nd fresh plantains. The leaves of the plan-^ 
 tam-tree supplied the want of table linen ; 
 and calabash shells, split in two, served for 
 cups. The Governor exhibited, at first, some 
 astonishment at the homeliness of the dwell- 
 ing; then, addressing himself to Madame 
 de la Tour, he observed, that although 
 public affairs drew his attention too much 
 from the concerns of individuals, she had 
 many claims on his good offices. " You 
 have an aunt at Paris, madam," he added, 
 " a woman of quality, and immensely rich, 
 who expects that you will hasten to see her, 
 and who means to bestow upon you her 
 whole fortune." Madame de la Tour replied, 
 that the state of her health would not per- 
 mit her to undertake so long a voyage. 
 " At least," resumed Monsieur de la Bour- 
 donnais, you cannot without injustice, de- 
 prive this amiable young lady, your daugh- 
 ter, 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 
 €xert my authority, if necessary, to that 
 effect. But as I only wish to employ my 
 
124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 power for the purpose of rendering the 
 inhabitants, of this country happy, I expect 
 from your good sense the voluntary sacrifice 
 of a few years, upon which your daughter's 
 estabhshment in the world, and the welfare 
 of your whole life depends. Wherefore 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 m your own 
 country ? " 
 
 He then took a large bag of piastres from 
 one of his slaves, and placed it upon the 
 table. "This sum," he continued, "is al- 
 lotted by your aunt to defray the outlay 
 necessary for the equipment of the young 
 lady for her voyage." Gently reproaching 
 Madame de la Tour for not having had re- 
 course to him in her difficulties, he extolled 
 at the same time her noble fortitude. Upon 
 this Paul said to the Governor, — " My mother 
 did apply to you, sir, and you received her 
 ill." — "Have you another child, madam?" 
 said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame 
 de la Tour. " No, sir," she replied ; " this 
 is the son of my friend ; but he and Virginia 
 are equally dear to us, and we mutually 
 consider them both as our own children." 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 125 
 
 « Young man," said the Governor to Paul, 
 when you have acquired a little more ex- 
 perience of the world, you will know that it 
 is the misfortune of people in place to be 
 deceived, and bestow, in consequence, upon 
 intriguing vice, that which they Would wish 
 to give to modest merit." 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the re- 
 quest of Madame de la Tour, placed himself 
 next to her at table, and breakfasted after 
 the manner of the Creoles, upon coffee, 
 mixed with rice boiled in water. He was 
 dehghted with the order and cleanliness 
 which prevailed in the little cottage, the 
 harmony of the two interesting families, 
 and the zeal of their old servants. " Here," * 
 he exclaimed, " I discern only wooden fur- 
 niture : but I find serene countenances and 
 hearts of gold." Paul, enchanted with the 
 affability of the Governor, said to him, — " I 
 wish to be your friend : for you are a good 
 man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais re- 
 ceived with pleasure this insular compli- 
 ment, and, taking Paul by the. hand, as- 
 sured him he might rely upon his friend- 
 ship. 
 
 After breakfast, he took Madame de la 
 
126 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 Tour aside and informed her that an oppor- 
 tunity would soon offer itself of sending her 
 daughter to France, in a ship which was 
 going to sail in a short time ; that he would 
 put her under the charge of a lady, one of 
 the passengers, who was a relation of his^ 
 own; and that she must not think of re- 
 nouncing an immense fortune, on account 
 of the pain of being separated from her 
 daughter for a brief interval. " Your aunt,'' 
 lie added, "cannot live more than two 
 years ; of this I am assured by her friends. 
 Think of it seriously. Fortune does not 
 visit us every day. Consult your friends. 
 I am sure that every person of good sense 
 will be of my opinion." She answered, 
 " that, as she desired no other happiness 
 henceforth in the world than in promoting 
 that of her daughter, she hoped to be al- 
 lowed to 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 Vir- 
 ginia for a short time, and provide by this 
 means, for their mutual felicity at a future, 
 period. She took her daughter aside, and 
 said to her, — " My dear child, our servants 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 127 
 
 are now old. Paul is still very young, Mar- 
 garet is advanced in years, and I am already 
 infirm. 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 assistance, and would be obliged 
 to labor without ceasing, as a hired servant, 
 in order to support your wretched exist- 
 ence. This idea OA^ercomes me with sor- 
 row." Virginia answered, — "God has ap- 
 pointed us to labor, and to bless him every 
 day. Up to this time he has never forsaken 
 us, and he never will forsake us in time to 
 come. His providence watches most espe- 
 cially over the unfortunate. You have told 
 me this very often, my dear motlier ! I cannot 
 resolve to leave you." Madame de la Tour 
 replied, with much emotion, — "I have na 
 other aim than to render you happy, and to 
 marry you one day to l\iul, who is not 
 really your brother. Remember, then, that 
 his fortune depends upon you." 
 
 A young girl who is in love believes that 
 every one else is ignorant of her passion ; 
 she throws over her eyes the veil with which 
 she covers the feelings of her heart; but 
 
328 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 when it is once lifted by a friendly hand, 
 the hidden sorrows of her attachment es- 
 cape as through a newly-opened barrier, and 
 the sweet outpourings of unrestrained con- 
 fidence succeed to her former mystery and 
 reserve. Virginia, deeply affected by this 
 new proof of her mother's tenderness, re- 
 lated to her the cruel struggles she had 
 midergone, of which heaven alone had been 
 witness; she saw, she said, the hand of 
 Providence in the assistance of an affection- 
 ate mother, who approved of her attach- 
 ment ; and would guide her by her counsels ; 
 and as she was now strengthened by such 
 support, every consideration led her to re- 
 main with her mother, without anxiety for 
 the present, and without apprehension for 
 the future. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this 
 confidential conversation had produced an 
 effect altogether different from that which 
 she expected, said, — " My dear child, I do 
 not wish to constrain you ; think over it at 
 leisure, but conceal your affection from Paul. 
 It is better not to let a man know that the 
 heart of his mistress is gained." 
 
 Virginia and her mother were sitting to- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 
 
 getlaer by themselves the same evening", 
 when a tall man, dressed in a blufe cassock, 
 entered their cottage. He was a missionary 
 priest and the confessor of Madame de la 
 Tour and her daughter, who had now been 
 sent them by the Governor. " My children," 
 he exclaimed as he entered, " God be praised ! 
 you are now rich. You can now attend to 
 the kind suggestions of your benevolent 
 hearts, and do good to the poor. I know 
 what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has said 
 to you, and what you have said in reply. 
 Your health, deat madam, obliges you to 
 remain here; but you, young lady, are with- 
 out excuse. We must obey the direction 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 will 
 of God. Our Lord devoted himself for y(;u ; 
 and you in imitation of his example, must 
 give up something for the welfare of your 
 family. Your voyage to France will end 
 happily. You will surely consent to go, my 
 dear young lady." 
 
 Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, 
 trembling, " If it is the command of God, 1 
 will not presume to oppose it. Let the v/iU 
 
13a PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of God be done!" As she uttered these 
 words, she wept. 
 
 The priest went away, m order to inform 
 the Governor of the success of his mission. 
 In the mean time Madame de la Tour sent 
 Domingo to request me to come to her, that 
 she might consult me respecting Virginia's 
 departure, I was not at all of opinion that 
 she ought to go. I consider it as a fixed 
 principle of happiness, that we ought to pre- 
 fer the advantages of nature to those of for- 
 tune, and never go in search of that at a dis- 
 tance, which we may find at home, — in our 
 ewn bosoms. But what could be expected 
 from my advice, in opposition to the illu- 
 ■sions of a splendid fortune ? — or from my 
 simple reasoning, when in competition with 
 the prejudices of the world, and an author- 
 ity held sacred by Madame de la Tour? 
 This lady indeed had only consulted me out 
 of politeness ; she had ceased to deliberate 
 since she had heard the decision of her con- 
 iessor. Margaret herself, who, notwith- 
 f;tanding the advantages she expected for 
 ber son from the possession of Virginia's 
 fortune, had hitherto opposed her departure 
 made no further objections. As for Paul, in 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 ignorance of what had been determined, but 
 alarmed at the secret conversations which 
 Virginia had been holding with her mother, 
 he abandoned himself to melancholy. " They 
 are plotting something against me," cried 
 he, " for they conceal everything from me." 
 
 A report having in the mean time been 
 spread in the island that fortune had visited 
 these rocks, merchants of every description 
 were seen climbing their steep ascent. Now, 
 for the first time, were seen displayed in 
 these humble huts the richest stuffs of India ; 
 the fine dimity of Gondelore ; the handker- 
 chiefs of Pellicate and Masulipatan ; the 
 plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of 
 Dacca, so beautifully transparent : the deli- 
 cately white cottons of Surat, and linens of 
 all colors. They also brought with them 
 the gorgeous silks of China, satin damasks, 
 some white, and others grass-green and 
 bright red ; pink tafEetas, with a profusion 
 of satins and gauze of Tonquin, both plain 
 and decorated with flowers ; soft pekins, 
 downy as cloth ; with white and yellow 
 nankeens, and the calicoes of Madagascar. 
 
 Madame de la Tour wished her daughter 
 to purchase whatever she hked; she only 
 
132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 examined the goods, and inquired the price, 
 to take care that the dealers did not cheat 
 her. Virginia made choice of everything 
 she thought would be useful or agreeable to 
 her mother, or to Margaret and her son. 
 " This," said she, " will be wanted for fur- 
 nishing the cottage, and that will be very 
 useful to Mary and Domingo." In short, 
 the bag of piastres was almost emptied be- 
 fore she even began to consider her own 
 wants ; and she was obliged to receive back 
 for her own use a share of the presents 
 which she had distributed among the family 
 circle. 
 
 Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight 
 of these gifts of fortune, which he felt were 
 a presage of Virginia's departure, came a 
 few days after to my dwelling. With an air 
 of deep despondency he said to me, — " My 
 sister is going away ; she is already making 
 preparations for her voyage. I conjure you 
 to come and exert your influence over her 
 mother and mine, in order to detain her 
 here." I could not refuse the young man's 
 solicitations, although well convinced that 
 my representations would be unavaiUng. 
 
 Virginia had ever appeared to me charm- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 
 
 2ng when clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, 
 with a red handkerchief tied around her 
 head : you may therefore imagine how much 
 her beauty was increased, when she was 
 attired in the graceful and elegant costume 
 worn by the ladies of this country ! She 
 had on a white muslin dress, lined with pink 
 taffeta. Her somewhat tall and slender 
 figure was shown to advantage in her new 
 attire, and the simple arrangement of her 
 hair accorded admirably with i^he form of 
 her head. Her fine blue eyes were filled 
 with an expression of melancholy ; and the 
 struggles of passion, with which lier heart 
 was agitated, imparted a" flush to her 6heek, 
 and to her voice a tone of deep emotion. 
 The contrast between her pensive look and 
 her gay habiliments rendered her more in- 
 teresting than ever, nor was it possible to 
 see or hear her unmoved. Paul became 
 more and more melancholy ; and at length 
 Margaret, distressed at the situation of her 
 son, took him aside, and said to him, — " Wh}'-, 
 my dear child, will you cherish vain hopes, 
 which will only render your disappointment 
 more bitter? It is time for me to make 
 known to you the secret of your life and of 
 
134 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, by 
 her mother's side, to a rich and noble family, 
 •while you are but the son of a poor peasant 
 girl ; and what is worse, you are illegiti- 
 mate." 
 
 Paul, who had never heard this last ex- 
 pression before, inquired with eagerness its 
 meaning. His mother replied, " I was not 
 married to your father. When I was a girl, 
 seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness 
 of which you are the offspring. The conse- 
 quence of my fault is, that you are deprived 
 of the protection of a father's family, and by 
 my flight from home you have also lost that 
 of your mother's. Unfortunate child ! you 
 have no relation in the world but me ! " — - 
 and she shed a flood of tears. Paul, pressing 
 her in his arms, exclaimed, " Oh, my dear 
 mother ! since I have no relation in the 
 world but you, 1 will love you all the more. 
 But what a secret have you just disclosed 
 to me! I now see the reason w^hy Made- 
 moiselle de la Tour has estranged herself so 
 much from me for the last two months, and 
 why she has determined to go to France. 
 Ah ! I perceive too well that she despises 
 me!" 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 135 
 
 The hour of supper being arrived, we 
 gathered round the table ; but the different 
 sensations with which we were agitated 
 left us little inclination to eat, and the meal, 
 if such it may be called, passed in silence. 
 Virginia was the first to rise ; she went out, 
 and seated herself on the very spot where 
 we now are. Paul hastened after her, and 
 sat down by her side. Both of them, for 
 some time, kept a profound silence. It was 
 one of those delicious nights which are so 
 common between the tropics, and to the 
 beauty of which no pencil can do justice. 
 The moon appeared in the midst of the firm- 
 ament, surrounded by a curtain of clouds, 
 which was gradually unfolded by her beams. 
 Her light insensibly spread itself over the 
 mountains of the island, and their distant 
 ])eaks glistened with a silvery green. The 
 winds were perfectly still. We heard among 
 the woods, at the bottom of the valleys, and 
 on the summits of the rocks, the piping cries 
 and the soft notes of the birds, wantoning 
 in their nests, and rejoicing in the brightness 
 of the night and the serenity of the atmos- 
 phere. The hum of insects was heard in the 
 gj*i?s» The stars sparkled in the heavens, 
 
136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and their lucid orbs were reflected, in trem- 
 bling sparkles from the tranquil bosom of the 
 ocean. Virginia's eye wandered distractedly 
 over its vast and gloomy horizon, distin- 
 guishable from the shore of the island only 
 by the red fires in the fishing boats. She 
 perceived at the entrance of the harbor a 
 light and a shadow ; these were the Avatch- 
 light and the hull of the vessel in which she 
 Vv^as to embark for Europe, and which, all 
 ready for sea, lay at anchor, waiting for a 
 breeze. Affected at this sight, she turned 
 away her head, in order to hide her tears 
 from Paul. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were 
 seated at a little distance, beneath the plan- 
 tain trees ; and, owing to the stillness of tlie 
 night, we distinctly heard their conversation, 
 which I have not forgotten. 
 
 Paul said to her, — " You are going away 
 from us, they tell me, in three days. You 
 do not fear then to encounter the danger of 
 the sea, at the sight of which you are so 
 much terrified?" "I must perform my 
 duty," answered Virginia, " by obeying my 
 parent." "You leave us," resumed Paul, 
 for a distant relation, whom you have never 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, iS7 
 
 Been." " Alas ! " cried Virginia, I would 
 have remained here my whole life, but my 
 mother would not have it so. My confessor^ 
 too, told me it Avas the will of God that I 
 should go, and that life was a scene of trials ! 
 — and oh ! this is mdeed a severe one." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Paul, " you could 
 find so many reasons for going, and not 
 one for remaining here ! Ah ! there is one 
 reason for your departure that you have not 
 mentioned. Riches have great attractions. 
 You will soon find in the new world to 
 which you are going, another, to whom you 
 will give the name of brother, which you 
 bestow on me no more. You will choose 
 that brother from amongst persons who are 
 worthy of you by their l)irth, and by a for- 
 tune which I have not to offer. But where 
 can you go to be happier ? On what shore 
 will you land, and find it dearer to you than 
 the spot which gave you birth ? — and where 
 will you form around you a society more 
 delightful to you than this, by which you 
 are so much beloved ? How will you bear 
 to live without your mother's caresses, to 
 which you are so much accustomed ? What 
 will become of her, already advanced in 
 
138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 Virginia! I say 
 nothing 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 not reunite us ? — when I shall 
 gaze on these two palm trees, planted at our 
 birth, and so long the vritnesses of our 
 mutual friendship ? Ah ! since your lot is 
 changed, — since you seek in a far country 
 other possessions than the fruits of my 
 labor, let me go with you in the vessel in 
 which you are about to embark. I will sus- 
 tain your spirits in the midst of those tem- 
 pests which terrify you so much even on 
 shore. I will lay my head upon your bosom : 
 I will warm your heart upon my own ; and 
 in France, where you are going in search 
 of fortune and of grandeur, I will wait upon 
 you as your slave. Happy only in your 
 happiness, you will find me, in those palaces 
 where I shall see you receiving the homage 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 and adoration of all, rich and noble enough 
 to make you the greatest of all sacrifices, by 
 dying at your feet." 
 
 The violence of his emotions stopped his 
 utterance, and we then heard Virginia, who, 
 in a voice broken by sobs, uttered these 
 words : — " It is for you that I go, — for you 
 whom I see tired to death every day by 
 the labor of sustaining two helpless families. 
 If I have accepted this opportunity of be- 
 coming rich, it is only to return a thousand- 
 fold the good which you have done us. 
 Can any fortune be equal to your friendship ? 
 Why do you talk about your birth ? Ah ! 
 if it were possible for me still to have a 
 brother, should I make choice of any other 
 than you? Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far 
 dearer to me than a brother! How much 
 has it cost me to repulse you from me ! 
 Help me to tear myself from what I value 
 more than existence, till Heaven shall bless 
 our union. But I will stay or go,— I will 
 live or die, — dispose of me as you will. Un- 
 happy that I am ! I could have repelled 
 your caresses ; but I cannot suppoit your 
 affliction." 
 
 At these words Paul seized her in his 
 
140 PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 
 
 arms, and, holding her pressed close to his 
 bosom, said, in a piercing tone, " I will go with 
 her, — nothing shall ever part us." We all 
 ran towards him ; and Madame de la Tour 
 said to him, " My son, if you go, what will 
 become of us ! " 
 
 He, trembling, repeated alter her the 
 words, — " My son ! — my son ! You my 
 mother ! " cried he ; " you, who would sepa- 
 rate the brother from the sister! We have 
 both been nourished at your bosom ; we ha ve 
 both been reared upon your knees ; we ha ve 
 learnt of you to love one another ; we have 
 said so a thousand times ; and now you 
 would separate her from me! — you would 
 send her to Europe, that inhospitable coun- 
 try which refused you an asylum, and to 
 relations by v/hom yon yourself were aban- 
 doned. You will tell me that I have no 
 right over her, and that she is not nyr sister. 
 She is everything to me; my riches, my 
 birth, my family, — all that I have ! 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 Avill prevent me ! AYill he 
 prevent me from flinging myself into the 
 
PA UL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 141 
 
 sea? — will he prevent me from following 
 iier 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 
 bodies amid the shingles of this 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 despair had deprived him of reason. His 
 eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell 
 in great drops from his face ; his knees 
 trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently 
 against his burning bosom. 
 
 Virginia, alarmed, said to him, — " Oh; my 
 dear Paul, I call to witness the pleasures 
 of our early age, your griefs and my own, 
 and everything that can forever bind two 
 unfortunate beings to each other, that if I 
 remain at home, 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 me from my infancy, who dispose of 
 my life, and who see my tears. I swear by 
 
142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 that Heaven which hears me, by the sea 
 which I am going to pass, by the air I 
 breathe, and whicli I never sullied by a 
 falsehood." 
 
 As the sun softens and precipitates an icy 
 rock from the summit of one of the Apennines, 
 so the impetuous passions of the young man 
 were subdued by the voice of her he loved. 
 He bent his head, and a torrent 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 quite broken. 
 This unfortunate voyage shall not take place. 
 Do take my son home with you. Not one 
 of us has had any rest the whole week." 
 
 I said to Paul, " My dear friend, your sister 
 shall remain here. To-morrow w^e will talk 
 to the Governor about it ; 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 hori- 
 zon." 
 
 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. 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGINIA. 143 
 
 But why should I contmue any longer to 
 you the recital of this history ? There is but 
 one aspect of human existence which we 
 can ever contemplate with pleasure. Like 
 the globe upon which we revolve, the fleet- 
 ing course of life is but a day ; and if one 
 part of that day be visited by light, the 
 other is thrown into darkness. 
 
 " My father," I answered, " finish, I con- 
 jure you, the history which you have begun 
 in a manner so interesting. If the images 
 of happiness are the most pleasing, those of 
 misfortune are the more instructive. Tell 
 me what became of the unhappy young 
 man." 
 
 The first object beheld by Paul in his way 
 home was the negro woman Mary, who, 
 mounted on a rock, was earnestly looking 
 towards the sea. As soon as he perceived 
 her, he called to her from a distance, — 
 " Where is Virginia ? " Mary turned her 
 head towards her young master, and began 
 to weep. Paul, distracted, retracing his 
 steps, ran to the harbor. He was informed 
 that Virgina had embarked at the break 
 of day, and that the vessel had immediately 
 set sail, and was now out of sight. He 
 
144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 instantly returned to the plantation, which 
 he crossed without uttering a word. 
 
 Quite perpendicular as ai^pears the walls 
 of rocks behind us, those green platforms 
 which separate their summits are so many 
 stages, by means of which you may reach, 
 through some difficult paths, that cone of 
 sloping and inaccessible rocks, which is 
 called The Thumb. At the foot of that cone 
 is an extended slope of ground, covered with 
 lofty trees, and so steep and elevated that it 
 looks like a forest in the air, surrounded by 
 tremendous precipices. The clouds, which 
 are constantly attracted round the summit 
 of The Thumb, supply innumerable rivulets, 
 which fall to so great a depth in the valley 
 situated on the other side of the mountain, 
 that from this elevated point the sound of 
 their cataracts cannot be heard. From that 
 spot you can discern a considerable part of 
 the island, diversified by precipices and 
 mountain peaks, and amongst others, Peter* 
 Booth, and the Three Breasts, with their 
 valleys full of woods. You also command 
 an extensive view of the ocean, and can 
 even perceive the Isle of Bourbon, forty 
 leagues to the westward. From the summit 
 
PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 
 
 145 
 
 of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul caught 
 sight of the vessel which was bearing away 
 Virginia, and which now, ten leagues out at 
 sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst 
 of the ocean. He remained a great part of 
 the day Avith his eyes fixed upon this 
 object: when it had disappeared, he still 
 fancied he behekLit; and when, at length, 
 the traces which clung to his imagination 
 were 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, and the hoarse and moaning murmurs 
 of which, similar to the distant sound of 
 organs, inspire a profound melancholy. On 
 this spot I found him, his head reclining on 
 the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. 
 I had followed him from the earliest dawn, 
 and, after much importunity, I prevailed 
 on him to descend from the heights, and 
 return to his family. I went home with 
 him, where the first impulse of his mind, on 
 seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach 
 her bitterly for having deceived him. She 
 told us that a favorable wind having 
 sprung up at three o'clock in the morning, - 
 
 lO 
 
116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 and the vessel being ready to sail, the 
 <^overnor, attended by some of his stalf and 
 the missionary, had come with a palanquin 
 to fetch her daughter ; a^d that, notwith- 
 standing Virginia's objections, her own tears 
 and entreaties, and the lamentations of Mar- 
 garet, everybody exclaiming all the time 
 that it was for the general welfare, they had 
 carried her away almost dying. " At least," 
 cried Paul, " if I had bid her farewell, 1 
 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 
 yon leave me forever, tell me that you for- 
 give 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 hand to wipe away your 
 tears ; " and then, rushing out of the house, 
 and groaning aloud, he wandered up an(? 
 down the plantation. He hovered in par* 
 ticular about those spots which had been 
 most endearing to Virginia. He said to the 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 147 
 
 goats, and their little ones, which followed 
 him bleating, — " What do you want of me ? 
 You will see with me no more her who used 
 to feed you with her own hand." He went 
 to tlie 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 
 Fidele running backwards and forwards in. 
 searcli of her, he heaved a deep sigh, and 
 cried, — " Ah ! you will never find her again.'* 
 At length he went and seated himself upon 
 a rock where he had conversed with her the 
 preceding evening ; and at the sight of the 
 ocean upon which he had seen the vessel 
 disappear which had borne her away, his 
 heart overflowed with anguish, and he wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 We continually watched his movements, 
 apprehensive of 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 aflBiction by his despair. At length 
 the latter soothed his mind by lavishing 
 upon him epithets calculated to awaken his 
 hopes, — calling him her son, her dear son. 
 
148 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 her son-in-law, whom she destined for her 
 daughter. She persuaded him to return 
 home, and to take some food. He seated 
 himself next to the place which used to be 
 occupied by the companion of his childhood ; 
 and, as if she had still been present, he 
 spoke to her, and made as though he Avould 
 offer her whatever he knew was most 
 agreeable to her taste : then, starting from 
 this dream of fancy, he began to weep. 
 For some days he employed himself in 
 gathering every thing which had belonged 
 to Virginia, the last nosegays she had worn, 
 the cocoa-shell from which she used to 
 drink ; and after kissing a thousand times 
 these relics of his beloved, to him the most 
 precious treasures which the world con- 
 tained, he hid them in his bosom. Amber 
 does not shed so sweet a perfume as the 
 veriest trifles touched by those we love. At 
 length, perceiving that the indulgence of 
 his grief increased that of his miother and 
 Madame de la Tour, and that the wants of 
 the family demanded continual labor, he 
 began, with the assistance of Domingo, to 
 repair the damage done to the garden. 
 But, soon after, this young man, hitherto 
 
PAUL AND VlBGiyiA, 
 
 149 
 
 indifferent as a Creole to everything that 
 was passing in the world, begged of me to 
 teach him to read and write, in order that 
 he might correspond with Virginia. He 
 afterwards wished to obtain a knowledge 
 of geography, that he might form some idea 
 of the country where she would disembark ; 
 and of history, that he might know some- 
 thing of the manners of the society in which 
 she would be placed. The powerful senti- 
 ment of love, which directed his present 
 studies, had already instructed him in 
 agriculture, and in the art of laying out 
 grounds with advantage and beauty. It 
 must be admitted, that to the fond dreams of 
 this restless and ardent passion, mankind 
 are indebted for most of the arts and sciences, 
 while its disappointments have given birth 
 to philosophy, which teaches us to bear up 
 under misfortune. Love, thus, the general 
 link of all beings, becomes the great spring 
 of society, by inciting us to knowledge as 
 well as to pleasure. 
 
 Paul found little satisfaction in the study 
 of geography, which, instead of describing 
 the natural history of each country, gave 
 only a view of its political divisions and 
 
150 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 boundaries. History, and especially modeii i 
 history, interested him little more. Hi 
 there saw only general and periodical eviL i, 
 the causes of which he could not discover ; 
 wars without either motive or reason ; 
 uninteresting intrigues ; with nations deF* 
 titute of principle, and princes void cf 
 humanity. To this branch of reading h« 
 preferred romances, which, being chiefly 
 occupied by the feelings and concerns cE 
 men, sometimes represented situation s 
 similar to his own. Thus, no book gave 
 him so much pleasure as Telemachus, from 
 the pictures it draws of pastoral life, and cf 
 the passions which are most natural to the 
 human breast. He read aloud to his mother 
 and Madame de la Tour thosQ parts which 
 affected him most sensibly ; but soraetime^J, 
 touched by the most tender remembrances^, 
 his emotion would choke his utterance, airi 
 his eyes be filled with tears. He fancied he 
 had found in Virginia the dignity and wisw. 
 dom of Antiope, united to the misfortunes 
 and the tenderness of Eucharis. With very 
 different sensations he perused our fash- 
 ionable novels, filled with licentious morals 
 and maxims, and when he was inform^jt? 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 151 
 
 that these works drew a tolerably faithful 
 picture of European society, he trembled, and 
 r.ot without some appearance of reason^ 
 iest Virginia should become corrupted by it, 
 and forget him. 
 
 More than a year and a half, indeed, 
 passed away before Madame de la Tour 
 received any tidings of her aunt or her 
 daughter. During that period she only 
 accidentally heard that Virginia had safely 
 arrived in France. At length, however, 
 a vessel which stopped here in its way 
 to the Indies brought a packet to Madame de 
 la Tour, and a letter written by Virginia's, 
 own hand. Although this amiable and 
 considerate girl had written in a guarded 
 manner that she might not wound her 
 mother's feelings, it appeared evident 
 enough that she was unhappy. The letter 
 painted so naturally her situation and her 
 character, that I have retained it almost 
 word for word. 
 
 " My dear axd beloved Mother, 
 
 I have already sent you several letters, 
 written by my own hand, but having re- 
 ceived no answer, I am afraid they have not 
 
152 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 reached you. I have better hopes for this, 
 from the means I have now gained of send- 
 ing you tidings of myself, and of hearing 
 from you. 
 
 " I have slied many tears since our separa- 
 tion, I wlio never used to weep, but for the 
 misfortunes of others ! My aunt was much 
 astonished, when, having, 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 learnt, since 
 I came into the Avorld ; and when I answered 
 that I had been taught to take care of the 
 household affairs, and to obey your will, she 
 told me that I had received the education 
 of a servant. The next day she placed me 
 as a boarder in a great abbey near Paris, 
 where I have masters of all kinds, who teach 
 me among other things, history, geography, 
 grammar, mathematics, and riding on horse- 
 back. But I have so little capacity for all 
 these sciences, that I fear I shall make but 
 small progress with my masters. I feel 
 that I am a very poor creature, with very 
 little ability to learn what they teach. My 
 aunt's kindness, however, does not decrease. 
 She gives me new dresses every season; 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 153 
 
 and she has placed two waitmg women with 
 me, who are dressed like fine ladies. She 
 has made me take the title of countess ; but 
 has obliged me to renounce the name of La 
 Tour, w^hich 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 given me in place of your name 
 that of your family, which is also dear to 
 me, because it was your name when a girl. 
 Seeing myself in so splendid a situation, I 
 implored her to let me send you something 
 to assist you. But how shall I repeat her 
 answer ! Yet you have desired me always 
 to tell you the truth. She told me then 
 that a little would be of no use to you, and 
 that a great deal w^ould only encumber you 
 in the simple life you led. As you know I 
 could not write, I endeavored upon my 
 arrival, to send you tidings of myself by 
 another hand ; but, finding no person here 
 in whom I could place confidence, I applied 
 night and day to learn to read and write, 
 and Heaven, "who saw my motive for learn- 
 ing, no doubt assisted my endeavors, for I 
 succeeded in both for a short time. I en- 
 trusted my first letters to some of the ladies 
 
154 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 here, who, I have reason to think, carried 
 them to my aunt. This time I have re- 
 course 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 me holding any correspondence what- 
 ever, with any one, lest, she says, it should 
 occasion an obstacle to the great views she 
 has for my advantage. Xo 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. 
 
 "I live in all the splendor of affluence, 
 and have not a sou at my disposal. They 
 say I might make an improper use of 
 money. Even my clothes belong to my 
 femmes de chambre, who quarrel about 
 them before I have left them off. In the 
 midst of riches I am poorer than when I 
 lived with you ; for I have nothing to give 
 away. When I found that the great accom- 
 plishments they taught me would not pro- 
 cure me the power of doing the smallest 
 good, I Yi^A recourse to my needle, of which 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 155 
 
 happily you had taught me the use. I send 
 several pairs of stockings of my own 
 making for you and my mamma Margaret, a 
 cap for Dommgo, and one of my red hand- 
 kerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this 
 packet some kernels, and seeds of various 
 kinds of fruits which I gathered in the 
 abbey park during my hours of recreation. 
 *I have also sent a few seeds of violets, 
 daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, 
 which I picked up in the fields. There are 
 much more beautiful flowers in the meadows 
 of this country than in ours, but nobody 
 cares for them. I am sure that you and 
 my 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 by the side of our plan- 
 tains, and elms blending their foliage with 
 that of 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 ;]:rief s, I endeavor to soothe them 
 
156 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 by reflecting that I a.m in the situation iu 
 which it was the will of God that you 
 should place me. But my greatest affliction 
 is, that no one here speaks to me of you, 
 and that I cannot speak of you to any one. 
 My femmes de chambre, or rather those of 
 my aunt, for they belong more to her than 
 to me, told me the other day, when I wished 
 to turn the conversation upon the objects 
 most dear to me : ' Remember, mademoi- 
 selle, that you are a French woman, and 
 must forget that land of savages.' Ah! 
 sooner will I forget myself, than forget the 
 spot on Avhich I was born and where you 
 dwell ! It is this country which is to me a 
 land of savages, for I live alone, having no 
 one to whom I can impart those feelings of 
 tenderness for you which I shall bear with 
 me to the grave. I am, 
 
 " My dearest and beloved mother, 
 
 "Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 
 " VmomiE DE La Touk." 
 
 recommend to your goodness Mary 
 and Domingo, who took so much care of 
 my infancy; caress Fidele for me, w^ho 
 found me in the wood." 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 157 
 
 Paul was astonished that Virginia had 
 Jiot said one word of him, — slie, who had 
 not forgotten even the house-dog. But he 
 was not aware that, however long a woman's 
 letter may be, she never fails to leave her 
 dearest sentiments for the end. 
 
 In a postscript, Virginia particularly rec- 
 ommended to Paul's attention two kinds of 
 seed, — those of the violet and the scabious. 
 She gave him some instructions upon the 
 natural characters of these flowers, and the 
 spots most proper for their cultivation. 
 "The violet," she said, "produces a little 
 flower of a dark purple color, Avhich delights 
 to conceal itself beneath the bushes ; but it 
 is soon discovered by its wide-spreading 
 perfume." Slie desired that these seeds 
 might be sown by the border of the fount- 
 ain, 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 irx raourning ; and for this reason it is 
 also called the widow's flower. It grows 
 best in bleak spots, beaten by the winds." 
 She begged him to sow this upon the rock 
 where she had spoken to him at night for 
 
158 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the last time, and that, in remembrance of 
 her, he would henceforth give it the name 
 of the Rock of Adieus. 
 
 She had put these seeds into a little purse^ 
 the tissue of which was exceedingly simple; 
 but which appeared above all price to Paul, 
 when he saw on it a P and a V entwined to- 
 gether, and knew that the beautiful hair 
 which formed the cypher was the hair of 
 Virginia. 
 
 The whole family listened with tears to 
 the reading of the letter of this amiable and 
 virtuous girl. Her mother answered it in 
 the name of the little society, desiring her to 
 remain or return as she thought proper: 
 and assuring her, that happiness had left 
 their dwelling since her departure, and that, 
 for herself, she was inconsolable. 
 
 Paul also sent her a very long letter, in 
 which he assured her that he would arrange 
 the garden in a manner agreeable to her 
 taste, and mingle together in it the plants 
 of Europe with those of Africa, as she had 
 blended their initials together in her work. 
 He sent her some fruit from the cocoa-tre^s 
 of the fountain, now arrived at maturity ; 
 telling her, that he would not add any of 
 
PAUL AND VIEGiyiA. 159 
 
 the other productions of the island, tliat the 
 desire of seeing tliem again might hasten 
 her return. He conjured her to comply as 
 soon as possible with the ardent wishes of 
 her family, and above all, with his own, 
 since he could never hereafter taste happi- 
 ness away from her. 
 
 Paul sowed with a careful hand the Euro- 
 pean seeds, particularly the violet and the 
 scabious, the flowers of which seemed to 
 bear some analogy to the character and pres- 
 ent situation of Virginia, by whom they 
 had been so especially recommended; but 
 either they were dried up in the voyage, or 
 the climate of this part'of the world is un- 
 favorable to their growth, for a very small 
 number of them even came up, and not one 
 arrived at full perfection. 
 
 In the mean time, envy, which ever comes 
 to embitter human happiness, particularly 
 in the French colonies, spread some reports 
 in the island which gave Paul much uneasi- 
 ness. The passengers in the vessel which 
 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 engaged. Some even went so far 
 
160 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 as to declare that the union had already 
 taken place, and that they themselves had 
 witnessed the ceremony. Paul at first de- 
 spised the report, brought by a merchant 
 vessel, as he knew that they often spread 
 erroneous intelligence in their passage ; but 
 some of the inhabitants of the island, with 
 malignant pity, affecting to bewail the 
 event, he was soon led to attach some degree 
 of belief to this cruel intelligence. Besides, 
 in some of the novels he had lately read, he 
 had seen that perfidy was treated as a sub- 
 ject of pleasantry ; and knowing that these 
 books contained pretty faithful representa- 
 tions of European manners, he feared that 
 the heart of Virginia was corrupted, and had 
 forgotten its former engagements. Thus 
 his new acquirements had already only 
 served to render him more miserable ; and 
 his apprehensions were much increased by 
 the circumstance, that though several ships 
 touched here from Europe, within the six 
 months immediately following the arrival 
 of her letter, not one of them brought any 
 tidings of Virginia. 
 
 This unfortunate young man, with a heart 
 torn by the most cruel agitation, often came 
 
PAUL AND TIBGINIA. IGl 
 
 to visit me, in the hope of confirmmg or ban- 
 ishing his uneasiness, by my experience of 
 the world. 
 
 I live, as I have already told you, a league 
 and a half from this point, upon the banks 
 of a little river which glides along the Slop- 
 ing 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 doubtless that of solitude. Every man 
 who has much cause of complaint against 
 his fellow-creatures seeks to be alone. It is 
 also remarkable that all those nations which 
 have been brought to wretchedness by their 
 opinions, their manners, or their forms 
 of government, have produced numerous 
 classes of citizens altogether devoted to soli- 
 , tude and celibacy. Such were the Egyptians 
 in their decline, and the Greeks of the Lower 
 Empire ; and such in our days are the 
 Indians, the Chinese, the modern Greeks, the 
 Italians, and the greater part of the eastern 
 and southern nations of Europe. Solitude, 
 by removing men from the miseries which 
 follow in the train of social intercourse, 
 
162 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 brings them in some degree back to the tin- 
 sophisticated enjoyment of nature. In the 
 midst of modern society, broken up by in- 
 numerable prejudices, tlie mind is in a 
 constant turmoil of agitation. It is inces- 
 santly revolving in itself a thousand tumult- 
 uous and contradictory opinions, by which 
 the members of an ambitious and miserable 
 circle seek to raise themselves above each 
 other. But in solitude the soul lays aside 
 the morbid illusions which troubled her, and 
 resumes the pure consciousness of herself, of 
 nature, and of its Author, as the muddy 
 water of a torrent which has ravaged the 
 plains, coming to rest, and diffusing itself 
 over some low grounds out of its course, 
 deposits there the slime it has taken up, and 
 resuming its wonted transparency, reflects, 
 with its own shores, the verdure of the earth 
 and the light of heaven. Thus does solitude 
 recruit the powers of the body as well as 
 those of the mind. It is among hermits 
 that are found the men who carry human 
 existence to its extreme limits ; such are the 
 Bramins of India. In brief, I consider soli- 
 tude so necessary to happiness, eveil in the 
 world itself, that it appears to me impossi- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 163 
 
 ble to derive lasting pleasure from any pur- 
 suit what-ever, or to regulate our conduct by 
 any stable principle, if we do not create for 
 ourselves a mental void, whence our own 
 views rarely emerge, and into which the 
 opinions of others never enter. I do not 
 mean to say that man ought to live ab- 
 solutely alone ; he is coimected by his neces- 
 sities with all mankind ; his labors are due 
 to man : and he owes something too to the 
 rest of nature. But, as God has given to each 
 of us organs perfectly adapted to the ele- 
 ments of the globe on which we live, — feet 
 for the soil, lungs for the air, eyes for the 
 light, without the power of changing the 
 use of any of these faculties, he has reserved 
 for himself, as the Author of life, that which 
 is its chief organ, — the heart. 
 
 I thus i)assed my days far from mankind, 
 whom I wished to serve, and by whom I 
 have been persecuted. After having trav- 
 eled over many countries of Europe, and 
 some parts of America and Africa, I at 
 length pitched my tent in this thinly peo- 
 pled island, allured by its mild climate and 
 its solitudes. A cottage which I built in the 
 woods, at the foot of a tree, a little field 
 
164 PAUL AND YIBGINIA. 
 
 which I cleared v/ith my own hands, a river 
 which ghdes before my door, suffice for my 
 wants and for my pleasures. I blend with 
 these enjoyments the perusal of some chosen 
 books, which teach me to become better. 
 They make that world, which I have aban- 
 doned, still contribute something to my 
 happiness. They lay before me pictures of 
 those passions which render its inhabitants 
 so miserable ; and in the comparison I am 
 thus led to make between their lot and my 
 own, I feel a kind of negative enjoyment. 
 Like a man saved from shipwreck, and 
 thrown upon a rock, I contemplate, from 
 vyy solitude, the storms which rage through 
 the rest of the world ; and my repose seems 
 more profound from the distant sound of 
 the tempest. As men have ceased to fall in 
 my way, I no longer view them with aver- 
 sion ; I only pity them. If I sometimes 
 fall in with an unfortunate being, I try to 
 help him by my counsels, as a passer-by on 
 the brink of a torrent extends his hand to 
 save a wretch from drowning. But I have 
 hardly ever found but the innocent atten- 
 tive to my voice. Nature calls the majority 
 men to her in vain. Each of them forma 
 
PAZTL AND VIRGINIA. 165 
 
 an image of her for himself, and invests her 
 with his own ]3assions. He pursues durmg 
 the whole of his life this vain phantom, which 
 leads him astray ; and he afterwards com- 
 j)lains to Heaven of the misfortunes which 
 he has thus created for himself. Among 
 the many children of misfortune whom I 
 have endeavored to lead back to the enjoy- 
 ments of nature, I have not found one but 
 was intoxicated with his own miseries. 
 They have listened to me at first with atten- 
 tion, in the hope that I could teach tiiem 
 how to acquire glory or fortune, but when 
 they found that I only wished to instruct 
 them how to dispense with these chimeras, 
 their attention has been converted into pity, 
 because I did not prize their miserable hap- 
 piness. They blamed my solitary life; 
 they alleged that they alone were useful to 
 men, and they endeavored to draw me into 
 their vortex. But if I communicate with all, 
 I lay myself open to none. It is often suffi- 
 cient for me to serve as a lesson to myself. 
 In my present tranquillity, I pass in review 
 the agitating pursuits of my past life, to 
 which I formerly attached so much value, — 
 patronage, fortune, reputation, pleasure, and 
 
1G6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the opinions which are ever at strife over all 
 the earth. I compare the men whom I have 
 seen disputing furiously over these van* 
 ities, and who are no more, to the tiny waves 
 of my rivulet, which break in foam against 
 its rocky bed, and disappear, never to return. 
 As for me, I suffer myself to float calmly 
 down the stream of time to the shoreless 
 ocean of futurity ; while, in the contempla- 
 tion of the present harmony of nature, I 
 elevate my soul towards its supreme Author, 
 and hope for a more happy lot in another 
 state of existence. 
 
 Although you cannot descry from my 
 hermitage, situated in the midst of a forest, 
 that immense variety of objects which this 
 elevated spot presents, the grounds are dis- 
 posed with jDeculiar beauty, at least to one 
 who, like me, prefers the seclusion of a 
 home scene to great and extensive prospects. 
 The river which glides before my door 
 jjasses in a straight line across the woods, 
 looking like a long canal shaded by all kinds 
 of trees. Among them are the gum tree, 
 the ebony tree, and that which is here 
 called bois de pomme, with olive and cinna- 
 mon-wood trees ; while in some parts the 
 
PAUL AND VIBGJNIA. 167 
 
 cabbage-palm trees raise their naked stems 
 more than a hundred feet high, their sum- 
 mits crowned with a cluster of leaves, and 
 towering above the woods like one forest 
 piled upon another. Lianas, of various foli- 
 age, intertwining themselves among the 
 trees, form, here, arcades of foliage, there, 
 long canopies of verdure. Most of these 
 trees shed aromatic odors so powerful, that 
 the garments of a traveler, who has passed 
 through the forest, often retain for hours 
 the most delicious fragrance. In the season 
 they produce their lavish blossoms, 
 they appear as if half-covered with snow. 
 Towards the end of summer, various kinds 
 c*f foreign birds hasten, impelled by some 
 inexplicable instinct, from unknown regions 
 on the other side of immense oceans, to feed 
 upon the grain and other vegetable produc- 
 tions of the island; and the brilliancy of 
 their plumage forms a striking contrast to 
 the more somber tints of the foliage, em- 
 browned by the sun. Among these are 
 various kinds of paroquets, and the blue 
 j)igeon, called here the pigeon of Holland. 
 Monkeys, the domestic inhabitants of our 
 lorests, sport upon the dark branches of 
 
1 
 
 168 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the trees, from which they are easily distin« 
 guished by their gray and greenish skin, 
 and their black visages. Some hang, sus- 
 pended by the tail, and swing themselves in 
 air; others leap from branch to branch, 
 bearing their young in their arms. The 
 murderous gun has never affrighted these 
 peaceful children of nature. You hear 
 nothing but sounds of joy, — the warblings 
 and unknown notes of birds from the coun- 
 tries of the south, repeated from a distance 
 by the echoes of the forest. The river, 
 which pours, in foaming eddies, over a bed 
 of rocks, through the midst of the woods, 
 reflects here and there upon its limpid 
 waters their venerable masses of verdure 
 and of shade, along with the sports of their 
 happy inhabitants. About a thousand paces 
 from thence it forms several cascades, clear 
 as crystal in their fall, but broken at the 
 bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable 
 confused sounds issue from these watery 
 tumults, which, borne by the winds across 
 the forest, now sink in distance, now all at 
 once swell out, booming on the ear like the 
 bells of a cathedral. The air, kept ever in 
 motion by the running water, preserves 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 169 
 
 apon the banks of tke river, amid all the 
 summer heats, a freshness and verdure 
 rarely found in this island, even on the 
 summits of the mountains. 
 
 At some distance from this place is a rock, 
 placed far enough from the cascade to pre- 
 vent the ear from being deafened with the 
 noise of its waters, and sufficiently near for 
 the enjoyment of seeing it, of feeling its 
 coolness, and hearing its gentle murmurs. 
 Thither, amidst the heats of summer, 
 Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, 
 Paul and myself, sometimes repaired, to 
 dine beneath the shadow of this rock. Vir- 
 ginia, who always, in her most ordinary 
 actions, v/as mindful of the good of others, 
 never ate of any fruit in the fields without 
 planting the seed or kernel in the ground. 
 " From this," said she, " trees will come, 
 which will yield their fruit to some traveler, 
 or at least to some bird." One day, having 
 eaten of the papaw fruit at the foot of that 
 rock, she planted the seeds on the spot. 
 Soon after, several papaw trees sprang up, 
 among which was one with female blossoms, 
 that is to say, a fruit-bearing tree. This 
 tree at the time of Virginia's departure, was 
 
170 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 scarcely as high as her knee ; but, as it is a 
 plant of rapid growth, in the cour^^e of two 
 years it had gained the height of twenty 
 feet, and the upper part of its stem was 
 encircled by several rows of ripe fruit. 
 Paul, wandering accidentally to the spot, 
 was struck with delight at seeing this lofty 
 tree, which had been planted by his beloved; 
 but the emotion was transient, and instantly 
 gave place to a deep melancholy, at this 
 evidence of her long absence. The objects 
 which are habitually before us do not bring 
 to our minds an adequate idea of the rapidity 
 of life; they decline insensibly with our- 
 selves : but it is those we behold again, after 
 having for some years lost sight of them, 
 that most powerfully impress us with a 
 feeling of the swiftness with which the tide 
 of life flows on. Paul w^as no less over- 
 whelmed and affected at the sight of this 
 great papaw tree, loaded with fruit, than is 
 the traveler when, after a long absence from 
 his own country, he finds liis contemporaries 
 no more, but their children, whom he left 
 at the breast, themselves now become fathers 
 of families. Paul sometimes thought of 
 cutting down the tree, which recalled too 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 171 
 
 sensibly the distracting remembrance of 
 Virginia's prolonged absence. At other 
 times, contemplating it as a monument of 
 her benevolence, he kissed its trunk, and 
 apostrophized it in terms of the most pas- 
 sionate regret. Indeed, I have myself gazed 
 upon it with more emotion and more venera- 
 tion than upon the triumphal arches of 
 Rome. May nature, which every day de- 
 stroys the monuments of kingly ambition, 
 multiply in our forests those which testify 
 the beneficence of a poor young girl ! 
 
 At the foot of this papaw tree I was 
 always sure to meet with Paul when he came 
 into our neighborhood. One day, I found 
 him there absorbed in melancholy, and a 
 conversation took place between us, which 
 I will relate to you, if I do not weary you too 
 much by my long digressions ; they are per- 
 haps pardonable to my age and to my last 
 friendships. I will relate it to you in the 
 form of a dialogue, that you may form some 
 idea of the natural good sense of this young 
 man. You will easily distinguish the 
 speaker, from the character of his questions 
 and of my answers. 
 
 Paul. — I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle 
 
172 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 de la Tour has now been gone two years 
 and eight months, and we have heard no 
 tidings of her for eight months and a half. 
 She is rich, and I am poor ; she has forgotten 
 me. I have a great mind to follow her. I 
 will go to France ; I will serve the king ; I 
 will make my fortune ; and then Made- 
 moiselle de la Tour's aunt will bestow her 
 niece upon me when I shall have become a 
 great lord. 
 
 The Old Jfan, — But, my dear friend, have 
 not you told me that you are not of noble 
 birth? 
 
 I^atd. — My mother has told me so ; but, as 
 for myself, I know not what noble birth 
 means. I never perceived that I had less 
 than others, or that others had more than I. 
 
 T/ie Old 3Ian. — Obscure birth, in France, 
 shuts every door of access to great employ- 
 ments ; nor can you even be received among 
 any distinguished body of men, if you labor 
 under this disadvantage. 
 
 I^aid, — You have often told me that it was 
 one source of the greatness of France that her 
 humblest subject might attain the highest 
 honors ; and you have cited to me many 
 instances of celebrated men who, born in a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 173 
 
 mean condition, had conferred honor upon 
 their country. It was your wish, then, by 
 conceahng the trutli to stimulate my ardor ? 
 
 The Old Mail, — Never, my son, would I 
 lower it. I told you the truth with regard 
 to the past ; but now, everything has under- 
 gone a great change. Everything in France 
 is now to be obtained by interest alone; 
 every place and employment is' now become 
 as it were the patrimony of a small number 
 of families, or is divided among public 
 bodies. The king is a sun, and the nobles 
 and great corporate bodies surround him 
 like so many clouds ; it is almost impossible 
 for any of his rays to reach you. Formerly, 
 under less exclusive administrations such 
 I)henomena have been seen. Then talents 
 and merit showed themselves everywhere, 
 as newly cleared lands are always loaded 
 with abundance. But great kings, who can 
 really form a just estimate of men, and 
 choose them with judgment, are rare. The 
 ordinary race of monarchs allow themselves 
 to be guided by the nobles and people who 
 surround them. 
 
 I^aul. — Bat perhaps I shall find one of 
 these nobles to prote^ 'ne. 
 
174 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The Old Man, — To gain the protection of 
 the great you must lend yourself to their 
 ambition, and administer to their pleasures. 
 You would never succeed ; for, in addition to 
 your obscure birth, you have too mucH 
 integrity. 
 
 Paul, — But I will perform such courageous 
 actions, I will be so faithful to my word, so 
 exact in the performance of my duties, so 
 zealous and so constant in my friendships, 
 that I will render myself worthy to be 
 adopted by some one of them. In the ancient 
 histories, you have made me read, I have 
 seen many examples of such adoptions. 
 
 The Old Man, — Oh, my young friend ! 
 among the Greeks and Romans, even in 
 their decline, the nobles had some respect 
 for virtue; but out of all the immense num- 
 ber of men, sprung from the mass of the 
 people, in France, who have signalized them- 
 selves in every possible manner, I do not 
 recollect a single instance of one being 
 adopted by any great family. If it were not 
 for our kings, virtue, in our country, would 
 be eternally condemned as plebeian. As 1 
 said before, the monarch sometimes, when 
 he x)erceives it, renders to it due honor ; but 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. ' 175 
 
 in the present day, the distmctions Tvhich 
 should be bestowed on merit are generally 
 to be obtamed by money alone. 
 
 Fend. — If I cannot find a nobleman to 
 adopt me, I will seek to please some public 
 body. I will espouse its interests and its 
 opinions : I will make myself beloved by it. 
 
 The Old Man. — You will act then like 
 other men? — you will renounce your con- 
 science to obtain a fortune ? 
 
 Paid. — Oh no ! I will never lend myself 
 to anything but the truth. 
 
 The Old Man. — Instead of making your- 
 self beloved, you would become an object of 
 dislike. Besides, public bodies have never 
 taken much interest in the discovery of truth. 
 All opinions are nearly alike to ambitious 
 men, provided only that they themselves 
 can gain their ends. 
 
 Paid. — How unfortunate I am ! Every- 
 thing bars my progress. I am condemned 
 to pass my life in ignoble toil, far from 
 Virginia. 
 
 As he said this he sighed deeply. 
 
 The Old Man. — Let God be your patron, 
 and mankind the public body you would 
 serve. Be constantly attached to them both. 
 
176 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Families, corporations, nations and kings 
 have, all of them, their prejudices and their 
 passions ; it is often necessary to serve them 
 by the practice of vice : God and mankind 
 at large require only the exercise of the 
 virtues. 
 
 But why do you wish to be distinguished 
 from other men ? It is hardly a natural 
 sentiment, for, if all men possessed it, every 
 one would be at constant strife with his 
 neighbor. Be satisfied with fulfilling your 
 duty in the station in which Providence has 
 placed you ; be grateful for your lot, which 
 permits you to enjoy the blessing of a quiet 
 conscience, and which does not compel 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 of existence. You are now placed in 
 a country and a condition in which you are 
 not reduced to deceive or flatter anyone, or 
 debase yourself, as the greater part of those 
 who seek their 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, sincere, well-informed, pa- 
 tient, temperate, chaste, indalgent to others' 
 
PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 177 
 
 fciults, pious, and no shaft of ridicule be 
 aimed at you to destroy your wisdom, as 
 yet only in its bud. Heaven has given you 
 lil)erty, health, a good conscience, and 
 friends ; kings themselves, whose favor you 
 desire, are not so happy. 
 
 Paul. — Ah ! I only want to have Virginia 
 with me : without her I have nothing, — with 
 her, I should possess all my desire. She 
 alone is to me birth, glory, and fortune. 
 But, smce her relation will only give her to 
 some one with a great name, I will study. 
 By the aid of study and of books, learning 
 and celebrity are to be attained. I will be- 
 come a man of science : I will render my 
 knowledge useful to the service of my coun- 
 try, without injuring any one, or owning 
 dependence on any one. I will become cele- 
 brated, and my glory shall be achieved only 
 by myself. 
 
 TJte Old Man. — My son, talents are a gift 
 yet more rare than either birth or riches, 
 and undoubtedly they are a greater good 
 than either, since they can never be taken 
 away from us, and that they obtain for us 
 everywhere public esteem. But they may 
 be said to be worth all that they cost us. 
 12 ^ 
 
178 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 They are seldom acquired but by every 
 species of privation, by the possession of 
 exquisite sensibility, which often produces 
 inward unhappiness, and which exposes us 
 without to the malice and persecutions of 
 our contemporaries. Tlie lawyer envies not, 
 in France, the glory of the soldier, nor does 
 the soldier envy that of the naval officer ; 
 but they will all oppose you, and bar your 
 progress to distinction, because your assump- 
 tion of superior ability will wound the self- 
 love of them all. You say that you will do 
 good to men ; but recollect, that he who 
 makes the earth produce a single ear of corn 
 more, renders them a greater service than 
 he who writes a book. 
 
 Paul. — Oh ! she, then, who planted this 
 papaw tree, has made a more useful and 
 more grateful present to the inhabitants of 
 these forests than if she had given them a 
 whole library. 
 
 So saying, he threw his arms around the 
 tree, and kissed it with transport. 
 
 The Old Jian.— The best of books,— that 
 which preaches nothing but equality, 
 brotherly love, charity, and peace, — the 
 Gospel, has served as a pretext, during many 
 
PAtTL AND VIBGINIA. 179 
 
 centuries, for Europeans to let loose all their 
 fury. How many tyrannies, both public 
 and private, are still practiced in its name on 
 the face of the earth ! After this, who will 
 dare to flatter himself that anything he can 
 write mil be of service to his fellow-men ? 
 Remember the fate of most of the philoso- 
 phers who have preached to them wisdom. 
 Homer, who clothed it in such noble verse, 
 asked for alms all his life. Socrates, whose 
 conversation and example gave such admi- 
 rable lessons to the Athenians, was sen- 
 tenced by them to be poisoned. His sub- 
 lime disciple, Plato, was delivered over to 
 slavery by the order of the very prince who 
 protected him; and, before them, Pythag- 
 oras, whose humanity extended even to 
 animals, was burned alive by the Crotoniates. 
 What do I say ? — many even of these illus- 
 trious names have descended to us disfigured 
 by some traits of satire by which they be- 
 came characterized, human ingratitude tak- 
 ing pleasure in thus recognizing them ; and 
 if, in the crowd, the glory of some names is 
 come down to us without spot or blemish, 
 we shall find that they who have borne 
 them have lived far from the society of their 
 
180 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 contemporaries; like tliose statues which 
 ^re found entire beneath tlie soil in Greece 
 and Italy, and wliich, by being hidden in 
 the bosom of the earth, have escaped unin- 
 jured, from the fury of the barbarians. 
 
 You see, then, that to acquire the glory 
 which a turbulent literary career can give 
 you, you must not only be virtuous, but 
 ready, if necessary, to sacrifice life itself. 
 But, after all, do not fancy that the great in 
 France trouble themselves about such glory 
 as this. Little do they care for literary 
 men, whose knowledge brings them neither 
 honors, nor power, nor even admission at 
 court. Persecution, it is true, is rarely 
 practiced in this age, because it is habitually 
 indifferent to everything except wealth and 
 luxury ; but knowledge and virtue no longer 
 lead to distinction, since everything in the 
 state is to be purchased with money. For- 
 merly, men of letters were certain of reward 
 by some place in the church, the magistracy, 
 or the administration ; now they are con- 
 sidered good for nothing but to write books. 
 But this fruit of their minds, little valued 
 by the world at large, is still worthy of its 
 celestial origin. For these books is reserved 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 
 
 181 
 
 the privilege of shedding luster on obscure 
 virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of en- 
 lightening nations, and of tellhig the truth 
 even to kings. This is, unquestionably, the 
 most august commission Avith which Heaven 
 can honor a mortal upon this earth. Where 
 is the author who would not be consoled for 
 the injustice or contempt of those who are 
 the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of for- 
 tune, when he reflects that his work may 
 pass from age to age, from nation to nation, 
 opposing a barrier to error and to tyranny : 
 and that, from amidst the obscurity in which 
 he has lived, there will shine forth a glory 
 which will elface that of the common herd 
 of monarchs, the monuments of whose deeds 
 perish in oblivion, notwithstanding the flat- 
 terers who erect and magnify them ? 
 
 Paul. — Ah ! I am only covetous of glory 
 to bestow it on Virginia, and render her 
 dear to the whole world. But can you, who 
 know so much, tell me whether we shall 
 ever be married ? I should like to be a very 
 learned man, if only for the sake of knowing 
 what will come to pass. 
 
 The Old Man, — Who would live, my son^ 
 if the future were revealed to him ? — whea 
 
182 PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 
 
 a single anticipated misfortune gives us so 
 much useless uneasiness — when the fore* 
 knowledge of one certain calamity is enough 
 to embitter every day that precedes it ! It 
 is better not to pry too curiously, even into 
 the things which surround us. Heaven ^ 
 which has given us the power of reflection 
 to foresee our necessities, gave us also thosif 
 very necessities to set limits to its exercise. 
 
 Paul. — You tell me that with money peo- 
 ple in Europe acquire dignities and honors. 
 I will go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, 
 and afterwards proceed to Paris, and marry 
 Virginia. I will embark at once. 
 
 The Old Man, — What! would you leave 
 lier mother and yours ? 
 
 Paul. — Why, you yourself have advised 
 my going to the Indies. 
 
 The Old Man. — Virginia was then here ; 
 t)ut you are now the only means of support 
 both of her mother and of your own. 
 
 Paid. — Virginia will assist them by means" 
 of her rich relation. 
 
 The Old 3Ian. — The rich care little for 
 those from whom no honor is reflected upon 
 themselves in the world. Many of them 
 have relations much more to be pitied than 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 188 
 
 Madame de la Tour, who, for want of their 
 assistance, sacrifice tlieir liberty for bread, 
 and pass their lives immured within the 
 walls of a convent. 
 
 Paul. — Oh, what a country u Europe I 
 V^irginia must come back here. What need 
 has she of a rich relation ? She was so happy 
 in these huts ; she looked so beautiful and so 
 T\^ell-dressed with a red handkerchief or a. 
 f flowers around her head ! Return, Vir- 
 ginia ! leave your sumptuous mansions and 
 your grandeur, and come back to these rocks,. 
 — to the shade of these woods and of our 
 cocoa trees. Alas ! you are perhaps even 
 now unhappy ! — and he began to shed tears. 
 My father, — continued he, — hide nothing 
 f ro)n me ; if you cannot tell me whether I 
 sliall marry Virginia, tell me at least if she 
 1(>V(3S me still, surrounded as she is by noble- 
 raen who speak to the king, and who go to 
 see her. 
 
 The Old Man. — Oh, 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 hinii-ielf on my 
 ne(ik in a transport of joy. 
 
 Paul. — But do you think that the women 
 
184 
 
 PAUL A]^B VIBGINIA. 
 
 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 those 
 countries where men are tyrants. Violence 
 always engenders a disposition to deceive. 
 
 Paul. — In what way can men tyrannize 
 over women ? 
 
 The Old Man. — In giving them in marriage 
 without consulting their inclinations ; — in 
 nniting a young girl to an old man or a 
 woman of sensibility to a frigid and indif- 
 ferent husband. 
 
 Paul. — Why not join together those who 
 are suited to each other, — the young to the 
 young, and lovers to those they love ? 
 
 The Old Man. — Because few young men 
 in France have property enough to support 
 them when they are married, and cannot 
 acquire it till the greater part of their life 
 is passed. While young, they seduce the 
 wives of others, and wdien they are old, they 
 cannot secure the affections of their own. 
 At first, they themselves are deceivers : and 
 afterwards, they are deceived in their turn. 
 This is one of the reactions of that eternal 
 justice, by which the world is governed; 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGINIA. 
 
 185 
 
 an excess on one side is sure to be balanced 
 by one on the other. Thus, the greater part 
 of Europeans pass their lives in this twofold 
 irregularity, which increases everywhere 
 in the same proportion that wealth is accu- 
 mulated in the hands of a few individuals. 
 Society is like a garden, where shrubs cannot 
 grow if they are overshadowed by lofty trees ; 
 but there is this wide difference between 
 them, — that the beauty of a garden may 
 result from the admixture of a small num. 
 ber of forest trees, while the prosperity of a 
 state depends on the multitude and equality 
 of its citizens, and not on a small number of 
 very rich men. 
 
 Paid. — But where is the necessity of 
 being rich in order to marry ? 
 
 The Old Mem, — In order to pass through 
 life in abundance, without being obliged to 
 work. 
 
 Paid. — But why not work ? I am sure I 
 work hard enough. 
 
 The Old Man. — In Europe, working with 
 your hands is considered a degradation ; it 
 is compared to the labor performed by a 
 machine. The occupation of cultivating the 
 earth is the most despised of alL Even an 
 
186 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 artisan is held in more estimation than a 
 peasant. 
 
 Paul, — What ! do you mean to say that 
 the art which furnishes food for mankind is 
 despised in Europe ? I hardly understand 
 you. 
 
 The Old Man, — Oh ! it is impossible for a 
 person educated according to nature to form 
 an idea of the depraved state of society. 
 It is easy to form a precise notion of order, 
 but not of disorder. Beauty, virtue, hap- 
 piness, have all their defined proportions ^ 
 deformity, vice, and misery have none. 
 
 Paul, — The rich then are always very 
 happy ! They meet with no obstacles to 
 the fulfillment of their wishes, and they can 
 lavish happiness on those whom they 
 love. 
 
 . The Old Man, — Far from it, my son ! 
 They are, for the most part satiated with 
 pleasure, for this very reason, — that it costs 
 them no trouble. Have you never your- 
 self experienced how much the pleasure 
 of repose is increased by fatigue ; that of 
 eating, by hunger ; or that of drinking, by 
 thirst? The pleasure also of loving and 
 beiug beloved is only to be acquired 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 187 
 
 by innumerable privations and sacrifices. 
 Wealth, by anticipating all their necessities, 
 deprives its possessors of all these pleasures. 
 To this ennui, consequent upon satiety, 
 may also be added the pride which springs 
 from their opulence, and which is wounded 
 by the most trifling privation, when the 
 greatest enjoyments have ceased to charm. 
 The perfume of a thousand roses gives 
 pleasure but for a moment; but the pain 
 occasioned by a single thorn endures long 
 after the infliction of the wound. A single 
 evil in the midst of their pleasures is to the 
 rich like a thorn among flowers ; to the 
 poor, on the contrary, one pleasure amidst 
 all their troubles is a flower among a wilder- 
 ness of thorns; they have a most lively 
 enjoym.ent of it. The effect of everything 
 is increased by contrast ; nature has bal- 
 anced all things. Which condition, after 
 all, do you consider preferable, — to have 
 scarcely anything to hope, and everything 
 to fear, or to have everything to hope and 
 nothing to fear ? The former condition is 
 that of the rich, the latter, that of the poor. 
 But either of these extremes is with diffi- 
 culty supported by man, whose happiness 
 
188 PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 
 
 consists in a middle station of life, in union 
 with virtue. 
 
 Paid. — What do you understand by 
 virtue ? 
 
 21ie Old 3Ian. — To you, my son, who 
 support your family by your labor, it need 
 hardly be defined. Virtue consists in en- 
 deavoring to do all the good we can to 
 others, Avith an ultimate intention of pleas- 
 ing God alone. 
 
 Paid. — Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Vir- 
 ginia! Virtue led her to seek for riches, 
 that she might practice benevolence. Virtue 
 induced her to quit this island, and virtue 
 will bring her back to it. 
 
 The idea of her speedy return firing the 
 imagination of this young man, all his 
 anxieties suddenly vanished. Virginia, he 
 was persuaded, had not written, because she 
 would soon arrive. It took so little time to 
 come from Europe with a fair wind ! Then 
 he enumerated the vessels which had made 
 this passage of four thousand five hundred 
 leagues in less than three months ; and per- 
 haps the vessel in which Virginia had em- 
 barked might not be more than two. Ship- 
 builders were now so ingenious, and sailors- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 189 
 
 were so expert ! He then talked to me of 
 the arrangements he intended to make for 
 her reception, of tlie new house he would 
 build for her, and of the pleasures and sur- 
 prises which he would contrive for her every- 
 day, when she was his wife. His wife ! The 
 idea filled him with ecstasy. " At least, my 
 dear father," said he, " you shall then do no 
 more work than you please. As Virginia 
 will be rich, w^e shall have plenty of negroes, 
 and they shall work for you. You shall 
 always live with us, and have no other care 
 than to amuse yourself and be happy ; 
 and, his heart throbbing with joy, he flew 
 to communicate these exquisite anticipa- 
 tions to his family. 
 
 In a short time, however, these enchant- 
 ing hopes were succeeded by the most cruel 
 apprehensions. It is always the effect of 
 violent passions to throw the soul into op- 
 posite extremes. Paul returned the next 
 day to my dwelling, overwhelmed with mel» 
 ancholy, and said to me, — " I hear nothing 
 from Virginia. Had she left Europe she 
 would have written me word of her depart* 
 tire. Ah ! the reports which I have heard 
 concerning her are but too well founded^ 
 
190 AUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Her aunt has married her to some great 
 lord. She, like others, has been undone by 
 the lov<^. of riches. In those books which 
 paint women so well, virtue is treated but 
 as a subject of romance. If Virginia had 
 been virtuous, she would never have for- 
 saken her mother and me. I do nothing 
 but think of her, and she has forgotten me. 
 I am wretched, and she is diverting herself. 
 The thought distracts me; I cannot bear 
 myself ! Would to Heaven that war were 
 declared in India ! I would go there and die." 
 
 "My son," I answered, "that courage 
 which prompts us on to court death is but 
 the courage of a moment, and is often ex- 
 cited only by the vain applause of men, or 
 by the hope of posthumous renown. There 
 is another description of courage, rarer and 
 more necessary, which enables us to support, 
 without witness and without applause, the 
 vexations of life; this virtue is patience. 
 Relying for support, not upon the opinions 
 of others, or the impulse of the passions, but 
 upon the will of God, patience is the courage 
 of virtue." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried he, " I am then without vir- 
 tue ! Everything overwhelms me and drives 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 191 
 
 me to despair." — " Equal, constant, and 
 invariable virtue," I replied, " belongs not 
 to man. In the midst of the many passions 
 which agitate us, our reason is disordered 
 and obscure : but there is an ever-burning 
 lamp, at which we can rekindle its flame ; 
 and that is, literature. 
 
 " Literature, my dear son, is the gift of 
 Heaven, a ray of that wisdom by which the 
 universe is governed, and which man, in- 
 spired by a celestial intelligence, has drawn 
 down to earth. Like the rays of the sun, it 
 enlightens us, it rejoices us, it warms us with 
 a heavenly flame, and seems, in some sort, 
 like the element of flre, to bend all nature 
 to our use. By its means we are enabled to 
 bring around us all things, all places, all men, 
 and all times. It assists us to regulate our 
 manners and our life. By its aid, too, our 
 passions are calmed, vice is suppressed, and 
 virtue encouraged by the memorable exam- 
 ples of great and good men which it has 
 handed down to us, and whose time-honored 
 Images it ever brings before our eyes. Liter- 
 ature is a daughter of Heaven who has de- 
 scended upon earth to soften and to charm 
 away all the evils of the human race. The 
 
192 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 greatest Avriters have ever appeared in the 
 worst times, — in times in wliich society can 
 hardly be held together, — the times of bar- 
 barism and every species of depravity. My 
 son, literature has consoled an infinite num» 
 ber of men more unhappy than yourself: 
 Xenophon, banished from his country after 
 having saved to her ten thousand of her 
 sons ; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death by 
 the calumnies of the Romans : Lucullus, 
 tormented by their cabals ; and Catinat, by 
 the mgratitude of a court. The Greeks, 
 with their never-failing ingenuity, assigned 
 to each of the Muses a portion of the great 
 circle of human intelligence for her especial 
 superintendence ; we ought in the same 
 manner, to give up to them the regulation 
 of our passions, to bring them under proper 
 restraint. Literature in this imaginative 
 guise, would thus fulfill, in relation to the 
 powers of the soul, the same functions as 
 the Hours, who yoked and conducted the 
 chariot of the Sun. 
 
 " Have recourse to your books, then, my 
 son. The wise men who have written before 
 our days are travelers who have preceded 
 us in the paths of misfortune, and who 
 
PAUL jlND riBGIJSflA. 
 
 193 
 
 fltretch out a friendly hand towards u-s, and 
 invite us to join tbxeir society, when we are 
 abandoned by everything else. A good book 
 is a good friend." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Paul, " I stood in no need of 
 books when Virginia was here, and siie had 
 studied as little as myself ; but when she 
 looked at me, and called me her friend, I 
 could not feel unhappy." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said T, " there is no friend 
 so agreeable as a mistress by wiioin we aro 
 beloved. There is, moreover, in woman a 
 liveliness and gayety, which powerfully tend 
 to dissipate the melancholy feelings of a 
 man; her presence drives away tlio dark 
 phantoms of imagination produced by over- 
 reflection. Upon her countenance sit soft 
 attractions and tender confidence. Vv^hat 
 joy is not heightened when it l \ sliiired by 
 her? What brow is not unbent by her 
 smiles? What anger can resist her tears? 
 Virginia will return with more i)hi]osophy' 
 than you, and will be quite surpnse.l to fmd 
 the garden so unfinished; — she wlio could 
 think of its embellishments in spite ol all the 
 persecutions of her aunt, and when far from 
 her mother and from you.'* 
 13 
 
194 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The Idea of Virginia's speedy return 
 reanimated the drooping spirits of her lover, 
 and he resumed his rural occupations, happy 
 amidst his toils, in the reflection that they 
 would soon find a termination so dear to the 
 wishes of his heart. 
 
 One morning, at break of day (it was the 
 24th of December, 1744), Paul, when he 
 arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon 
 the Mountain of Discovery. This flag ha 
 knew to be the signal of a vessel descried at 
 sea. He instantly flew to the town to leara 
 if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, 
 and waited there till the return of the pilot, 
 who was gone, according to custom, to board 
 the ship. The pilot did not return till the 
 evening, when he brought the Governor in- 
 formation that the signaled vessel was the 
 Saint-Geran, of seven hundred tons burden, 
 and commanded by a captain of the name 
 of Aubin ; that she was now four leagues 
 out at sea, but would probably anchor at 
 Port Louis the following afternoon, if the 
 wind became fair : at present there was a 
 calm. The pilot then handed to the Governor 
 a number of letters which the Saint-Geran 
 had brought from France, among which wag 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 195 
 
 one addressed to Mddame de la Tour, in the 
 ] land writing of Virginia. Paul seized upon 
 the letter, kissed it with transport, and plac- 
 ing it in his bosom, flew to the plantation. 
 Xo sooner did he perceive from a distance 
 the family, who were aw^aiting his return 
 upon the Rock of Adieus, than he waved the 
 letter aloft in the air, without being able 
 to utter a word. N^o sooner was the seal 
 broken, than they all crowded round Madame 
 de la Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia 
 informed her mother that she had experi- 
 enced much ill-usag^ from her aunt, who, 
 after having in vain, urged her to a mar- 
 liage against her inclination, had disin- 
 herited her, and had sent her back at 
 ii, time when she would probably reach 
 the Mauritius during the hurricane season. 
 Jn vain, she added, had she endeavored to 
 ftoften her aunt, by representing what she 
 owed to her mother, and to her early habits ; 
 ^.he was treated as a romantic girl, w^hose 
 head had been turned by novels. She could, 
 now only think of the joy of again seeing 
 and embracing her beloved family, and would 
 have gratified her ardent desire at once, by 
 landiijg in the pilot's boat, if the captain had 
 
196 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 allowed her : but that he had objected, on 
 ac(30unt of the distance, and of a heavy swell, 
 which, notwithstanding the calm, reigned in 
 the open sea. 
 
 As soon as tlie letter was finished, the 
 whole of the family, transported with joy, 
 repeatedly exclaimed, " Virginia is arrived ! " 
 and mistresses and servants embraced each 
 other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, — 
 *'My son, go and inform our neighbor of 
 Virginia's arrival." Domingo immediately 
 lighted a torch of bois de ronde, and he and 
 Paul bent tlieir way towards my dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock at night, and I 
 was just going to extinguish my lamp, and 
 retire to rest, when I perceived, through tlie 
 palisades round my cottage, a light in the 
 woods. Soon after, I heard the voice of Paul 
 calling me. I instantly arose, and had hardly 
 dressed myself, when Paul, almost beside 
 himself, and panting for breath, sprang on 
 my neck, crying, — " Come along, come along. 
 Virginia is arrived. Let us go to the 
 port ; the vessel will anchor at break of 
 day." 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered the words, when 
 
PArL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 197 
 
 we set off. 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 proved to 
 be a negro, and he was advancing with hasty 
 steps. When he had reached us, I asked 
 him whence he came, and whither he was 
 going with such expedition. He answered, 
 " I come from that part of the island called 
 Golden Dust ; and am sent to the port, to 
 inform the Governor that a ship from France 
 has anchored under the Isle of Amber. She 
 is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very 
 rough." Having said this, the man left us, 
 and pursued his journey without any further 
 delay. 
 
 I then said to Paul, — Let us go towards 
 the quarter of the Golden Dust, and meet 
 Virginia there. It is not more than three 
 leagues from hence." We accordingly bent 
 our course towards the northern part of the 
 island. The heat was suffocating. The 
 moon had risen, and was surrounded by 
 three large black circles. A frightful dark- 
 ness shrouded the sky ; but the frequent 
 flashes of lightning discovered to us long 
 
198 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 rows of thick and gloomy clouds, hanging 
 very low, and heaped together over the 
 center of the island, being driven in vi^ith 
 great rapidity from the ocean, although not 
 a breath of air was perceptible upon the 
 land. As we walked along, we thought we 
 heard peals of thunder; but, on listening 
 more attentively, we perceived that it was 
 the sound of cannon at a distance, repeated 
 by the echoes. These ominous sounds, 
 joined to the tempestuous asj)ect of the 
 heavens, made me shudder. I had little 
 doubt of their being signals of distress from 
 a ship in danger. In about half an hour the 
 firing ceased, and I found the silence still 
 more appalling than the dismal sounds 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 We hastened on without uttering a word, 
 or daring to communicate to each other our 
 mutual apprehensions. At midnight, by 
 great exertion, we arrived at the sea-shore, 
 in that part of the island called Golden 
 Dust. The billows were breaking against 
 the beach with a horrible noise, covering 
 the rocks and the strand with foam of a 
 dazzling whiteness, blended with sparks of 
 fire. By these phosphoric gleams we distin* 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 199 
 
 gtdshed, notwithstanding the darkness, a 
 number of fishing canoes, drawn up high 
 upon the beach. 
 
 At the entrance of a wood, a short dis- 
 tance from us, we saw a fire, round wliich 
 a party of the inhabitants were assembled* 
 We repaired thither, in order to rest our* 
 selves till the morning. While we were? 
 seated near this fire, one of the standers-by 
 rented, that late in the afternoon he had 
 seen a vessel in the open sea, driven towards 
 the island by the currents ; that the night 
 had hidden it from his view ; and that two 
 hours after sunset he had heard the firing 
 of signal guns of distress, but that the surf 
 was so high, that it was impossible to 
 launch a boat to go off to her ; that a short 
 time after, he thought he perceived the 
 glimmering of the watch-lights on board the 
 vessel, which, he feared, by its having ap- 
 proached so near the coast, had steered be- 
 tween the main land and the little island of 
 Amber, mistaking the latter for the Point 
 of Endeavor, near which vessels pass in 
 order to gain Port Louis ; and that, if this 
 were the case, which, however, he would 
 not take upon himself to be certain of, tho 
 
200 
 
 PAITL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ship, he thought, was in very great danger. 
 Another islander then informed us, that he 
 had frequently crossed the channel which 
 separates the isle of Amber from the coast, 
 and had sounded it; that the anchorage 
 was very good, and that the ship would 
 there lie as safely as in the best harbor. " I 
 would stake all I am worth upon it," said 
 he, " and if I were on board, I should sleep 
 as sound as on shore." A third bystander 
 declared that it was impossible for the ship 
 to enter that channel, which was scarcely 
 navigable for a boat. He was certain, he 
 said, that he had seen the vessel at anchor 
 beyond the isle of Amber; so that, if the 
 wind arose in the morning, she could either 
 put to sea, or gain the harbor. Other in- 
 habitants gave different opinions upon this 
 subject, which they continued to discuss in 
 the usual desultory manner of the indolent 
 Creoles. Paul and I observed a profound 
 silence. We remained on this spot till 
 break of day, but the weather was too hazy 
 to admit of our distinguishing any object at 
 sea, everything being covered with fog. All 
 we could descry to seaward was a dark 
 cloud, which they told us was the isle of 
 
PAUL AXD VIBGINIA. 
 
 201 
 
 Amber, at the distance of a quarter of a 
 league from the coast. On this gloomy day 
 we could only discern the point of land on 
 which we were standing, and the peaks of 
 some inland mountains, which started out 
 occasionally from the midst of the clouds 
 that hung around them. 
 
 At about seven in the morning we heard 
 the sound of drums in the woods : it an- 
 nounced the approach of the Governor, Mon- 
 sieur de la Bourdonnais, who soon after 
 arrived on horseback, at the head of a de- 
 tachment of soldiers armed with muskets, 
 and a crowd of islanders and negroes. He 
 drew up his soldiers upon the beach, and 
 ordered them to make a general discharge. 
 This was no sooner done, than we perceived 
 a glimmering light upon the water which 
 was instantly followed by the report of a 
 cannon. We judged that the ship was at 
 no great distance and all ran towards that 
 part whence the light and sound proceeded. 
 We now discerned through the fog the hull 
 and yards of a large vessel. We were so 
 near to her, that notwithstanding the tumult 
 of the waves, we could distinctly hear the 
 whistle of the boatswain, and the shouts of 
 
2G2 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the sailors, who cried out three times, Vive. 
 LE Roi ! this being the cry of the French in. 
 extreme danger, as well as in exuberant 
 joy ; — as though they wished to call their 
 prince to their aid, or to testify to him that 
 they are prepared to lay down their lives in 
 his service. 
 
 As soon as the Saint-Geran jDcrceived that 
 we were near enough to render her assist- 
 ance, she continued to fire guns regularly at 
 intervals of three minutes. Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais caused great fires to be lighted 
 at certain distances upon the strand, and 
 sent to all the inhabitants of the neighbor- 
 hood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, 
 and empty barrels. A number of people 
 soon arrived, accompanied by their negroes 
 loaded with provisions and cordage, which 
 they had brought from the plantations of 
 Golden Dust, from the district of La Flaque, 
 and from the river of the Rampart. One of 
 the most aged of these planters, approach- 
 ing the Governor, said to him, — " AVe have 
 heard all night hollow noises in the mount- 
 ain ; in the woods, the leaves of the trees 
 are shaken, although there is no wind ; the 
 sea-birds seek refuge upon the land : it is 
 
y'AUL AXD VIBGINIA. 
 
 203 
 
 ooi'tdin that all these signs announce a liurri- 
 canG." 
 
 Well, my friends," answered the Gover- 
 r^or, we are prepared for it, and no doubt 
 the vessel is also." 
 
 Everything, indeed, presaged the near 
 ?ipproach of the hurricane. The center of 
 tJie clouds in the zenith was of a dismal 
 black, while their skirts were tinged with a 
 copper-colored hue. The air resounded with 
 the cries of the tropic-birds, petrels, frigate- 
 birds, and innumerable other sea- fowl, which 
 notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmos- 
 phere, were seen coming from every point 
 of the horizon, to seek for shelter in the 
 island. 
 
 Towards nine in the morning we heard in 
 the direction of the ocean the most terrific 
 noise, like the sound of thunder mingled with 
 that of torrents rushing down the steeps of 
 lofty mountains. A general cry Avas heard 
 of, " There is the hurricane ! " and the next 
 moment a frightful gust of wind dispelled 
 the fog which covered the isle of Amber and 
 its channel. The Saint-Geran then , pre- 
 sented herself to our view, her deck crowded 
 with people, her yards and topmasts lowered 
 
204 PAUL AND VIHGINIA. 
 
 down, and her flag half-mast high, moored 
 by four cables at her bow and one at her 
 stern. She had anchored between the isle 
 of Amber and the mainland, inside the chain 
 of reefs which encircles the island, and which 
 she had passed through in a place where 
 no vessel had ever passed before. She pre- 
 sented her head to the waves that rolled in 
 from the open sea, and^as each billow rushed 
 into the narrow strait where she lay, her bow 
 lifted to such a degree as to show her keel ; 
 and at the same moment her stern, plunging 
 into the water, disappeared altogether from 
 our sight, as if it were swallowed up by the 
 surges. In this position, driven by the 
 winds and waves towards the shore, it was 
 equally impossible for her to return by the 
 passage through which she had made her 
 way ; or, by cutting her cables, to strand 
 herself upon the beach, from which she was 
 separated by sandbanks and reefs of rocks. 
 Every billow which broke upon the coast 
 advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, 
 throwing up heaps of shingle to the distance 
 of fifty feet upon the land; then, rushing 
 back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which 
 it rolled immense stones, with a hoarse and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 205 
 
 dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the vio- 
 lence of the wind, rose higher every moment ; 
 and the whole channel between this island 
 and the isle of Amber was soon one vast 
 sheet of white foam, full of yawning pits of 
 black and deep billows. Heaps of this foam, 
 more than six feet high, were piled up at 
 the bottom of the bay ; and the winds which 
 swept its surface carried masses of it over 
 the steep sea-bank, scattering it upon the 
 land to the distance of half a league. 
 These innumerable white flakes, driven 
 horizontally even to the very foot of the 
 mountains, looked like snow issuing from 
 the bosom of the ocean. The appearance of 
 the horizon portended a lasting tempest; 
 the sky and the water seemed blended to- 
 gether. Thick masses of clouds, of a fright- 
 ful form, swept across the zenith with the 
 swiftness of birds, while others appeared 
 motionless as rocks. Not a single spot of 
 blue sky could be discerned in the whole 
 firmament ; and a pale yellow gleam only 
 lightened up all the objects of the earth, the 
 sea, and the skies. 
 
 From the violent rolling of the ship, what 
 we all dreaded happened at last. The cables 
 
£06 
 
 PAUL AND VinoiNIA. 
 
 which held her bow were torn giWixy : she 
 then swung to a single hawser, and was in- 
 stantly dashed upon the rocks, at the dis- 
 tance of half a cable's length from the shore. 
 A general cry of horror issued from the spec- 
 tators. Paul rushed forward to throw him- 
 self into the sea, when, seizing him by the 
 arm, "My son," I exclaimed, "would you 
 perish ? " " Let me go to save her," he 
 cried, " or let me die ! " Seeing that de- 
 spair had deprived him of reason, Domingo 
 and I, in order to preserve him, fastened a 
 long cord around his waist, and held it fast 
 by the end. Paul then precipitated him- 
 self towards the Saint-Geran, now swim- 
 ming, and now walking upon the rocks. 
 Sometim,es he had hopes of reaching the 
 vessel, which the sea, by the reflux of its 
 waves, had left almost dry, so that you 
 could have walked round it on foot ; but 
 suddenly the billows, returning with fresh 
 fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of 
 water, which then lifted it upright upon its 
 keel. The breakers at the same moment 
 threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the 
 beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom 
 wounded, and himself half dead. The 
 
PAUL AXJD VIBGINIA. 
 
 207 
 
 moment he had recovered the use of his 
 senses, he arose, and returned with new 
 ardor towards tlie vessel, the parts of wliich 
 now yawned asunder from the violent 
 strokes of the billows. The crew then, de- 
 pairing of their safety, threw themselves in 
 crowds into the sea, upon yards, planks, hen- 
 coops, tables, and barrels. At this moment 
 we beheld an object which wrung our hearts 
 with grief and pity ; a young lady appeared 
 in the stern-gallery of the Saint-Geran, 
 stretching out her arms towards him who 
 was making so many efforts>to join her. It 
 was Virginia. She had discovered her lover 
 by his intrej^idity. The sight of this ami- 
 able girl, exposed to such horrible danger, 
 filled us with unutterable despair. As for 
 Virginia, with a firm and dignified mien, 
 she waved her hand, as if bidding us an 
 eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung 
 themselves into the sea, except one, who 
 still remained upon the deck, and who was 
 naked and strong as Hercules. This man 
 approached Virginia with respect, and, 
 kneeling at her feet attempted to force her to 
 throw off her clothes ; but she repulsed him 
 with modesty, and turned away her head. 
 
208 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Then were heard redoubled cries from the 
 spectators, " Save her ! — save her ! — do not 
 leave her ! " But at that moment a mount- 
 ain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed 
 itself between the isle of Amber and the 
 coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, to- 
 wards which it rolled bellowing, with its 
 black sides and foaming head. At this 
 terrible sight the sailor flung himself into 
 the sea ; and Virginia, seeing deauli inevi- 
 table, crossed her hands upon her breast, and 
 raising upwards her serene and beauteous 
 eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her 
 fight to Heaven. 
 
 Oh, day of horror ! Alas, everything was 
 swallowed up by the relentless billows. The 
 surge threw some of the spectators, whom 
 an impulse of humanity had prompted to 
 advance towards Virginia, far upon the 
 beach, and also the sailor who had endeav- 
 ored to save her life. This man, who had 
 escaped from alm.ost certain death, kneeling 
 on the sand, exclaimed, — "Oh, my God! 
 thou hast saved my life, but I would have 
 given it willingly for that excellent young 
 lady, who had ]3ersevered in not undressing 
 herself as I had done." Domingo and I 
 
PAUL A^D VIBGINIA. ^09 
 
 drew the unfortunate Paul to the shore. 
 He was senseless, and blood was flowing 
 from his mouth and ears. The Governor 
 ordered him to be put into the hands of a 
 surgeon, while we, on our part, Avandnred 
 along the beach, in hopes that the sea wr aid 
 throw up the corpse of Virginia. But the 
 wind having suddenly changed, as it Tre- 
 quently happens during hurricanes, r^ur 
 search was in vain: and we had the g/ief 
 of thinking that we should not be able to 
 bestow on this sweet and unfortunate ghi 
 the last sad duties. We retired from the 
 spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our 
 minds wholly occupied by one cruel lor^s, 
 although numbers had perished in the 
 wreck. Some of the spectators seemed 
 tempted, from the fatal destiny of this vir- 
 tuous girl, to doubt the existence of Pro vi- 
 dence : for there are in life such terrible, 
 such unmerited evils, that even the hoi^e of 
 the wise is sometimes shaken. 
 
 In the mean time Paul, who began to re- 
 cover his senses, was taken to a house in 
 the neighborhood, till he was in a fit stat^ 
 to be removed to his own home. Thither { 
 bent my way with Domingo to discharf > 
 14 
 
210 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the melancholy duty of preparing Virginia's 
 mother and her friend for the disastrous 
 event which had happened. When we had 
 reached the entrance of the valley of the 
 river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed 
 lis that the sea had thrown up many pieces 
 of the wreck in the opposite bay. We de- 
 scended towards it and one of the first objects 
 that struck my sight upon the beach was 
 the corpse of Virginia. The body was half 
 covered with sand, and preserved the atti- 
 tude in which we had seen her perish. Her 
 features were not sensibly changed, her 
 eyes were closed, and her countenance was 
 still serene; but the pale purple hues of 
 death were blended on her cheek with the 
 blush of virgin modesty. One of her hands 
 was placed upon her clothes ; and the other, 
 which she held on her heart, was fast closed, 
 and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty 
 that I took from its grasp a small box. How 
 great was my emotion when I saw that it 
 contained the picture of Paul, which she had 
 promised him never to part with while she 
 lived! At the sight of this last mark of the 
 fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate 
 girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 £11 
 
 beat his breast, and xoierced the air with his 
 shrieks. With heavy hearts we then carried 
 the body of Virginia to a fisherman's hut, 
 and gave it in charge of some poor Malabar 
 women, who carefully washed away the sand. 
 
 While they were employed in this melan- 
 choly office, we ascended the hill with trem- 
 bling steps to the plantation. We found 
 Madame de la Tout and Margaret at prayer ; 
 hourly expecting to have tidings from the 
 ship. As soon as Madame de la* Tour sa\t 
 me coming, she eagerly cried, — "Where 
 is my daughter — my dear daughter, — my 
 (jhild?" My silence and my tears apprised 
 her of her misfortune. She Avas instantly 
 seized with convulsive stopping of the breath 
 iind agonizing pains, and her voice was only 
 heard in sighs and groans. Margaret cried, 
 " VThere is my son ? I do not see my son ! " 
 and fainted. We ran to her assistance. 
 In a short tune she recovered, and being 
 assured that Paul was safe, and under the 
 care of the Governor, she thought of nothing 
 r^ut of succoring her friend, who recovered 
 i rom one fainting fit only to fall into another, 
 ^Madame de la Tour passed the whole night 
 in these cruel sufferings, and I became con- 
 
212 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 vinced that there was no sorrow like that ot 
 a mother. When she recovered her senses, 
 she cast a fixed, unconscious look towards 
 heaven. In vain her friend and myself 
 pressed her hands in ours ; in vain we called 
 upon her by the most tender names ; she 
 appeared wholly insensible to these testi- 
 monials of our affection, and no sound issued 
 from her oppressed bosom, but deep and 
 hollow moans. 
 
 During the morning Paul was carried 
 home in a palanquin. He had now re- 
 covered the use of his reason, but was un- 
 able 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 gleamed 
 on the countenance of the two unfortunate 
 mothers. They pressed close to him, clasped 
 him in their arms, and kissed him : their 
 tears, which excess of anguish had till now 
 dried up at the source, began to flow. Paul 
 mixed his tears with theirs ; and nature 
 having thus found relief, a long stupor suc- 
 ceeded the convulsive pangs they had suf- 
 fered, and afforded them a lethargic repose, 
 which was in truth, like that of death. 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA, 213 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to ap- 
 prise me secretly that tlie corpse of Virginia 
 had been borne to the toAvn by his order, 
 from whence it was to be transferred to 
 the church of the Shaddock Grove. I im- 
 mediately 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 solemnity, as if the isle had lost 
 that which was nearest and dearest to it. 
 The vessels in the harbor had their yards 
 crossed, their flags half mast, and fired guns 
 at long intervals. A body of grenadiers 
 led the funeral procession, with their mus- 
 kets reversed, their muffled drums sending 
 forth slow and dismal sounds. Dejection 
 was depicted in the countenance of these 
 warriors, who had so often braved death 
 in battle without changing color. Eight 
 young ladies of considerable families of the 
 island, dressed in white, and bearing palm- 
 branches in their hands, carried the corpse 
 of their amiable companion, which was cov- 
 ered with flowers. They were followed by 
 a chorus of children, chanting hymns, and 
 by the Governor, his field officer, all the 
 
214 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 principal inhabitants of the island, and an 
 immense crowd of people. 
 
 This imposing funeral solemnity had been 
 ordered by the administration of the coun- 
 try, which was desirous of doing honor 
 to the virtues of Virginia. But when the 
 mournful procession arrived at the foot of 
 this mountain, within sight of those cot- 
 tages of wiiich she had been so long an in- 
 mate and an ornament, diffusing happiness 
 all around them, and which her loss had 
 now filled with despair, the funeral pomp 
 was interrupted, the hymns and anthems 
 ceased, and the whole plain resounded with 
 sighs and lamentations. Numbers of young 
 girls ran from the neighboring planta- 
 tions, to touch the coffin of Virginia with 
 their handkerchiefs, and with chaplets and 
 orowns of flowers, invoking her as a saint. 
 Mothers asked of heaven a child like Vir- 
 ginia ; lovers, a heart as faithful ; the poor, 
 as tender a friend ; and the slaves as kind 
 a mistress. 
 
 When the procession had reached the 
 place of interment, some negresses of Madi* 
 agascar and Caffres of Mozambique placed 
 a number of baskets of fruit around the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 215 
 
 ijorpse, and hung pieces of stuff upon the 
 ,v,djoining trees, according to the custom of 
 their several countries. Some Indian women 
 from Bengal also, and from the coast of Mal- 
 abar, brought cages full of small birds, which 
 they set at liberty upon her coffin. Thus 
 deeply did the loss of this amiable being 
 affect the natives of different countries, and 
 thus was the ritual of various religions per- 
 formed over the tomb of unfortunate virtue. 
 
 It became necessary to place guards round 
 her grave, and to employ gentle force in 
 removing some of the daughters of the 
 neighboring villagers, who endeavored to 
 throw themselves into it, saying that they 
 had no longer any consolation to hope for in 
 this world, and that nothing remained for 
 them but to die with their benefactress. 
 
 On the western side of the church of the 
 Shaddock Grove is a small copse of bam- 
 boos, where, in returning from mass with 
 her mother and Margaret, Virginia loved to 
 rest herself, seated by the side of him 
 whom she then called brother. This was the 
 spot selected for her interment. 
 
 At his return from the funeral solemnity, 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came up here, 
 
21 d PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fcillo vV^ed by part of his numerous retinue 
 He offered Madame de la Tour and he? 
 friend all the assistance it was in his power 
 to bestow. After briefly expressing his 
 indignation at the conduct of her unnatural 
 aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said every- 
 thing which he thought most likely to 
 soothe and console him. "TTeaven^is my 
 witness," said he, " that I wished to insure 
 your happiness, and that of your family. 
 My dear friend, you must go to France ; 
 I will obtain a commission for you, and 
 during your absence I will take the same 
 care of your mother as if she were my own." 
 He then offered him his hand ; but Paul 
 drew away and turned his head aside^ 
 unable to bear his sight. 
 
 I remained for some time at the plantav 
 tion of my unfortunate friends, that I might 
 render to them and Paul those offices of 
 friendship that were in my power, and 
 which might alleviate, though they could 
 not heal the wounds of calamity. At the 
 end of three weeks Paul was able to walk ; 
 but his mind seemed to droop in proportion 
 as his body gathered strength. He was in- 
 sensible to everything ; his look was vacant; 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 217 
 
 and when asked a question, he made no 
 reply. Madame de la Tour, who was dying, 
 said to him often, — " My son, while I look 
 at you, I think I see 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 come back to her friend. He used 
 to go alone into the garden, and seat himself 
 at the foot of Virginia's cocoa-tree, with his 
 eyes fixed upon the fountain. The Gover- 
 nor's surgeon, Avho had shown the most 
 humane attention to Paul and the whole 
 family, told us that in order to cure the deep 
 melancholy which had taken possession of 
 his mind, we must allow him to do what- 
 ever he pleased, without contradiction : this, 
 he said, afforded the only chance 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 absent himself from the 
 plantation. Being determined not to lose 
 sight of him I set out immediately, and de-* 
 sired Domingo to take some provisions and 
 accompany us. The young man's strength 
 and spirits seemed renewed as he descended 
 
218 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 the mountain. He first took the road to 
 the Shaddock Grove, and when he was near 
 the church, in the Alley of Bamboos, he 
 Walked directly to the spot where he saw 
 some earth fresh turned up ; kneeling down 
 there, and raising his eyes to heaven, he 
 offered up 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 func- 
 l^ions. Domingo and I, following his ex- 
 ample, fell upon our knees, and mingled 
 our prayers with his. When he arose, he 
 bent his way, paying little attention to us, 
 towards the northern part of the island. 
 As I knew that he was not only ignorant 
 of the spot where the body of Virginia had 
 been deposited, but even of the fact that it 
 had been recovered from the waves, I asked 
 him why he had offered up his prayer at 
 the foot of those bamboos. He answered, — 
 " We have been there so often." 
 
 He continued his course until we reached 
 the borders of the forest, when night camo 
 on. I set him the example of taking some 
 nourishment, and prevailed on him to do 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 219 
 
 the same ; and we slept upon the grass, at 
 the foot of a tree. The next day I thought 
 he seemed disposed to retrace his steps ; for, 
 after having gazed a considerable time from 
 the plain upon the church of the Shaddock 
 Grove, with its long avenues of bamboos, 
 he made a movement as if to return home ; 
 but suddenly plunging into the forest, he 
 directed his course towards the north. I 
 gTiessed what was his design, and I en- 
 deavored, but in vain, to dissuade him from 
 it. About noon we arrived at the quarter 
 of Golden Dust. He rushed down to the 
 sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the 
 Saint-Geran had been wrecked. At the 
 sight of the isle of Amber, and its channel, 
 then smooth as a mirror, he exclaimed, — 
 ic Virginia ! oh, my dear Virginia ! " and fell 
 senseless. Domingo and I carried him into 
 the woods, where we had some difficulty in 
 recovering him. As soon as he regained 
 his senses, he wished to return to the sea- 
 shore ; but we conjured him not to renew 
 his own anguish and ours by such cruel 
 remembrances, and he took another direc- 
 tion. During a whole week he sought every 
 spot where he had once wandered with the 
 
220 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 companion of his childhood. He traced 
 the path by which she had gone to intercede 
 for the slave of the Black River. He gazed 
 again upon the banks of the river of the 
 Three Breasts, where she had rested herself 
 when unable to walk further, and upon the 
 part of the wood where they had lost their 
 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 Sloping Mountain, my house, the 
 neighboring cascade, the papaw tree she had 
 planted, the grassy fields in which she loved 
 to run, the openings of the forest where she 
 used to sing, all in succession called forth 
 his tears ; and those very echoes which had 
 so often resounded with their mutual shouts 
 of joy, now repeated only these accents of 
 despair, — " Virginia ! oh, my dear Virginia ! " 
 
 During this savage and wandering life, 
 his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin 
 assumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly 
 declined. Convinced that our present suf- 
 ferings are rendered more acute by the bitter 
 recollection of bygone pleasures, and that 
 the passions gather strength in solitude, I 
 resolved to remove my unfortunate friend 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 221 
 
 from those scenes which recalled the remem- 
 brance of his loss, and to lead him to a more 
 busy part of the island. With this view, I 
 conducted him to the inhabited part of the 
 elevated quarter of Williams, which he had 
 never visited, and where the busy pursuits 
 of agriculture and commerce ever occasioned 
 much bustle and variety. Numbers of car- 
 penters were employed in hewing down and 
 squaring trees, while others were sawing 
 them into planks ; carriages were continually 
 passing and repassing on the roads ; nu- 
 merous herds of oxen and troops of horses 
 were feeding on those widespread meadows, 
 and the whole country was dotted with the 
 dwellings of man. On some spots the ele- 
 vation of the soil permitted the culture of 
 many of the plants of Europe : the yellow 
 ears of ripe corn waved upon the plains ; 
 strawberry plants grew in the openings of 
 the woods, and the roads were bordered by 
 hedges of rose-trees. The freshness of the 
 air, too, giving tension to the nerves, was 
 favorable to the health of Europeans. From 
 those heights, situated near the middle of 
 the island, and surrounded by extensive 
 forests, neither the sea, nor Port Louis^ nor 
 
222 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the church of the Shaddock Grove, nor any 
 other object associated with the remem- 
 brance of Virginia could be discerned. 
 Even the mountains, which present various 
 shapes on the side of Port Louis, appear 
 from hence hke a long promontory, in a 
 straight and perpendicular line, from which 
 arise lofty x)yramids of rock, whose summits 
 are enveloped in the clouds. 
 
 Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept 
 him continually in action, walking with him 
 in raui and sunshine, by day and by night. 
 I sometimes wandered with him into the 
 depths of the forests, or led him over untilled 
 grounds, hoping that change of scene and 
 fatigue might divert his mind from its gloomy 
 meditations. But the soul of a lover finds 
 everywhere the traces of the beloved object. 
 Night and day, the calm of solitude and the 
 tumult of crowds, are to him the same ; 
 time itself, which casts the shade cf oblivion 
 over so many other remembrances, in vain 
 would tear that tender and sacred recollec- 
 tion from the heart. The needle, when 
 touched by the loadstone, however it may 
 have been moved from its position, is no 
 sooner left to repose, than it returns to the 
 
PAUL AND VIBGIXIA. 
 
 223 
 
 pole of its attraction. So, when I inquired 
 of Paul, as we wandered amidst the plains 
 of Williams, — " Where shall we now 
 go?" he pointed to the north, and said, 
 " Yonder are our mountams ; let us return 
 home." 
 
 I now saw that all the means I took to 
 divert him from his melancholy were fruit- 
 less, and that no resource was left but an 
 attempt to combat his passion by the argu- 
 ments which reason suggested. I answered 
 him, — " Yes, there are the mountains where 
 once dwelt your beloved Virginia ; and here 
 is the picture you gave her, and which she 
 held, when dying, to her heart — that hearty 
 which even in its last moments only beat for 
 you." I then presented to Paul the little 
 portrait which he had given to Virginia on 
 the borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. At 
 this sight a gloomy joy overspread his coun- 
 tenance. He eagerly seized the picture with 
 his feeble hands, and held it to his lips, 
 His oppressed bosom seemed ready to burst 
 with emotion, and his eyes were filled with 
 tears which had no power to flow. 
 
 " My son," said T, " listen to one who is 
 your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, 
 
224 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and who, in the bloom of your hopes, has 
 often endeavored to fortify your mind against 
 the unforeseen accidents of life. What do 
 you deplore with so much bitterness ? Is it 
 your own misfortunes, or those of Virginia, 
 which affect you so deeply ? 
 
 " Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. 
 You have lost the most ainiable of girls, who 
 would have grown up to womanhood a pat- 
 tern to her sex, one who sacrificed her own 
 interests to yours : who preferred you to all 
 that fortune could bestow, and considered 
 you as the only recompense worthy of her 
 virtues. 
 
 ''But might not this very object, from 
 whom you expected the j)urest happiness, 
 have proved to 3^ou a source of the most cruel 
 distress ? She had returned poor and disin- 
 herited ; all you could henceforth have par- 
 taken with her was your labor. Rendered 
 more delicate by her education, and more 
 courageous by her misfortunes, you might 
 have beheld her every day sinking beneatla 
 her efforts to share and lighten your fa- 
 tigues. Had she brought you children, 
 they would only have served to increase her 
 anxieties and your own, from the difficulty of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 225 
 
 sustaining at once your aged parents and 
 your infant family. 
 
 "Very likely you will tell me that the 
 Governor would have helped you ; but how 
 do you know that in a colony whose gover- 
 nors are so frequently changed, you would 
 have had others like Monsieur de la Bour- 
 donnais? — that one might not have been 
 sent destitute of good feeling and of morality ? 
 that — your young wife, in order to procure ~ 
 some miserable pittance, might not have 
 been obliged to seek his favor ? Had she 
 been weak you would have been to be 
 pitied ; and if she had remained virtuous, 
 you would have continued poor : forced even 
 to consider yourself fortunate if, on account 
 of the beauty and virtue of your wife, you 
 had not to endure persecution from those 
 who had promised you protection. 
 
 " It would still have remained to you, you 
 may say, to have enjoyed a pleasure inde- 
 pendent of fortune, that of protecting a 
 beloved being, who, in proportion to her own 
 helplessness, had more attached herself to 
 you. You may fancy that your pains and 
 sufferings would have served to endear you 
 to each other, and that your passion would 
 
226 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 have gathered strength from your mutual 
 misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love 
 does find consolation even in such melan- 
 choly retrospects. Bat Virginia is no more ; 
 yet those persons still live, whom, next to 
 yourself, she held most dear ; her mother, 
 and your own : your inconsolable affliction 
 is bringing them both to the grave. Place 
 your happiness as she did hers, in affording 
 them succor. My son, beneficence is the 
 happiness of the virtuous : there is no greater 
 or more certain enjoyment on the earth. 
 Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth 
 and glory are not suited to man, weak, wan- 
 dering, and transitory as he is. See how 
 rapidly one step towards the acquisition of 
 fortune has precipitated us all to the lowest 
 abyss of misery ! You were opposed to it; 
 it is true ; but who would not have thought 
 that Virginia's voyage would terminate in 
 her happiness and your own ? an invitation 
 from a rich and aged relation, the advice 
 of a wise governor, the approbation of the 
 whole colony, and the well-advised authority 
 of her confessor, decided the lot of Virginia. 
 Thus do we run to our ruin, deceived even 
 by the prudence of those who watch over 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 227 
 
 US : it would be better, no doubt, not to be- 
 lieve them, nor even to listen to the voice or 
 lean on the hopes of a deceitful world. But 
 all men, — those you see occupied in these 
 plains, those who go abroad to seek their 
 fortunes, and those in Europe who enjoy 
 repose from the labors of others, are liable 
 to reverses ! not one is secure from losings 
 at some period, all that he most values, — - 
 greatness, wealth, wife, children, and f riends* 
 Most of these would have their sorrow in- 
 creased by the remembrance of their own 
 imprudence. But you have nothing with 
 which you can reproach yourself. You have 
 been faithful in your love. In the bloom of 
 youth, by not departing from the dictates 
 of nature, you evinced the wisdom of a sage. 
 Your views were just, because they were 
 pure, simple, and disinterested. You had, 
 besides, on Virginia, sacred claims which 
 nothing could countervail. You have lost her: 
 but it is neither your own imiorudence, nor 
 your avarice, nor your false wisdom which 
 has occasioned this misfortune, but the will 
 of God, who has employed the passions of 
 others to snatch from you the object of yovir 
 love; God, from whom you derive every- 
 
228 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 thing, who knows what is most fitting for 
 you, and whose wisdom has not left you any 
 cause for the repentance and despair which 
 succeed the calamities that are brought upon 
 us by ourselves. 
 
 " Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say 
 to yourself, ' I have not deserved them.' Is 
 it then the calamity of Virginia — her death 
 and her j^resent condition that you deplore ? 
 She has undergone the fate allotted to all, — 
 to high birth, to beauty, and even to empires 
 themselves. The life of man, with all its 
 project, may be compared to a tower, at 
 whose summit is death. When your Vir- 
 ginia was born, she was condemned to die ; 
 happily for herself, she is released from life 
 before losing her mother, or yours, or you ; 
 saved, thus, from undergoing pangs worse 
 than those of death itself. 
 
 "Learn then, my son, that death is a 
 benefit to all men : it is the night of that- 
 restless day we call by the name of life. The 
 diseases, the griefs, the vexations, and the 
 fears, which perpetually embitter our life as 
 long as we possess it, molest us no more in 
 the sleep of death. If you inquire into the 
 history of those men who appear to have 
 
PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 229 
 
 been the happiest, you will find that they 
 have bought their apparent felicity very 
 dear; public consideration, perhaps, by 
 domestic evils ; the rare happiness of being 
 beloved, by continual sacrifices ; and often, at 
 the expiration of a life devoted to the good 
 of others, they see themselves surrounded 
 only by false friends, and ungrateful re- 
 lations. But Virginia was happy to her 
 very last moment. When with us, she v/as 
 happy in partaking of the gifts of nature ; 
 when far from us, she found enjoyment 
 m the practice of virtue ; and even at the 
 terrible moment in which we saw her perish, 
 she still had cause for self-gratulation. For, 
 whether she cast her eyes on the assembled 
 colony, made miserable by her expected loss, 
 or on you, my son, who, with so much 
 intrepidity, were endeavoring to save her, 
 she must have seen how dear she was to all. 
 Her mind was fortified against the future by 
 the remembrance of her innocent life ; and 
 at that moment she received the reward 
 which Heaven reserves for virtue, — a cour- 
 age superior to danger. She met death 
 with a serene countenance. 
 
 "My son! God gives all the trials of life 
 
230 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 to virtue, in order to show that virtue alone 
 can support them, and even find in them 
 happiness and glory. When he designs for 
 it an illustrious reputation, he exhibits it 
 on a wide theater, and contending with 
 death. Then does the courage- of virtue 
 shine forth as an example, and the misfor- 
 tunes to which it has been exposed receive 
 forever, from posterity, the tribute of their 
 tears. This is the immortal monument 
 reserved for virtue in a world where every- 
 thing else passes aAvay, and where tha 
 names, even of the greater number of kings 
 themselves, are soon buried in eternal 
 oblivion. 
 
 Meanwhile Virginia still exists. My 
 son, you see that everything changes on 
 this earth, but that nothing is ever lost. 
 No art of man can annihilate the smallest 
 particle of matter; can, then, that which 
 has possessed reason, sensibility, affection, 
 virtue and religion be supposed capable of 
 destruction, when the very elements with 
 which it is clothed are imperishable ? Ah ! 
 however happy Virginia may have been 
 with us, wshe is now much more so. There- 
 is a God, my son \ it is unnecessary for ma 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 231 
 
 to prove it to you, for the voice of all nature 
 loudly proclaims it. The wickedness of 
 mankind lead them to deny the existence of 
 a Being, whose justice they fear. But your 
 mind is fully convinced of his existence, 
 while his works are ever before your eyes. 
 Do you then believe that he w^ould leave 
 Virginia without recompense? Do you 
 think that the same Power which inclosed 
 her noble soul in a form so beautiful, — so 
 like an emanation from itself, could not 
 have saved her from the waves ? — that he 
 who has ordained the happiness of man here, 
 by laws unknown to you, cannot prepare a 
 still higher degree of felicity for Virginia 
 by other laws, of which you are equally 
 ignorant ? Before we were born into this 
 world, could we, do you imagine, even if we 
 were capable of thinking at all, have formed 
 any idea of our existence here ? And now 
 that we are in the midst of this gloomy and 
 transitory life, can we foresee what is be- 
 yond the tomb, or in what manner we shall 
 be emancipated from it? Does God, like 
 man, need this little globe, the earth, as a 
 theater for the display of his intelligence 
 and his goodness ? — and can he only dispo^^e 
 
232 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of human life in the territory of death? 
 There is not, in the entire ocean, a single 
 drop of water which is not peopled with 
 living beings appertaining to man : and 
 does there exist nothing for him in the 
 heavens above his head ? What ! is there 
 no supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, 
 except on this little spot where we are 
 placed ? In those innumerable glowing fires, 
 — in those infinite fields of light which sur- 
 round them, and which neither storms nor 
 darkness can extinguish, is there nothing 
 but empty space and an eternal void ? If we, 
 weak and ignorant as we are, Inight dare to 
 assign limits to that Power from whom we 
 have received everything, we might pos- 
 sibly imagine that we were placed on the 
 very confines of his empire, where, life is 
 perpetually struggling with death, and in- 
 nocence forever in danger from the power 
 of tyranny ! 
 
 " Somewhere, then, without doubt, there 
 is another world, where virtue will receive 
 its reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah ! 
 if from the abode of angels she could hold 
 communication with you, she would tell you 
 as she did when she bade you her last adieus, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 233 
 
 — « O, Paul ! life is but a scene of trial. I 
 have been obedient to the laws of nature, love 
 and virtue. I crossed the seas to obey the 
 will of my relations ; I sacrificed wealth in 
 order to keep my faith; and I preferred 
 the loss of life to disobeying the dictates of 
 modesty. Heaven found that I had ful- 
 filled my duties, and has snatched me for- 
 ever from all the miseries I might have 
 endured myself, and all I might have felt 
 for the miseries of others. I am placed far 
 above the reach of all human evils, and you 
 pity me ! I am become pure and unchange- 
 able as a particle of light, and you would 
 recall me to the darkness of human life ! 
 O, Paul I O, my beloved friend ! recollect 
 those days of happiness, when in the morn- 
 ing we felt the delightful sensations ex- 
 cited by the unfolding beauties of nature ; 
 when we seemed to rise with the sun to the 
 peaks of those rocks, and then to spread with 
 his rays over the bosom of the forests. 
 We experienced 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 taste a thousand per- 
 
234 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fumes at once ; all hearing, to listen to the 
 singing of our birds ; and all hearts, to be 
 capable of gratitude for those mingled 
 blessings. Now, at the source of the beauty 
 whence flows all that is delightful upon 
 earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, 
 touches, what before she could only be 
 made sensible of through the medium of 
 our weak organs. Ah ! what language can 
 describe these shores of eternal bliss, which 
 I inhabit forever ! All that infinite power 
 and heavenly goodness could create to con- 
 sole the unhappy : all that the friendship 
 of numberless beings exulting in the same 
 facility can impart, we enjoy in unmixed 
 perfection. Support, then, the trial which 
 is now allotted to you, that you may heighten 
 the happiness of your Virginia by love 
 which will know no termination, — by a 
 union which will be eternal. There I will 
 calm your regrets, I will wipe away your 
 tears. Oh, my beloved friend ! my youth- 
 ful husband ! raise your thoughts towards 
 the infinite, to enable you to support the 
 evils of a moment.' " 
 
 My own emotion choked my utterance. 
 Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried, — " She 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 235 
 
 Is no more ! she is no more ! " and a long 
 fainting fit succeeded these words of woe. 
 When restored to himself, he said, " Since 
 death is a good, and smce Virginia is happy, 
 I will die too, and be united to Virginia." 
 Thus the motives of consolation I had 
 offered, only served to nourish his despair. 
 I was in the situation of a man who attempts 
 to save a friend sinking in tlie midst of a 
 flood, and who obstinately refuses to swim. 
 Sorrow had completely overwhelmed his 
 soul. Alas ! the trials of early years pre- 
 pare man for the afflictions of after-life ; but 
 Paul had never experienced any. 
 
 I took him back to his own dwelling, 
 where I found his mother and Madame de 
 la Tour in a state of increased languor and 
 exhaustion, but Margaret seemed to droop 
 the most. Lively characters, upon whom 
 petty troubles have but little effect, sink 
 the soonest under great calamities. 
 
 " O my good friend," said Margaret, I 
 thought last night I saw Virginia, dressed 
 in white, in the midst of groves and deli- 
 cious gardens. She said to me, 'I enjoy 
 the most perfect happiness : ' and then ap- 
 proaching Paul with a smiling air, sho 
 
236 
 
 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 bore him away with her. Wliile I was 
 struggling to retain my son, I felt that I my- 
 self too was quitting the earth, and that I 
 followed with inexpressible delight. I then 
 wished to bid my friend farewell, when I saw 
 that she Avas hastening after me, accom- 
 panied by Mary and Domingo. But the 
 strangest circumstance remains j^et to be 
 told ; Madame de la Tour has this very night 
 had a dream exactly like mine in every pos- 
 sible respect." 
 
 "My dear friend," I replied, "nothing I 
 firmly believe, happens in this world with- 
 out the permission of God. Future events, 
 too, are sometimes revealed in dreams." 
 
 Madame de la Tour then related to me 
 her dream, which was exactly the same as 
 Margaret's in every particular ; and as I had 
 never observed in either of these ladies any 
 propensity to superstition, I was struck with 
 the singular coincidence of their dreaiiis, 
 and I felt convinced that they would soon be 
 realized. The belief that future events are 
 sometimes revealed to us during sleep, is 
 one that is widely diffused among the na- 
 tions of the earth. The greatest men of 
 antiquity have had faith in it ; among whom 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 237 
 
 may be mentioned Alexander the Great, 
 Julius Caesar, the Scipios, the two Catos, 
 and Brutus, none of whom were weak- 
 minded persons. Both tlie Old and the 
 Kew Testament furnish us with numerous 
 instances of dreams that came to pass. As 
 for myself, I need only, on this subject, 
 appeal to my experience, as I have more 
 than once had good reason to believe tliat 
 superior intelligences, who interest them- 
 selves in our welfare, communicate with us 
 in these visions of the night. Things which 
 surpass the light of human reason, cannot 
 be proved by arguments derived from that 
 reason ; but still, if the mind of man is an 
 image of that of God, since man can make 
 known his will to the ends of the earth by 
 secret missives, may not the Supreme Intel- 
 ligence which governs the universe employ 
 similar means to attain a like end? One 
 friend consoles another by a letter, which, 
 after passing through many kingdoms, and 
 being in the hands of various individuals at 
 enmity with each other, brings at last joy 
 and hope to the breast of a single human 
 being. May not in like manner the Sover- 
 eign Protector of innocence come in soma 
 
238 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 secret way, to the help of a virtuous soul, 
 which puts its trust in Him alone ? Has he 
 occasion to employ visible means to effect 
 his purpose in this, whose ways are hidden 
 in all his ordinary works ? 
 
 Why should we doubt the evidence of 
 dreams ? for what is our life, occupied as it 
 is with vain and fleeting imaginations, other 
 than a prolonged vision of the night? 
 
 Whatever may be thought of this in 
 general, on the present occasion the dreams 
 of my friends were soon realized. Paul ex- 
 pired two months after the death of his Vir- 
 ginia, whose name dwelt on his lips in his 
 expiring moments. About a week after the 
 death of her son, Margaret saw her last 
 hour approach v/ith that serenity which 
 virtue only can feel. She bade Madame de 
 la Tour a most tender farewell, " in the 
 certain hope," she said, "of a delightful and 
 eternal re-union. Death is the greatest of 
 blessings to us," added she, " and we ought 
 to desire it. If life be a punishment, we 
 should wish for its termination ; if it be a 
 trial, we should be thankful that it is short." 
 
 The Governor took care of Domingo and 
 Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 239 
 
 who survived their mistresses but a short 
 time. As for poor Ficlele, he pined to 
 death soon after he had lost his master. 
 
 I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to 
 Madame de la Tour, who bore up under 
 her calamities with incredible elevation of 
 mind. She had endeavored to console Paul 
 and Margaret till their last moments, as if 
 she herself had no misfortunes of her own to 
 bear. When they were no more, she used to 
 talk to me every day of them as of beloved 
 friends, who were still living near her. She 
 survived them however, but ohe month. 
 Far from reproaching her aunt for the afflic- 
 tions she had caused, her benign spirit 
 prayed to God to pardon her, and to appease 
 that remorse which we heard began to tor- 
 ment her, as soon as she had sent Virginia 
 away with so much inhumanity. 
 
 Conscience, that certain punishment of 
 the guilty, visited with all its terrors the 
 mind of this unnatural relation. So great 
 was her torment, that life and death became 
 equally insupportable to her. Sometimes 
 Bhe reproached herself with the untimely 
 fate of her lovely niece, and with the death 
 
 her mother, which had immediately fol- 
 
240 PAUL AND VIBGINIA. 
 
 lowed it. At other times she congratulated 
 herself for having repulsed far from her two 
 wretched creatures, who, she said, had both 
 dishonored their family by their groveling 
 inclinations. Sometimes, at the sight of 
 the many miserable objects Avitli which 
 Paris abounds, she would fly into a rage, and 
 exclaim, — "Why are not these idle people 
 sent oft' to the colonies ? " As for the notions 
 of humanity, virtue, and religion, adopted by 
 all nations, she said, they were only the in- 
 ventions of their rulers, to serve political 
 purposes. Then, fiymg all at once to the 
 other extreme, she abandoned herself to 
 superstitious terrors, which filled her with 
 mortal fears. She would then give abundant 
 alms to the wealthy ecclesiastics who gov- 
 erned her, baseeching them to appease tlie 
 wrath of God by the sacrifice of her fortune, 
 — as if the offering to Him of the wealth 
 Bhe had withheld from the miserable could 
 please her Heavenly Father ! In her im- 
 agination she often beheld fields of fire, with 
 burning mountains, wherein hideous spec- 
 ters wandered about, loudly calling on her 
 by name. She threw herself at her con- 
 fessor's feet, imagining evjry description 
 
PAUL AND VIBGIXIA. 241 
 
 cf agony and torture; for Heaven— just 
 Heaven— always sends to the cruel the most 
 frightful views of religion and a future state. 
 
 Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, hold- 
 ing both life and death in equal horror, she 
 lived on for several years. But what com- 
 pleted the torments of her miserable ex- 
 istence, was that very object to which she 
 had sacrificed every natural afEection. She 
 was deeply annoyed at perceiving that her 
 fortune must go, at her death, to relations 
 whom she hated, and she determined' to 
 alienate as much of it as she could. They, 
 however, taking advantage of her frequent 
 attacks of low spirits, caused her to be 
 secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be 
 put into the hands of trustees. Her wealth 
 thus completed her ruin ; and, as the pos- 
 session of it had hardened her own heart, so 
 did its anticipation corrupt the hearts of 
 those who coveted it from her. At length 
 bhe died ; and, to crown her misery, she re- 
 tained reason enough at last to be sensible 
 that she was plundered and despised by the 
 very persons whose opinions had been hef 
 rule of conduct during her whole life. 
 On the same spot, and at the foot of the 
 16 
 
242 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 same shrubs as his Virgmia, was deposited 
 the body of Paul ; and round about them 
 lie the remains of their tender mothers and 
 their faithful servants. No marble marks 
 the spot of their humble graves, no inscrip- 
 tion records their virtues ; but their memory- 
 is engraven upon the hearts of those whom 
 they have befriended, in indelible characters. 
 Their spirits have no need of the pomp, 
 which they shunned during their life ; but 
 if they still take an interest in what passes 
 upon earth, they no doubt love to Avander 
 beneath the roofs of these humble dwellings, 
 inhabited by industrious virtue, to console 
 poverty discontented with its lot, to cherish 
 in the hearts of lovers the sacred flame of 
 fidelity, and to inspire a taste for the blessings 
 of nature, a love of honest labor, and a dread 
 of the allurements of riches. The voice of 
 the people, which is often silent with regard 
 to the monuments raised to kings, has given 
 to some parts of this island names which 
 will immortalize the loss of Virginia. Near 
 the isle of Amber, in the midst of sandbanks, 
 is a spot called The Pass of the Saint-Geran, 
 from the name of the vessel which was there 
 lost. The extremity of that point of land 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 243 
 
 which you see yonder, three leagues oflf^ 
 half covered with water, and which the 
 Saint-Geran could not double the night 
 before the hurricane, is called the Cape of 
 Misfortune ; and before us, at the end of the^ 
 valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Vir- 
 ginia was found buried in the sand ; as it the 
 waves had sought to restore her corpse to 
 her family, that they might render it the 
 last sad duties on those shores where so 
 many years .of her innocent life had been 
 passed. 
 
 Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, 
 who were so tenderly united! unfortunate 
 mothers ! beloved family ! these woods which 
 sheltered you with their foliage, — these 
 fountains which flowed for you, — these hill- 
 sides upon which you reposed, still deplore 
 your loss ! No one has since presumed to 
 cultivate that desolate spot of land, or to 
 rebuild those humble cottages. Your goats 
 are become wild: your orchards are de- 
 stroyed ; your birds are all fled; and nothing 
 is heard but the cry of the sparrow-hawk, as 
 it skims in quest of prey around this rocky 
 basin. As for myself, since I have ceased 
 to behold you, I have felt friendless and 
 
244 PAUL AV£> VIRGINIA. 
 
 alone, like a father bereft of his children, or 
 a traveler who wanders by himself over the 
 face of the earth." 
 
 Ending with these words, the good old 
 man retired, bathed in tears ; and my own, 
 too, had flowed more than once during this 
 melancholy recital. 
 
\