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 https://archive.org/details/paulvirginia00sain_3 
 
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JSernarlJtn be S'amt=Pietre 
 
 Paul and Virginia 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 MAURICE LELOIR 
 
 NEW YORK : 46 East 14TH Street. 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO 
 
 BOSTON : 100 Purchase Street. 
 
Copyright, 
 
 1892, 
 
 By T. Y. CROWELL & COc 
 

 
 
 
 
 Love of Nature, that strong feeling of enthusiasm 
 which leads to a profound admiration 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 be- 
 ginning of the world. The old poets and philoso- 
 phers, romance-writers and troubadours, had all 
 looked upon Nature 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 country or 
 of any age, from whom quotations might not be made 
 
2 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 in proof of the love with which they regarded Nature. 
 And this remark applies as much to religious and 
 philosophic writers as to poets, — equally to Plato, 
 St. Fran9ois de Sales, Bacon, and F^nelon, as to 
 Shakespeare, 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 Rousseau, 
 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 exclu- 
 sively. The lovers of Nature were not, till then, as 
 they may perhaps since be considered, a sect apart. 
 Though perfectly sincere in all the adorations 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 coming immediately after Rousseau 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 life passed with- 
 out his collecting some valuable materials for his 
 writings. In the divine works of Nature he dili- 
 gently sought to discover her laws. It was his early 
 intention not to begin to write until he had ceased to 
 observe ; but he found observation endless, and that 
 he was “ like a child, who with a shell digs a hole in 
 the sand to receive the waters of the ocean.” He 
 elsewhere humbly says, that not only the general 
 history of Nature, but even that of the smallest 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE. 
 
 3 
 
 plant, was far beyond his ability. Before, however, 
 speaking further of him as an author, it will be 
 necessary to recapitulate the chief events of his 
 life. 
 
 Henri-Jacques Bernardin de St. Pierre was born at 
 Havre in 1737. He always considered himself de- 
 scended from that Eustache de St. Pierre, who is 
 said by Froissart (and I believe by Froissart only) 
 to have so generously 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 Phil- 
 ippa. In one of his smaller works, Bernardin asserts 
 this descent, and it was certainly one of which he 
 might be proud. Many anecdotes are related of his 
 childhood, indicative of the youthful author, — of his 
 strong love of Nature, and his humanity to animals. 
 
 That “ the child is father of the man” has been 
 seldom more strongly illustrated. There is a story 
 of a cat, which, when related 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 which 
 afterwards appeared in the “ Fraisier.” His sym- 
 pathy with all living things was extreme. In “ Paul 
 and Virginia ” he praises, with evident satisfaction, 
 their meal of milk and eggs, which had not cost any 
 animal its life. It has been remarked, and possibly 
 with truth, that every tenderly disposed heart, 
 deeply imbued with a love of Nature, is at times 
 somewhat Braminical. St. Pierre’s certainly was. 
 
4 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 When quite young, he advanced with a clinched 
 fist towards a carter who was ill-treating a horse. 
 And when taken for the first time, by his father, to 
 Rouen, having the towers of the cathedral pointed 
 out to him, he exclaimed, “ My God ! how high they 
 fly!” Every one present naturally laughed. Ber- 
 nardin had only noticed the flight of some swallows 
 who had built their nests there. He thus early re- 
 vealed those instincts which afterwards became the 
 guidance of his life, the strength of which possibly 
 occasioned his too great indifference to all monu- 
 ments of art. The love of study and of solitude 
 were also characteristics of his childhood. His tem- 
 per is said to have been moody, impetuous, and in- 
 tractable. Whether this faulty temper may not have 
 been produced or rendered worse by mismanage- 
 ment, 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 occupied by Robinson Crusoe and 
 his island. His romantic love of adventure seeming 
 to his parents to announce a predilection in favor of 
 the sea, he was sent by them with one of his uncles 
 to Martinique. But St. Pierre had not sufficiently 
 practised the virtue of obedience to submit, as was 
 necessary, to the 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 regula- 
 tions of the college, for he conceived, from that time. 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE, 
 
 s 
 
 the greatest detestation for places of public educa- 
 tion. 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 mis- 
 sionary, or a martyr : but his family at length suc- 
 ceeded in establishing 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 a hundred louis. In this capacity he 
 was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, under the command 
 of Count St. Germain. This was a career in which 
 he might have acquired both honor and fortune ; but, 
 most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the 
 useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so many 
 unworthy prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, 
 he sought to trample on them. In addition, he 
 evinced some disposition to rebel against his 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, notwithstanding his great talents, or the cool- 
 ness 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 be added to the convictions of the ardent in 
 
6 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 mind, that no degree of excellence in science or lit- 
 erature, not even the immortality of a name, can 
 exempt its possessor from obedience to moral disci- 
 pline, or give him happiness, unless “ temper’s 
 image” be stamped on his daily words and actions. 
 St. Pierre’s life was sadly embittered by his own con- 
 duct. The adventurous life he led after his return 
 from Dlisseldorf, some of the circumstances of which 
 exhibited him in an unfavorable light to others, 
 tended, perhaps, to tinge his imagination with that 
 wild and tender melancholy so prevalent in his writ- 
 ings. 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 expecting to be attacked by the Turks. 
 Having already been in the service, it was singular 
 that St. Pierre should have had the imprudence to 
 sail without his 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 insuffi- 
 cient indemnity 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 St. Pierre was less adapted 
 than most others for succeeding in the apparently 
 easy, but really ingenious and difficult, art of teach- 
 
BERJVARDm DE SAINT-PIERRE., 
 
 7 
 
 ing. 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 implied by the profound- 
 est skill in any one branch of science or of art. All 
 minds, even to the youngest, require, while being 
 taught, the utmost compliance and consideration ; 
 and these qualities can scarcely be properly exercised 
 without a true knowledge of the human heart, united 
 to much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this period 
 of his life, certainly did not possess them. It is 
 probable that Rousseau, when he attempted in his 
 youth to give lessons in music, not knowing any- 
 thing whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for 
 the task of instruction than St. Pierre with all his 
 mathematical knowledge. The pressure of 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, however, remain long satisfied with 
 this quiet mode of existence. Allured by the en- 
 couraging reception given by Catherine II. to foreign- 
 ers, 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 poverty. The latter generously opened to him 
 his purse, and by the Marechal he was introduced to 
 Villebois, the Grand Master of Artillery, and by him 
 presented to the Empress. St. Pierre was so hand- 
 some, that by some of his friends it was supposed — 
 perhaps too, hoped, — 'that he would supersede 
 
8 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Orloff in the favor of Catherine. But more honor- 
 able illusions, though they were but illusions, occu-. 
 pied his own mind. He neither sought nor wished 
 to captivate the Empress. His ambition was to 
 establish a republic on the shores of the lake Aral, 
 of which, in imitation of Plato or Rousseau, he was 
 to be the legislator. Pre-occupied 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 suc- 
 cess in life. His mind was already morbid, and in 
 fancying that others did not understand him, he for- 
 got that he did not understand others. The Em- 
 press, with the rank of captain, bestowed on him a 
 grant of 1,500 francs; but when General Dubosquet 
 proposed to take him with him to examine the mili- 
 tary position of Finland, his only anxiety seemed to 
 be to return to France: still he went to Finland; 
 and his own notes of his occupations and experi- 
 ments on that expedition prove that he gave himself 
 up in all diligence to considerations of attack and 
 defence. He, who loved Nature so intently, seems 
 only to have seen in the extensive and majestic 
 forests of the North a theatre of war. In this in- 
 stance, he appears to have stifled every emotion of 
 admiration, and to have beheld alike cities and coun- 
 tries in his character of military surveyor. 
 
 On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his pro- 
 tector, Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then resolved 
 on espousing the cause of the Poles. He went into 
 Poland with a high repufation, — that of having 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE. 
 
 9 
 
 refused the favors of despotism, to aid the cause of 
 liberty. But it was his private life, rather than his 
 public career, that was affected by his residence in 
 Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, 
 and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted her 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 that sadness to be 
 shared by the Princess, he soon went back to Poland. 
 His return was still more sad than his departure, for 
 he found himself regarded by her who had once loved 
 him as an intruder. It is to this attachment he 
 alludes so touchingly 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 sentiment 
 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 par- 
 tial biographers as if steeped in tears ; and he speaks 
 of his romantic and unfortunate adventure in Poland 
 as the ideal of a poet's love. 
 
 “To be,” says M. Sainte-Beuve, “ a great poet, 
 and loved before he had thought of glory ! To ex- 
 hale 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 
 
lO 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 remembrance in St. Pierre’s own mind. His suffer- 
 ing 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 dispersed, and after six 
 years of exile, he found himself once more in his own 
 country, without employment, and destitute of pecu- 
 niary 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 “Voyage a Pile de France,” are to be found 
 modified by imagined circumstances in “Paul and 
 Virginia.” He returned to Paris poor in purse, but 
 rich in observations and mental resources, and 
 resolved to devote himself to literature. By the 
 Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to D’Alem- 
 bert, who procured a publisher for his “Voyage,” 
 and also introduced him to Mile, de I'Espinasse. 
 But no one, in spite of his great beauty, was so ill 
 calculated to shine or please in society as St. Pierre. 
 His manners were timid and embarrassed, and, unless 
 to those with whom he was very intimate, he scarcely 
 appeared intelligent. 
 
 It is sad to think that misunderstanding should 
 prevail to such an extent, and heart so seldom really 
 speak to heart, in the intercourse of the world, that 
 the most humane may appear cruel, and the sympa- 
 thizing indifferent. Judging of Mile, de I’Espinasse 
 
BERNAKDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE. 1 1 
 
 from her letters, and the testimony of her contem- 
 poraries, it seems quite impossible that she could 
 have given pain to any one, more particularly to a 
 man possessing St. Pierre’s extraordinary talent and 
 profound sensibility. Both she and D’Alembert 
 were capable of appreciating him ; but the society in 
 which they moved laughed at his timidity, and the 
 tone of raillery in which they often indulged was not 
 understood by him. It is certain that he withdrew 
 from their circle with wounded and mortified feelings, 
 and, in spite of an explanatory letter from D’Alem- 
 bert, did not return to it. The inflicters of all 
 this pain, in the meantime, were possibly as un- 
 conscious of the meaning attached to their words 
 as were the birds of old of the augury drawn from 
 their flight. 
 
 St. Pierre, in his “ Pr^ambule de I’Arcadie,” has 
 pathetically and eloquently described the deplorable 
 state of his health and feelings, after frequent hu- 
 miliating disputes and disappointments had driven 
 him from society ; or rather, when, like Rousseau, he 
 was ‘ ‘ self-banished ” from it. “I was struck,” he says, 
 “ with an extraordinary malady. Streams of fire, 
 like lightning, flashed before my eyes : every object 
 appeared to me double or in motion : like OEdipus, 
 I saw two suns ... In the finest day of summer, I 
 could not cross the Seine in a boat without experi- 
 encing intolerable 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 immediately imagined they were 
 
12 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 speaking ill of me.” It was during this state of suf- 
 fering that he devoted himself with ardor to collect- 
 ing and making use of materials for that work which 
 was to give glory to his name. 
 
 It was only by perseverance, and disregarding 
 many rough and discouraging receptions, that he 
 succeeded in making acquaintance with Rousseau, 
 whom he so much resembled. St. Pierre devoted 
 himself to his society with enthusiasm, visiting him 
 frequently and constantly, till Rousseau departed 
 for Ermenonville. It is not unworthy of remark that 
 both these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Nature 
 and the natural in all things, should have possessed 
 factitious rather than practical virtue, and a wisdom 
 wholly unfitted for the world. St. Pierre asked Rous- 
 seau, in one of their frequent rambles, if, in delineat- 
 ing St. Preux, he had not intended to represent him- 
 self. “ No,” replied Rousseau, “St. Preux is not 
 what I have been, but what I wished to be.” St. 
 Pierre would most likely have given the same answer 
 had a similar question been put to him with regard 
 to the Colonel in “ Paul 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 typographer, whose daughter St. 
 Pierre afterwards married, consented to print a man- 
 uscript which had been declined by many others. 
 He was well rewarded for the undertaking. The 
 success of the “ Etudes de la Nature” surpassed the 
 most sanguine expectation, even of the author. Four 
 
BEI^A^ARDIJV DE SAINT-PIERRE, 13 
 
 years after its publication, St. Pierre gave to the 
 world “ Paul and Virginia,” which had for some time 
 been lying in his portfolio. He had tried its effect, 
 in manuscript, on persons of different 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 gen- 
 erally read, or so much approved. Among the great 
 names whose admiration of it is on record, may be 
 mentioned Napoleon and Humboldt. 
 
 In 1789 he published “ Les Voeux d’un Solitaire” 
 ^nd “ La Suite des Voeux.” By the Moniteur of the 
 day these works were compared to the celebrated 
 pamphlet of Si^yes, “ Qu’est-ce que le tiers 6tat?” 
 which then absorbed all the public favor. In 1791 
 “ LaChaumiere Indienne ” was published ; and in the 
 following year, about thirteen days before the cele- 
 brated loth of August, Louis XVI . appointed St. 
 Pierre Superintendent of the “ Jardin des Plantes.” 
 Soon afterwards the King, on seeing him, compli- 
 mented him on his writings, and told him he was 
 happy to have found a worthy successor to Buffon. 
 
 Although deficient in exact knowledge of the sci- 
 ences, 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 acceptance of 
 this honor, he wrote no more against literary socie- 
 ties. On the suppression of his place, he retired to 
 
14 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Essonne. It is delightful to follow him there, and 
 to contemplate his quiet existence. His days flowed 
 on peaceably, occupied in the publication of “ Les 
 Harmonies de la Nature,” the republication of his 
 earlier works, and the composition of some lesser 
 pieces. He himself aflectingly regrets an interrup- 
 tion to these occupations. On being appointed In- 
 structor to the Normal School, he says, “ I am 
 obliged to hang my harp on the willows of my river, 
 and to accept an employment useful to my family and 
 my country. I am afflicted at having to suspend an 
 occupation which has given me so much happiness.” 
 
 He enjoyed, in his old age, a degree of opulence, 
 which, as much as glory, had perhaps been the ob- 
 ject of his ambition. In any case, it is gratifying to 
 reflect, that after a life so full of chance and change, 
 he was, in his latter years, surrounded by much that 
 should accompany old age. His day of storms and 
 tempests was closed by an evening of repose and 
 beauty. 
 
 Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of his 
 mind was preserved to the last. He died at Eragny 
 sur rOise, on the 2ist of January, 1814. The stir- 
 ring events which then occupied France, or rather 
 the whole world, caused his death to be little noticed 
 at the time. The Academy did not, however, neglect 
 to give him the honors due to its members. Mons. 
 Parseval Grand Maison pronounced a deserved 
 eulogium on his talents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the 
 customary tribute, taking his seat as his successor. 
 
 Having himself contracted the habit of confiding 
 his griefs and sorrows to the public, the sanctuary of 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE, 
 
 15 
 
 his private life was open alike to the discussion of 
 friends and enemies. The biographer who wishes to 
 be exact, and yet set down naught 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 per- 
 fidious person.” Now, taking into consideration that 
 St. Pierre sometimes imagined persons who were 
 really good to be deserving of these strong and very 
 contumelious epithets, it would have been difficult 
 indeed to find a society in which he could have been 
 happy. He was, therefore, wise in seeking retire- 
 ment, and indulging in solitude. His mistakes, — 
 for they were mistakes, — arose from a too quick 
 perception of evil, united to an exquisite and diffuse 
 sensibility. When he felt wounded by a thorn, he 
 forgot the beauty and perfume of the rose to which 
 it belonged, and from which, perhaps, it could not be 
 separated. And he was exposed (as often happens) 
 to the very description of trials that were least in 
 harmony with his defects. Few dispositions could 
 have run a career like his, and have remained un- 
 scathed. But one less tender than his own would 
 have been less soured by it. For many years he 
 bore about with him the consciousness of unacknowl- 
 edged 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 
 
i6 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that world, in the meantime, may have been to him 
 
 — how often he may have felt himself unworthily 
 treated, or how far that treatment 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 motives of 
 action — that he did not sometimes detect, where 
 others might have been blinded, the undershuffling 
 of the hands in the b3^-play of the world? 
 
 Through all his writings, and throughout his cor- 
 respondence, there are beautiful proofs of the tender- 
 ness 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 remarkable, and 
 often affecting. 
 
 He returned to this country, so fondly loved and 
 deeply cherished in absence, to experience only 
 trouble and difficulty. Away from it, he had yearned 
 to behold it, — to fold it, as it were, once more to his 
 bosom. He returned to feel as if neglected by it, 
 and all his rapturous emotions were changed to bit- 
 terness and gall. His hopes had proved delusions 
 
 — his expectations, mockeries. Oh! who but must 
 look with charity and mercy on all discontent and 
 irritation consequent on such a depth of disappoint- 
 ment — on what must have then appeared to him 
 such unmitigable woe ! Under the influence of these 
 saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back to the 
 island he had left, to place all beauty, as well as all 
 happiness, there I 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE. 
 
 17 
 
 One great proof that he did beautify the distant 
 may be found in the contrast of some of the descrip- 
 tions in the “Voyage a Tile de France,” and those 
 in “ Paul and Virginia.” That spot which, when 
 peopled by the cherished creatures of his imagination, 
 he described as an enchanting and delightful 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 having dark- 
 ened the one, and the exuberance of his imagination 
 embellished the other. 
 
 St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too long 
 and too universally acknowledged to make it needful 
 that it should be dwelt on here. A careful review of 
 the circumstances of his life induces the belief that 
 his writings grew (if it may be permitted so to 
 speak) out of his life. In his most imaginative pas- 
 sages, 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 Tanbenheim ; 
 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 creation. Paul was the name of a friar 
 with whom he had associated in his childhood, and 
 
i8 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 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 genera- 
 tion in France, and to be re-echoed through the 
 world to the end of time ! 
 
 In “ Paul and Virginia*’ he was supremely fortu- 
 nate in his subject. It was an entirely new creation, 
 uninspired by any previous work, but which gave 
 birth to many others, having furnished the plot to 
 six theatrical pieces. It was a subject to which the 
 author could bring all his excellences as a writer and 
 a man ; while his deficiencies and defects were neces- 
 sarily excluded. In no manner 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 have been 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 fortunate a 
 choice. Bonaparte was in the habit of saying, when- 
 ever he saw St. Pierre, “ M. Bernardin, when do you 
 mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian 
 Cottages? You ought to give us some every six 
 months.” 
 
 The “ Indian Cottage,” if not quite equal in inter- 
 est to “ Paul and Virginia,” is still a charming pro- 
 duction, and does great honor to the genius of its 
 author. It abounds in antique and Eastern gems of 
 thought. Striking and excellent comparisons are 
 scattered through its pages ; and it is delightful to 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE. 
 
 19 
 
 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 rocks ; but when 
 you have reached its summit, you see heaven above 
 your head, and at your feet the kingdom of Cache- 
 mere.” 
 
 When this passage was written, the rugged and 
 sterile rock had been climbed by its gifted author. 
 He had reached the summit, — his genius had been 
 rewarded, and he himself saw the heaven he wished 
 to point out to others. 
 
 For the facts contained in this brief Memoir the 
 writer is indebted to St. Pierre's own works, to the 
 “ Biographie Universelle,” to the “ Essai sur la Vie 
 et les Ouvrages de Bernardin de St. Pierre,” by M. 
 Aim6 Martin, and to the very excellent and interest- 
 ing “ Notice Historique et Litt^raire ” of M. Sainte- 
 Beuve. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 I PROJECTED a very grand design in this little book. 
 I undertook to describe in it a soil and a vegetation 
 different from those in Europe. Our poets have long 
 enough placed their lovers on the borders of streams, 
 in meadows, and beneath leafy beech-trees. I have 
 chosen to seat them by the margin of the sea, at the 
 foot of the rocks, beneath the shade of cocoanut- 
 trees, banana-trees, and flowering lemon-trees. A 
 Theocritus and a Virgil are only needed in the other 
 hemisphere to give us scenes at least as interesting 
 as those in our own land. I am aware that travellers 
 of flne taste have given us charming descriptions of 
 many islands of the southern seas ; but the manners 
 of their inhabitants, and still more those of the 
 Europeans who land there, spoil the landscape. I 
 wished to unite with the beauties of Nature in the 
 tropics, the moral beauty of a little community. I 
 purposed also to bring out many grand truths, and 
 this amongst others : that our happiness consists in 
 living according to the dictates of Nature and Virtue* 
 
 21 
 
22 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Nevertheless there has been no need for me to go to 
 fiction for my description of such happy families. I 
 can assert that those of whom I write actually ex- 
 isted ; and that their history is true in its principal 
 incidents. This has been certified by many residents 
 known to me in the Isle of France. I have only 
 filled in some unimportant details, but which being 
 personal to myself have still the stamp of reality. 
 When several years ago I drew out a very imperfect 
 sketch of this kind of pastoral, I requested a lady 
 well known in society, and several grave signiors who 
 lived far away from the great world, to come and hear 
 it read, so that I might estimate the effect the tale 
 would produce upon readers of such completely op- 
 posite characters. I had the satisfaction to see them 
 shed tears. This was the only criticism I could ob- 
 tain from them, and that was all I desired to know. 
 But as a great vice often follows a little talent, this 
 success inspired me with the conceit to call my work 
 the “ Picture of Nature.” Fortunately I recollected 
 how great a stranger I was to Nature, even in my 
 native land, and in countries wherein I had merely 
 seen her productions en voyageur, how rich, how 
 varied, beautiful, wonderful, and mysterious she is ; 
 and how devoid I was of talent, taste, and mode of 
 expression to appreciate and to describe her ! I 
 drew back into my shell again. Thus it happens that 
 I have included this feeble attempt under the name 
 and in the set of my Studies of Nature, which the 
 public have received so kindly ; so that this title, 
 while recalling my incapacity, will always be a 
 memorial of their indulgence. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Situate on the eastern side of the mountain which 
 rises above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece 
 of land bearing the marks of former cultivation, are 
 seen the ruins of two small cottages. These ruins 
 are not far from the centre of a valley, formed by 
 immense rocks, and which opens only towards the 
 north. On the left rises the mountain called the 
 Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the dis- 
 tant sail when it first touches the verge of the hori- 
 zon, and whence the signal is given when a vessel 
 approaches the island. At the foot of this mountain 
 stands the town of Port Louis. On the right is 
 formed the road which stretches from Port Louis to 
 the Shaddock Grove, where the church bearing that 
 
 23 
 
24 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues of 
 bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain ; and the 
 prospect terminates in a forest extending to the far- 
 thest bounds of the island. The front view presents 
 the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb : a little 
 on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune ; and 
 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 presents these 
 various objects, the echoes of the mountain inces- 
 santly repeat the hollow murmurs of the winds that 
 shake the neighboring forests, and the tumultuous 
 dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon 
 the cliffs ; but near the ruined cottages all is calm 
 and still, and the only objects which there meet the 
 eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding 
 rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their base, 
 on their rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops, 
 where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, 
 which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid 
 colors of the rainbow on their green and brown 
 declivities, and swell the sources of the little river 
 which flows at their feet, called the river of Fan- 
 Palms. Within this enclosure reigns the most pro- 
 found 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 25 
 
 noon. But, even at break of day, the rays of light 
 are thrown on the surrounding rocks ; and their 
 sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the moun- 
 tain, 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 unbounded land- 
 scape, and the charm of uninterrupted solitude. One 
 day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, 
 and contemplating their ruins, a man, advanced in 
 years, passed near the spot. He was dressed in the 
 ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he 
 leaned upon a staff of ebony : his hair was white, 
 and the expression of his countenance was dignified 
 and interesting. I bowed to him with respect ; he 
 returned the salutation ; and, after looking at me 
 with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon 
 the hillock 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,” replied the old man, 
 “ those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled land, 
 were, twenty years ago, the property of two families, 
 who then found happiness in this solitude. Their 
 history is affecting ; but what European, pursuing his 
 way to the Indies, will pause one moment to interest 
 himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals? 
 What European 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 man- 
 
26 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ner 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 
 by the prejudices of the world find a soothing pleas- 
 ure 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 na- 
 tive of Normandy, after having in vain solicited a 
 commission in the French army, or some support 
 from his own family, at length determined to seek his 
 fortune in this island, where he arrived in 1726. He 
 brought hither a young woman whom he loved ten- 
 derly, and by whom he was no less tenderly 
 beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient 
 family of the same province ; but he had married her 
 secretly and without 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 in this island. He 
 landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy season 
 which commences about the middle of October ; and 
 soon after his arrival died of the pestilential fever 
 which prevails in that island six months of the year, 
 and which will forever baffie the attempts of the 
 
PA[/L AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 27 
 
 European nations to form establishments on that 
 fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the 
 rapacity of strangers, as commonly happens to per- 
 sons dying in foreign parts ; and 
 his wife, who was pregnant, 
 found herself a widow in a 
 country where she had 
 neither credit nor ac- 
 quaintance, and no 
 earthly possession, 
 or rather sup- 
 port, but one 
 negro woman. 
 Too delicate 
 to solicit pro- 
 
 tection 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 
 
28 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 these 
 rocks, where she might conceal herself from obser- 
 vation. 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 misfortune — 
 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 purchase : — 
 this blessing was a friend. 
 
 The spot to which Madame de la Tour fled had 
 already been inhabited for a year by a young woman 
 of a lively, good-natured, and affectionate disposi- 
 tion. 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 
 neighborhood, who promised her marriage. He soon 
 abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to seduction, 
 refused to insure a provision for the child of which 
 she was pregnant. Margaret then determined to 
 leave forever her native village, and retire, where her 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 29 
 
 fault might be concealed, to some colony distant from 
 that country where she had lost the only portion of 
 a poor peasant girl — her reputation. With some 
 
 borrowed money she purchased an old negro slave, 
 with whom she cultivated a little corner of this dis- 
 trict. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, 
 came to this spot, where she found Margaret en- 
 gaged in suckling her child. Soothed and charmed 
 by the sight of a person in a situation somewhat 
 
30 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 similar to her own, Madame de la Tour related, in a 
 few words, her past condition and her present 
 wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the recital ; 
 and, more anxious to merit confidence 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, sobbing, she 
 offered Madame de la Tour both her hut and her 
 friendship. That lady, affected by this tender recep- 
 tion, pressed her in her arms, and exclaimed, “Ah ! 
 surely Heaven has put an end to my misfortunes, 
 since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, with 
 more goodness towards me than I have ever experi- 
 enced 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 consid- 
 ered 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 neighbors from whom we 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 toward strangers seemed less a duty than 
 a pleasure. No sooner was I informed that Margaret 
 had found a companion than I hastened to her, in 
 the hope of being useful to my neighbor and her 
 guest. I found Madame de la Tour possessed of all 
 those melancholy graces which, by blending sympa- 
 
 I 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 31 
 
 thy with admiration, give to beauty additional power. 
 Her countenance was interesting, expressive at once 
 of dignity and dejection. She appeared to be in the 
 last stage of her pregnancy. I told the two friends 
 that, for the future interests of their children, and to 
 prevent the intrusion of any other settler, they had 
 better 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 in- 
 cluded the higher part of this enclosure, from the 
 cloudy pinnacle of that rock, whence springs the 
 river of Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which 
 you see on the summit of the mountain, 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 enclosure, 
 the soil of which is encumbered with fragments of 
 rock, or worn into channels formed by torrents; yet 
 it produces noble trees and innumerable springs and 
 rivulets. The other portion of land comprised the 
 plain extending along the banks of the river of Fan- 
 Palms, to the opening where we are now seated, 
 whence the river takes its course between those two 
 hills, until it falls into the sea. You may still trace 
 the vestiges of some meadow land ; and this part of 
 the common is less rugged, but not more valuable, 
 than the other ; since in the rainy season it becomes 
 marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding 
 that it will almost resist the stroke of the pickaxe. 
 When I had thus divided the property, I persuaded 
 my neighbors to draw lots for their respective posses- 
 
32 
 
 PAUL AND VIPGINIA. 
 
 sions. The higher portion of land, containing the 
 source of the river of Fan-Palms, became the prop- 
 erty of Madame de la Tour; the lower, comprising 
 the plain on the banks of the river, was allotted to 
 Margaret; and each seemed satisfied with her share. 
 They entreated me to place their habitations to- 
 gether, that they might at all times enjoy the sooth- 
 ing intercourse of friendship and the consolation of 
 mutual kind offices. Margaret's cottage was situated 
 near the centre of the valley, and just on the boun- 
 dary of her own plantation. Close to that spot I 
 built another cottage for the residence of Madame 
 de la Tour; and thus the two friends, while they 
 possessed all the advantages of neighborhood, lived 
 on their own property. 1 myself cut palisades from 
 
 the mountain, and brought leaves 
 
 -fo n T-v o 1 c ■fV-/~vvv^ -fUc c. ciO C" It 
 
 se 
 
 DU 
 
 the entrance nor the roof. Y et, alas ! there still remain 
 but too many traces for my remembrance ! Time, 
 
PAUL AND VIPGINIA. 
 
 33 
 
 which so rapidly destroys the proud monuments of 
 empires, seems in this desert to spare those of friend- 
 ship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour 
 of my existence. 
 
 As soon as the second cottage was finished, 
 Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. I had 
 been the godfather of Margaret's child, who was 
 christened by the name of Paul. Madame de la 
 Tour desired me to perform the same office for her 
 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 recovered, 
 these two little estates had already begun to yield 
 some produce, perhaps in a small degree owing to 
 the care which I occasionally bestowed on their im- 
 provement, but far more to the indefatigable labors 
 of the two slaves. Margaret’s slave, who was called 
 Domingo, was still healthy and robust, though 
 advanced in years : he possessed some knowledge, 
 and a good natural understanding. He cultivated 
 indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots of 
 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 in such spots as were marshy. He threw 
 the seeds of gourds and cucumbers at the foot of the 
 rocks, which they loved to climb, and decorate with 
 their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated 
 the sweet potato ; the cotton-tree flourished upon the 
 
34 
 
 PAUL AND VIRG/NTA. 
 
 heights, and the sugar-cane grew in tlie clayey soil. 
 He reared some plants of coffee on the hills, where 
 the grain, although small, is excellent. His plantain- 
 trees, which spread their grateful shade on the banks 
 of the river, and encircled the cottages, yielded fruit 
 throughout the year. And, lastly, Domingo, to 
 soothe his cares, cultivated a few plants of tobacco. 
 Sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for 
 firing from the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces 
 of rock within the enclosure, 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 Margaret, and not less to 
 Madame de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he 
 had married on the birth of Virginia; and he was 
 passionately 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 stuff, with long grass that grows in the 
 woods. She was active, cleanly, and, above all, 
 faithful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to 
 rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Port Louis, 
 to sell the superfluous produce of these little planta- 
 tions, which was not, however, very considerable. If 
 you add to the personages already mentioned two 
 goats, which were brought up with the children, and 
 a great dog, which kept watch at night, you will have 
 a complete idea of the household, as well as of the 
 productions, of these two little farms. 
 
 Madame de la Tour and her triend were constantly 
 employed in spinning cotton for the use of their 
 families. Destitute of everything which their own 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 35 
 
 industry could not supply, at home they went bare- 
 footed : shoes were a convenience reserved for Sun- 
 day, on which day, at an early hour, they attended 
 mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which 
 you see yonder. That church was more distant from 
 
 their homes than Port Louis ; but they seldom vis- 
 ited the town, lest they should be treated with con- 
 tempt on account of their dress, which consisted 
 simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually 
 worn by slaves. But is there in that external defer- 
 ence which fortune commands, a compensation for 
 domestic 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, perceive their mistresses on the road of the 
 Shaddock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the 
 
PAUL ANU VIPG/N/A. 
 
 36 
 
 mountain in order to help them to ascend. They 
 discerned in the looks of their domestics the joy 
 which their return excited. They found in their re- 
 treat neatness, independence, all the blessings which 
 are the recompense of toil, and they received the 
 zealous services which spring from affection. United 
 by the tie of similar wants and the sympathy of sim- 
 ilar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender 
 names of companion, friend, sister. They had but 
 one will, one interest, one table. All their posses- 
 sions were in common. And if sometimes a passion 
 more ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts 
 the pang of unavailing anguish, a pure religion, 
 united with chaste manners, drew their affections 
 towards 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 addi- 
 tional happiness to these affectionate mothers, whose 
 mutual friendship gained new strength at the sight of 
 their children, equally the offspring of an ill-fated 
 attachment. They delighted in washing their in- 
 infants together in the same bath, in putting them to 
 rest in the same cradle, and in changing the mater- 
 nal bosom at which they received nourishment. 
 “ My friend,” cried Madame de la Tour, “ we shall 
 each of us have two children, and each of our chil- 
 dren 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 
 
THE children’s BATH. 
 
Vij* 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 37 
 
 two infants, deprived of all their other relations, 
 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 sister. 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 con- 
 templation often drew forth their tears. The mis- 
 fortunes of one mother had arisen from having 
 neglected marriage ; those of the other from having 
 submitted 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 reflect- 
 ing that their more fortunate children, far from the 
 cruel prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once the 
 pleasures of love and the blessings of equality. 
 
 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 befel 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 constellation of The Twins. 
 At night these infants often refused to be separated, 
 and were found lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, 
 their bosoms pressed close together, their hands 
 
38 
 
 rAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 thrown round each other’s neck, and sleeping, locked 
 in one another’s arms. 
 
 When they began to speak, the first names they 
 learned to give each other were those of brother and 
 sister, and childhood knows no softer appellation. 
 
 Their education, by directing them ever to consider 
 each other’s wants, tended greatly to increase their 
 affection. In a short time, all the household econ- 
 omy, the care of preparing their rural repasts, be- 
 came 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 rambles, he espied a beau- 
 tiful flower, any delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, 
 even at the top of a 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 39 
 
 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 per- 
 
 ceived that she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely 
 enveloped in the same canopy, and both were laugh- 
 ing heartily at their being sheltered together under 
 an umbrella of their own invention. These two 
 charming faces, in the middle of the swelling petti- 
 coat, recalled to my mind the children of Leda, en- 
 closed in the same shell. 
 
40 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 believed 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, super- 
 fluous to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had 
 never been taught not to steal, because everything 
 with them was in common ; or not to be intemperate, 
 because their simple food was left to their own dis- 
 cretion ; or not to lie, because they had nothing to 
 conceal. Their young imaginations had never been 
 terrified by the idea that God has punishments in 
 store for ungrateful children, since, with them, filial 
 affection arose naturally from maternal 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 affec- 
 tions. 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 41 
 
 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 enclosure 
 in which they lived, Margaret and her child repaired 
 to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, where they 
 otfered up their morning prayer together. This 
 sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their first 
 repast, which they often took before the door of the 
 cottage, seated upon the grass, under a 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 whole- 
 some nourishment gave early growth and vigor to 
 the persons of these children, and their countenances 
 expressed the purity and the peace of their souls. 
 At twelve years of age the figure of Virginia was in 
 some degree formed : a profusion of light hair shaded 
 her face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave 
 the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled 
 with vivacity when she spoke ; but when she was 
 silent they were habitually turned upwards, with an 
 expression of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender 
 melancholy. The figure of Paul began already to 
 display the graces of youthful beauty. He was taller 
 than Virginia : his skin was of a darker tint ; his 
 nose more aquiline ; and his black eyes would have 
 been too piercing, if the long eyelashes, by which 
 they were shaded, had not imparted to them an ex- 
 pression of softness. He was constantly in motion. 
 
42 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 except when his sister 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, repre- 
 senting some of the 
 children of Niobe, 
 but for the glances 
 of their eyes, which 
 were constantly 
 seeking to meet, 
 and their mutual 
 soft and tender 
 smiles, which sug- 
 gested rather the 
 idea of happy celes- 
 tial spirits, whose 
 nature is love, and 
 who are not obliged to have recourse to words for 
 the expression of their feelings. 
 
 In the mean time Madame de la Tour, perceiving 
 every day some unfolding grace, some new beauty, in 
 her daughter, felt her maternal anxiety increase with 
 her tenderness. She often said to me, “ If I were 
 to die, what will become of Virginia without for- 
 tune?” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 43 
 
 Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who 
 was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a complete 
 devotee. She had behaved with so much cruelty 
 towards her niece upon her marriage, that Madame 
 de la Tour had determined no extremity of distress 
 should ever compel her to have recourse 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 hus- 
 band, the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties 
 in which she was involved, burthened as she was with 
 an infant and without means of support. She 
 received no answer ; but, notwithstanding 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 
 married a man who was not of noble birth, however 
 estimable, she continued to 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 informed that the Governor had a let- 
 ler to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port 
 Louis : maternal joy raised her mind above all trifling 
 considerations, and she was careless 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 
 
44 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 concluded by eulogizing herself. To 
 avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of mar- 
 riage, she had determined to remain single. In fact, 
 as she was of a very ambitious disposition, 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 counterbal- 
 ance the malignant dispositions of her mind, and the 
 disagreeable qualities of her person. 
 
 After mature deliberation, she added, in a post- 
 script, that she had strongly recommended her niece 
 to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she had indeed 
 done, but 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, biassed as he was 
 against her. When she painted to him her own sit- 
 uation, 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 45 
 
 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 bitter- 
 ness of disappointment. When she arrived, she 
 threw her aunt’s letter on the table, and exclaimed 
 to her friend, “ There is the fruit of eleven years of 
 
 patient expectation!” 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 for- 
 saken us ? He only is our father. Have we not hith- 
 erto been happy ? Why then this regret ? You have 
 no courage.” Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears. 
 
46 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 hands alternately to her 
 lips and heart; while Paul, his eyes inflamed with 
 anger, cried, clasped his hands together, and stamped 
 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 re- 
 sounded with cries of distress, — “Ah, Madame ! My 
 good mistress ! My dear mother ! Do not weep ! ” 
 These tender proofs of affection at length dispelled the 
 grief of Madame de la Tour. She took Paul and Vir- 
 ginia in her arms, and, embracing them, said, “ You 
 are the cause of my affliction, my children, but you 
 are also my only source of delight ! Yes, my dear chil- 
 dren, misfortune has reached me, but only from a dis- 
 tance : 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 re- 
 stored 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 daybreak, their mothers 
 having gone to mass at the church of the Shaddock 
 Grove, the children perceived a negro woman be- 
 neath the plantains which surrounded their habita- 
 tion. She appeared almost wasted to a skeleton. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 47 
 
 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 break- 
 fast, and said, “My good young lady, have pity on 
 a poor runaway slave. For a whole month I have 
 wandered among these mountains, half dead with 
 hunger, and often pursued by the hunters and their 
 dogs. I fled from my master, a rich planter of the 
 Black River, who has used me as you see ; ” and she 
 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 myself. Since there are still some good white 
 people in this country, I need not die yet.” Vir- 
 ginia answered with emotion, “ Take courage, unfor- 
 tunate 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 forgiveness for 
 you of your master. Surely the sight of you will 
 touch him with pity. Will you show me the way ? ” 
 “Angel of heaven!” answered the poor negro- 
 woman, “ I will follow you where you please.” Vir- 
 ginia called her brother, and begged him to accom- 
 pany her. The slave led the way, by winding and 
 diflicult paths through the woods, over mountains, 
 which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, 
 through which they were obliged to wade. At 
 length, about the middle of the day, they reached 
 the foot of a steep descent upon the borders of the 
 Black River. There they perceived a well-built 
 
48 
 
 PAUL AND V/RGINIA. 
 
 house surrounded by extensive plantations, and a 
 number of slaves employed in their various labors. 
 Their master was walking among them with a pipe in 
 his mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a tall, 
 thin man, of a brown complexion ; his eyes were 
 
 sunk in his head, and his dark eyebrows were joined 
 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 elegance of 
 
THE SLAVE PARDONED. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 49 
 
 Virginia’s form, and the profusion of her beautiful 
 light tresses, which had escaped from beneath her 
 blue cap ; when he heard the soft tone of her voice, 
 which trembled, as well as her whole frame, while she 
 implored his compassion ; he took the pipe from his 
 mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible 
 oath, that he pardoned his slave, not for the love of 
 Heaven, but of her who asked his forgiveness. Vir- 
 ginia made a sign to the slave to approach her mas- 
 ter; and instantly sprang away, followed by Paul. 
 
 They climbed up the steep they had descended ; 
 and having gained the summit, seated themselves at 
 the foot of a tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger, and 
 thirst. They had left their home fasting, and had 
 walked five leagues since sunrise. Paul said to Vir- 
 ginia, “ 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 Mamma sometimes says, ‘ The 
 bread of the wicked is like stones in the mouth.’ ^ 
 “ What shall we do then ?” said Paul ; “ these trees 
 produce no fruit fit to eat ; and I shall not be able to 
 find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.” — 
 “ God will take care of us,” replied Virginia; “ He 
 listens to the cry even of the little birds when they 
 ask Him for food.” Scarcely had she pronounced 
 these words when they heard the noise of water fall- 
 ing from a neighboring rock. They ran thither, and 
 having quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, 
 they gathered and ate a few cresses which grew on 
 
so 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the border of the stream. Soon afterwards, while 
 they were wandering backwards and forwards in 
 search of more solid nourishment, Virginia per- 
 ceived in the thickest part of the forest, a young 
 palm-tree. The kind of cabbage which is found at 
 the top of the palm, infolded within its leaves, is 
 well adapted for food; but although the stalk of the 
 tree is not thicker than a man’s leg, it grows to 
 above sixty feet in height. The wood of 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 difficulty occurred : he had no 
 steel with which to strike fire ; and although the 
 whole island is covered with rocks, I do not believe 
 it is possible to find a single flint. Necessity, how- 
 ever, is fertile in expedients, and the rnost useful in- 
 ventions have arisen from men placed in the most 
 destitute situations. 
 
 Paul determined to kindle a fire in the manner of 
 the negroes. With the sharp end of a stone he made 
 a small hole in the branch of a tree that was quite 
 dry, 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 different 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 5 1 
 
 palm-tree, which soon fell to the ground with a 
 tremendous crash. The fire was further useful to 
 him in stripping off the long, thick, and pointed 
 leaves, within which the cabbage was enclosed. 
 
 Having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit, they 
 ate part of it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, 
 which they found equally palatable. They made this 
 frugal repast with delight, from the remembrance of 
 the benevolent action they had performed 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 it would not be long before they reached 
 home, and, by the assurance of their safety, tranquil- 
 lized 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 moun- 
 tain 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 
 arrived, 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 for- 
 ests, is even now so little known, that many of its 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of lUINOII 
 library 
 
52 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 rivers and 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 there- 
 fore took her up in his arms, and went thus loaded 
 over the slippery rocks which formed the bed of the 
 river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. 
 “Do not be afraid,” cried he to Virginia, “I feel 
 very strong with you. If 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 ! Gracious heaven ! How diffi- 
 cult 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 flat- 
 tered himself that he could ascend in that way the 
 mountain of the Three Breasts, which was still at 
 the distance of half a league ; but his strength soon 
 failed, and he was obliged to set down his burthen, 
 and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then said 
 to him, — ■ “ My dear brother, the sun is going down ; 
 you have still some strength left, but mine has quite 
 failed : do leave me here, and return home alone to 
 ease the fears of our mothers.” — “Oh, no,” said 
 Paul, “ I will not leave you. If night overtakes 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 S3 
 
 gathered from the trunk of an old tree, which over- 
 hung 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 Three Breasts, by which they 
 had hitherto directed their course, and also of the 
 sun, which was now setting. At length they wan- 
 dered, without perceiving it, from the beaten path in 
 
54 
 
 PAUL AND VIRG/NIA. 
 
 which they had hitherto walked, and found them- 
 selves in a labyrinth of trees, underwood, and rocks, 
 whence there appeared to be no outlet. Paul made 
 Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and for- 
 wards, half frantic, in search of a path 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 moun- 
 tain 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. Already the shadows of the 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 interrupted 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 able, — 
 “Come, come to the help of Virginia!” But the 
 echoes of the forest alone answered his call, and 
 repeatea again and again — “ Virginia — Virginia I ” 
 
 Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome 
 with fatigue and vexation. He looked around in 
 order to make some arrangement for passing the 
 night in that desert ; but he could find neither foun- 
 tain nor palm-tree, nor even a branch of dryivood fit 
 for kindling a fire. He was then impressed, by expe- 
 rience, 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 55 
 
 of all that our mothers are suffering at this moment. 
 I find we ought to do nothing, not even good, with- 
 out 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, 
 
 “who comes here at night, to lie in wait for the 
 deer.” Soon after, the dog began barking again 
 with increased violence. “Surely,” said Virginia, 
 “it is Fiddle, our own dog: yes, — now I know his 
 bark. Are we then so near home? — at the foot of 
 our own mountain ? ” A moment after. Fiddle was at 
 their feet, barking, howling, moaning, and devouring 
 them with his caresses. Before they could recover 
 from their surprise, they saw Domingo running 
 towards them. At the sight of the good old negro. 
 
rAC/L AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 56 
 
 who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but had 
 not the power to utter a syllable. When Domingo 
 had recovered himself a little, — “ Oh, my dear chil- 
 dren,” 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 a little distance, 
 could not tell us where you were gone. 
 
 “ I ran backwards and forwards in the plantation, 
 not knowing where to look for you. At last I took 
 some of your old clothes, and showing them to 
 Fiddle, 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 there saw a planter, who told me you had brought 
 back a Maroon negro-woman, his slave, and that he 
 had pardoned her at your request. But what a par- 
 don ! he showed her to me with her feet chained to a 
 block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks 
 fastened round her neck ! After that. Fiddle, 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 smok- 
 ing. 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 a beverage composed of wine, 
 water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which their 
 mothers had prepared to invigorate and refresh them. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 S7 
 
 Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave, 
 and at the uneasiness 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 be- 
 ing already night, 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, 
 
58 
 
 PAUL AND V/RGLN/A. 
 
 their feet being violently swollen and inflamed. 
 Domingo 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 per- 
 plexity, a troop of Maroon negroes appeared at a 
 short distance 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 ask pardon for her of her 
 wicked master: and we in return for this, will carry 
 you home upon our shoulders.” He then made a 
 sign, and four of the strongest negroes immediately 
 formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees and 
 lianas, and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, car- 
 ried them upon their shoulders. Domingo marched 
 in front with his lighted torch, and they proceeded 
 amidst the rejoicings of the whole troop, who over- 
 whelmed them with their 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 negroes also, 
 “Yes, yes, it is.” A moment after they could dis- 
 tinguish their mothers and Mary coming towards 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 59 
 
 them with lighted sticks in their hands. “ Unhappy 
 children,” cried Madame de la Tiour, “ where have 
 
 you been? What agonies you have made us suffer ! ” 
 — “We have been,” said Virginia, “to the Black 
 River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor 
 Maroon slave, to whom 1 gave our breakfast this 
 
6o 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 morning, because she seemed dying of hunger ; and 
 these Maroon negroes have brought us home.” 
 Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter, without 
 being able to speak ; and Virginia, who felt her face 
 wet with her mothers tears, exclaimed, — “ Now I 
 am repaid for all the hardships I have suffered.” 
 Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul in 
 her arms, exclaiming, — “And you also, my dear 
 child! you have done a good action.” When they 
 reached the cottages with their children, they enter- 
 tained alhthe negroes with a plentiful repast, after 
 which the latter returned to their woods, praying 
 Heaven to shower down every description of blessing 
 on those good white people. 
 
 Every day was to these families a day of happi- 
 ness and of tranquillity. Neither ambition nor envy 
 disturbed their repose. They did not seek to obtain 
 a useless reputation out of doors, which may be pro- 
 cured by artifice, 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 unknown. The passer-by on the road to the 
 Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask the 
 inhabitants of the plain, who lived in the cottages 
 up there ? and was alw'ays 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 falsehood or to hatred, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 6l 
 
 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 con- 
 cealing 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. Al- 
 though the petty scandals of the day furnished no 
 subject of conversation to them, yet the contempla- 
 tion 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 pleas- 
 ures, which are ever grateful 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 all 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 of so fresh a green, together with date- 
 palm trees, which produce fruit filled with a sweet 
 cream, possessing the fine perfume of the orange 
 flower. These trees, which had already attained to 
 
62 
 
 PAUL AND V/RG/N/A. 
 
 a considerable size, be planted round their little en- 
 closure. He had also sown the .seeds 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 crystal pendants 
 of a chandelier ; the Persian lilac, which lifts high in 
 air its gray flax-colored branches ; the papaw-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 num- 
 ber of these trees already afforded their young culti- 
 vator both shade and fruit. His industrious hands 
 diffused the riches of nature over even the most bar- 
 ren 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 exercised in 
 the arrangement of these trees. He had so disposed 
 them that the whole could be seen at a single glance. 
 In the 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 venerable and lofty groves which 
 border the circumference. Thus this extensive on 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 63 
 
 closure appeared, from its centre, like a verdant 
 amphitheatre 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 vegetable productions to his own 
 taste, he wandered 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 decorated by Nature’s own hand. The 
 streams which fell from the summits of the rocks 
 formed in some parts of the valley sparkling cas- 
 cades, and in others were spread into broad mirrors, 
 in which were reflected, set in verdure, the flower- 
 ing trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure 
 heavens. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the 
 ground, these plantations were, for the most part, 
 easy of access. We had, indeed, all given him our 
 advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this 
 end. 
 
 He had conducted one path entirely round the 
 valley, and various branches from it led from the 
 circumference to the centre. 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 
 
64 
 
 PAUL AND F/PG/N/A- 
 
 over most of the ground of this island, he formed 
 pyramidal heaps here and there, at the base of which 
 he laid mould, and planted rose-bushes, the Barba- 
 does 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 flow- 
 ers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the streams, 
 shaded by the overhanging boughs of aged trees, 
 formed rural grottos, impervious to the rays of the sun, 
 in which you might enjoy a refreshing coolness during 
 the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump of for- 
 est trees, in the centre 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 inaccessible summit of the mountain. Beneath 
 one tufted bower of gum-trees, interwoven with 
 lianas, no object whatever could be perceived : while 
 the point of the adjoining rock, jutting out from the 
 mountain, commanded a view of the whole enclo- 
 sure, 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 fountains, and 
 the last blended harmonies of light and shade. 
 
 Nothing could be more charming than the names 
 which were bestowed upon some of the delightful 
 retreats of this labyrinth. The rock of which I have 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 65 
 
 6een speaking, whence they could discern my ap- 
 proach at a considerable distance, was called the 
 Discovery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia had 
 
 amused them- 
 selves by plant- 
 ing a bamboo on 
 that spot ; and 
 whenever they 
 saw me coming, 
 they hoisted a little white handkerchief 
 by way of signal of my approach, as they 
 had seen a flag hoisted on the neighbor- 
 ing mountain on the sight of a vessel at 
 sea. The idea struck me of 
 engraving an inscription on 
 the stalk of this reed ; for I 
 never, in the course of my 
 travels, experienced anything 
 like the pleasure in seeing a 
 statue or other monument of 
 ancient art, as in reading a 
 well-written inscription. It 
 seems to me as if a human 
 voice issued from the stone, 
 and making itself heard after 
 the lapse of ages, addressed 
 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 
 
66 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 and 
 Virginia’s flag, the following lines of Horace : — 
 
 . . . fratres Helenae, lucida sidera, 
 
 Ventoriimque regat pater, 
 
 Obstrictis aliis, praeter lapiga. 
 
 “ May the brothers of Helen, briglit 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 contemplate the sea 
 when agitated by storms. 
 
 On the bark of this tree I engraved the following 
 line 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 cot- 
 tage, 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 of her flag- 
 staff was too long and learned. 
 
 “ I should have liked better,” added she, “ to have 
 seen inscribed, ever agitated, yet constant.” — 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 67 
 
 “ Such a motto,'” I answered, “ would have been still 
 more applicable to virtue.'” 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 appearance the 
 most indifferent. 
 
 A border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple trees, 
 planted round a green-sward where Paul and Vir- 
 ginia sometimes danced, received the name of Con- 
 cord. An old tree, beneath the shade of which 
 Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount 
 their misfortunes, was called The Burial-place of 
 Tears. They bestowed the names of Brittany and 
 Normandy on two little plots of ground, where they 
 had sown corn, strawberries, and pease. 
 
 Domingo and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their 
 mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foulle- 
 pointe, the places of their birth in Africa, gave those 
 names to the little fields where the grass was sown 
 with which they wove their baskets, and where they 
 had planted a calabash-tree. 
 
 Thus, by cultivating the productions of their re- 
 spective 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 re- 
 membrances, all but called into life by the many 
 charming appellations thus bestowed upon them ! 
 
68 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 sure was that called Virginia’s Resting-place. At the 
 
 foot of the rock 
 ,, ^ which bore the 
 \v5 ^^X/i ' name of The Dis- 
 
 ^^|v> coveryofFriend- 
 shi 
 
 ship is a small 
 crevice, whence 
 issues a foun- 
 tain, forming, 
 near its source. 
 
 •.| 4 % 
 
 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 Mar- 
 garet a present of an 
 Indian cocoa which 
 had been given me, 
 and which she planted 
 on the border of this 
 fenny ground, in order 
 that the tree might one 
 day serve to mark the 
 epoch of her son's 
 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 69 
 
 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 foun- 
 tain. 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 ribands of purpled green, floated on the 
 wind. Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar 
 periwinkle, the flowers of which resembled the red 
 gillyflower; 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, 
 which has the odor of the clove, exhaled the most 
 delicious perfumes. From the precipitous side of 
 the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like floating 
 draperies, forming 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 cur- 
 lew 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 pleas- 
 ure in resting herself upon the border of this foun- 
 tain, decorated with wild and sublime magnificence. 
 She often went thither to wash the linen of the fam- 
 ily beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, and 
 
70 
 
 PAUL AND VIP GIN/ A. 
 
 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 
 suspended by one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. 
 Paul, observing that Virginia was fond of this spot, 
 brought thither, from the neighboring forest, a great 
 variety of birds’ nests. The old birds, following 
 their young, soon established themselves in this new 
 colony. Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst 
 them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon as 
 she appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid 
 bird, whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with its 
 flame-colored plumage, forsook their bushes ; the par- 
 roquet, green as an emerald, descended 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 
 exhaustless source of amusement in observing their 
 sports, their repasts, and their loves. 
 
 Amiable children ! thus passed your earlier 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 consolations 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, be- 
 neath the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with 
 them of your rural repasts, which never cost any 
 animal its life ! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, 
 cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, with bas- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 n 
 
 kets 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 im- 
 agified. 
 
 Like the re- 
 past, the con- 
 versation was 
 mild, and free 
 from everything 
 having a tenden- 
 cy to do harm. 
 
 Paul often talked 
 of the labors of 
 the day and of 
 the morrow. He 
 was continually 
 planning some- 
 thing for the accommodation of their little society. 
 Here he discovered that the paths were rugged, there 
 that the seats were uncomfortable : 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 in- 
 struments of agriculture were heaped its products — 
 
72 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 cane, the lemon, and the 
 citron. 
 
 When night came, they all supped together by the 
 light of a lamp; after which Madame de la Tour 
 or Margaret related some story of travellers be- 
 nighted in those woods of Europe that are still in- 
 fested by banditti ; or told a dismal tale of some 
 shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest upon the 
 
 bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plan- 
 tains. Some degree of luxury usually accompanies 
 abundance ; and Vir- 
 ginia was taught by 
 her mother and Mar- 
 garet to prepare sher- 
 bet and cordials from 
 the juice of the sugar- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 73 
 
 rocks of a desert island. To these, recitals the chil- 
 dren listened with eager attention, and earnestly 
 hoped that Heaven would one day grant them the 
 joy of performing the rites of hospitality towards 
 such unfortunate persons. 
 
 When the time for repose arrived, the two families 
 separated and retired for the night, eager to meet 
 again the following morning. Sometimes they were 
 lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, which 
 fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cottages, and 
 sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to 
 their ear the distant roar of the waves breaking upon 
 the shore. They blessed 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 New Testament. Her 
 auditors reasoned but little upon these sacred volumes, 
 for their theology centred in a feeling of devotion 
 towards the Supreme Being, like that of nature ; and 
 their morality was an active principal, like that of the 
 Gospel. These families had no particular days de- 
 voted 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 
 
74 
 
 PAUL AND VIP GIN/ A. 
 
 their children’s bosoms tlie feelings most natural to 
 the human mind, and its best support under affliction. 
 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 en- 
 deavored 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 inter- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 75 
 
 weave themselves with each other, in order to with- 
 stand 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 pleas- 
 ure. But they always repelled these overtures with 
 respectful politeness, as they were persuaded that the 
 rich and powerful seek the society of persons 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 ordinarily jealous, 
 calumniating, and gross. They thus acquired, with 
 some, the character of being timid, and with others, 
 of pride ; but their reserve was accompanied with so 
 much obliging politeness, above all towards the un- 
 fortunate 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 neighbors. 
 
 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 ordi- 
 nary diseases of the country, which they administered 
 in that soothing manner which stamps a value upon 
 
76 
 
 PAC/L AND VIPG/N/A. 
 
 the smallest favors. Above all, they met with singu- 
 lar success in administering to the disorders of the 
 mind, so intolerable in solitude, and under the infirm- 
 ities of a weakened 
 frame. Madame de 
 la Tour spoke with 
 such sublime con- 
 fidence of the Divin- 
 ity, that the sick, 
 while listening to 
 her, almost believed 
 Him present. 
 
 Virginia often re- 
 
 turned home with her eyes full of tears, and her heart 
 overflowing with delight, at having had an opportu- 
 nity of doing good ; for to her generally was con- 
 fided the task of preparing and administering the 
 medicines, — a task which she fulfilled with angelio 
 
 sweetness. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA DANCING. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 77 
 
 After these visits of charity, they sometimes ex- 
 tended 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 
 glides near my cottage. I procured for these occa- 
 sions a few bottles of old wine, in order to heighten 
 the relish of our Oriental repast by the more genial 
 productions of Europe. At other times we met on 
 the seashore, at the mouth of some little river, or 
 rather mere brook. We brought from home the 
 provisions furnished us by our gardens, to which we 
 added those supplied us by the sea in abunda:. t 
 variety. 
 
 We caught on 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 shade of the velvet sun-flower tree, we saw the 
 enormous waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath 
 our feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could 
 swim like a fish, would advance on the reefs to meet 
 the coming billows ; then, at their near approach, 
 would run back to the beach, closely pursued by the 
 foaming breakers, which threw themselves, with a 
 roaring noise, far on the sands. But Virginia, at 
 this sight, uttered piercing cries, and said that such 
 sports frightened her too much. 
 
 Other amusements were not wanting on these 
 festive occasions. Our repasts were generally fol- 
 lowed by the songs and dances of the two young 
 people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life, 
 
78 
 
 PAUL AND VIRG/NIA. 
 
 and the misery of those who were impelled by avarice 
 to cross the raging ocean, rather than cultivate the 
 earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. Sometimes 
 
 she performed a pantomime with Paul, after the man- 
 ner of the negroes. 
 
 The first language of man is pantomime : it is 
 known to all nations, and is so natural and expres- 
 sive, 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, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 79 
 
 represented the principal events in them with beauti- 
 ful simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo’s 
 tamtam she appeared upon the greensward, bearing 
 a pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a timid 
 step towards the source of a neighboring fountain, to 
 draw water. Domingo and Mary, personating the 
 shepherds of Midian, forbade her to approach, and 
 repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her 
 succor, beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia’s 
 pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound her 
 brows at the same time with a wreath of the red 
 flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which served 
 to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. Then, 
 joining in their sports, I took upon myself the part 
 of Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul my daughter 
 Zephora 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 supposed 
 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. He 
 filled her lap with plenty ; and, leading her towards 
 us as before the elders of the city, declared his pur- 
 pose to take her in marriage. At this scene, Madame 
 de la Tour, recalling the desolate situation in which 
 
8o 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 she had been left by her relations, her widowhood, 
 and the kind reception she had met with from 
 Margaret, succeeded now by the soothing hope of a 
 happy union between their children, could not for- 
 bear weeping ; and these mixed recollections of good 
 and evil caused us all to unite with her in shedding 
 tears of sorrow and of joy. 
 
 These dramas were performed with such an air of 
 reality, that you might have fancied yourself trans- 
 ported to the plains of Syria or of Palestine. We 
 were not unfurnished with decorations, lights, or an 
 orchestra, suitable to the representation. The scene 
 was generally placed in an open space of the forest, 
 the 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, pro- 
 ducing the most magnificent 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 lustre 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 the radiance of a second 
 morning, hailed the star of day all together with 
 innumerable carols. 
 
 Night often overtook us during these rural enter- 
 tainments ; but the purity of the air, and the warmth 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Si 
 
 of the climate, admitted of our sleeping in the 
 woods, without incurring 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 unsophisticated by the pursuits of com- 
 merce, such were the honesty and primitive 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 inhab- 
 itants. 
 
 There were, however, some days in the year cele- 
 brated by Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar man- 
 ner: these were the birthdays of their mothers. 
 Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some 
 wheaten cakes, which she distributed among a few 
 poor white families, born in the island, who had 
 never eaten European bread. These unfortunate 
 people, uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to 
 live on tapioca in the woods ; and as they had neither 
 the insensibility which is the result of slavery, nor 
 the fortitude which springs from a liberal education, 
 to enable them to support their poverty, their situa- 
 tion was deplorable. 
 
 These cakes were all that Virginia had it in her 
 power 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 de la 
 TouPs. Accordingly, mothers of families, with two 
 
82 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 or three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daughters, 
 so timid that they dared not look up, made their 
 appearance. Virginia soon put them at their ease : 
 she waited upon them with refreshments, the excel- 
 lence of which she endeavored to heighten by relat- 
 ing some particular circumstance 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 presenting. She 
 would then get Paul to dance with them, nor would 
 she leave them till she saw that they were happy. 
 She wished them to partake of the joy of her own 
 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 article 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. 
 
 You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from 
 infancy with prejudices at variance with happiness, 
 cannot imagine all the instruction and pleasure to be 
 derived from nature. 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 Virginia had neither clock, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 83 
 
 nor almanac, nor books of chronology, history, or 
 philosophy. The periods of their lives were regu- 
 lated by those of the operations of nature, and their 
 familiar conversation had a constant reference to the 
 changes of the seasons. They knew the 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 Vir- 
 ginia, “ the shadows of the plantain-trees are at their 
 roots;” or, “Night approaches; 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 visit 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 orange-trees have flowered four and 
 twenty times, since I came into the world.” 
 
 Their lives 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 philosophy than that of 
 doing good, and resigning themselves to the will 
 of Heaven. 
 
 What need, indeed, had these young people of 
 riches or learning such as ours? Even their necessi- 
 
84 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ties and their ignorance increased their happiness. 
 No day passed in which they were not of some ser- 
 vice to one anotlier, or in which they did not mutually 
 impart some instruction. Yes, instruction; for if 
 errors mingled with it, they were, at least, not of a 
 dangerous character. A pure-minded being has 
 none of that description 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 features, their attitudes, and their movements. 
 Still in the morning of life, they had all its blooming 
 freshness ; and surely such in the Garden of Eden 
 appeared our first parents, when, coming from the 
 hands of God, they first saw and approached each 
 other, and conversed together, like brother and sis- 
 ter. Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as 
 Eve ; and Paul, like Adam, united the stature of man- 
 hood with the simplicity of a child. 
 
 Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a thou- 
 sand times told me, he used to say to her, on his 
 return from labor, — “ When I am wearied, the sight 
 of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the 
 mountain I perceive you below in the valley, you 
 appear to me in the midst of our orchard like a 
 blooming rosebud. If you go towards our mother’s 
 house, the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, 
 has a shape less beautiful, and a step less light. 
 When 1 lose sight of you through the trees, I have 
 no need to see you in order to find you again. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 35 
 
 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 the song of the amadavid 
 bird less soft than the sound of your voice. If I 
 only touch you with the tip of my finger, my whole 
 frame trembles with pleasure. Do you remember 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 be- 
 loved, 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 me less joy than the sight of you. I 
 love my mother, — I love yours ; but when they call 
 you their son, I love them a thousand times more. 
 When they caress you, I feel it more sensibly than 
 
86 
 
 PAUL AND V/PG/N/A. 
 
 when I am caressed myself. You ask me what makes 
 you love me. Why, all creatures that are brought up 
 together love one another. Look at our birds : reared 
 
 up in the same nests, 
 they love 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 
 mountain, 1 repeat 
 the words at the bot- 
 tom 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 
 1 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 ; for you, and for our poor servants : but 
 when I pronounce your name, my devotion seems to 
 increase; — I ask so earnestly of God that no harm 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 87 
 
 may befall you ! Why do you go so far, and climb 
 so high, to seek fruits and flowers for me? Have 
 we not enough in 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 imprint a tender 
 kiss on his forehead. 
 
 For some time past, however, Virginia had felt her 
 heart agitated by new sensations. Her beautiful 
 blue eyes lost their lustre, 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 
 without any subject for grief. She fled her innocent 
 amusements, her gentle toils, and even the society of 
 her beloved family ; wandering about the most unfre- 
 quented parts of the plantations, and seeking every- 
 where the rest which she could nowhere find. 
 
 Sometimes, at the sight of Paul, she advanced sport- 
 ively 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 are covered with verdure, our 
 birds begin to sing when you approach, everything 
 around you is gay, and you only are unhappy.” He 
 then endeavored to soothe her by his embraces ; but 
 she turned away her 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, refuge from 
 
88 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 herself. Paul, unused to the secret windings of the 
 female heart, vexed himself in vain in endeavoring 
 to comprehend 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 be- 
 gan to spread its ravages over this island. It was 
 near the end of December, when the sun, in Capri- 
 corn, darts over the Mauritius, during the space of 
 three weeks, its vertical fires. 
 
 The south-east wind, which prevails throughout 
 almost the whole year, no longer blew. Vast col- 
 umns of dust arose from the highways, and hung 
 suspended in the air ; the ground was everywhere 
 broken into clefts ; the grass was burnt up ; hot ex- 
 halations issued from the sides of the mountains, and 
 their rivulets, for the most part, became dry. No 
 refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea : fiery vapors 
 only, during the day, ascended from the plains, and 
 appeared, at sunset, like the reflection of a vast con- 
 flagration Night brought no coolness to the heated 
 atmosphere ; and the red moon, rising in the misty 
 horizon, appeared of supernatural magnitude. 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 melan- 
 choly lowings : even the Cafifre 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 penetrated the whole soil, and the 
 stifling atmosphere everywhere resounded with the 
 
VIRGINIA ESCAPING FROM PAUL. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 
 
 buzzing noise of insects, seeking to allay their thirst 
 with the blood of men and of animals. 
 
 During this sultry season, Virginia’s restlessness 
 and disquietude were much increased. One night 
 in particular, being 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 flung 
 herself into the basin : its coolness reanimated her 
 spirits, and a thousand soothing remembrances 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 interwove above her head their green branches 
 and young fruit. She thought of Paul’s friendship, 
 sweeter than the odor of the blossoms, purer than 
 the waters of the fountain, stronger than the inter- 
 twining palm-trees, and she sighed. Reflecting on 
 the hour of the night, and the profound solitude, her 
 imagination became disturbed. Suddenly she flew, 
 affrighted, from those dangerous shades, and those 
 waters which seemed to her hotter than the tropical 
 sunbeam, and ran to her mother for refuge. More 
 
90 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 than once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, she 
 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, leaning her head on her mother’s 
 bosom, she bathed it with her tears. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned 
 the source of her daughter’s uneasiness, did not 
 think proper to speak to her on the subject. “ My 
 dear child,” said she, “ offer up your supplications to 
 God, who disposes at His will of health and of life. 
 He subjects you to trial now, in order to recompense 
 you hereafter. Remember that we are only placed 
 upon earth for the exercise of virtue.” 
 
 The excessive heat in the mean time raised vast 
 masses of vapor from the ocean, which hung over 
 the island like an immense parasol, and gathered 
 round the summits of the mountains. Long flakes 
 of fire issued from time to time from these mist- 
 embosomed peaks. The most awful thunder soon 
 after re-echoed through the woods, the plains, and 
 the valleys : the rains fell from the skies in cataracts ; 
 foaming torrents rushed down the sides of this moun- 
 tain ; the bottom of the valley became a sea, and the 
 elevated platform on which the cottages were built, 
 a little island. The accumulated waters, having no 
 other outlet, rushed with violence through the narrow 
 gorge which leads into the valley, tossing and roar- 
 ing, and bearing along with them a mingled wreck 
 of soil, trees, and rocks. 
 
 The trembling families meantime addressed their 
 prayers to God all together in the cottage of Madame 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 91 
 
 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 window- 
 shutters were securely fastened, every object without 
 could be distinctly seen through the joints in the 
 wood-work! Paul, followed by Domingo, went with 
 intrepidity from one cottage to another, notwith- 
 standing the fury of the tempest ; here supporting a 
 partition with a buttress, there driving in a stake ; 
 and only returning to the family to calm their fears, 
 by the expression of a hope that the storm was passing 
 away. Accordingly, in the evening the rains ceased, 
 the trade-winds of the south-east pursued their or- 
 dinary course, the tempestuous 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 beginning to dry up on all sides. As for 
 the garden, 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 Vir- 
 ginia’s bath. The two cocoa-trees, however, were 
 still erect, and still retained their freshness : but they 
 were no longer surrounded by turf, or arbors, or 
 birds, except a few amadavid birds, which, upon the 
 
92 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, “ can- 
 not 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 Saint Paul.” 
 
 As soon as she had uttered the words, he flew in 
 quest of it to his mother’s cottage. This picture was 
 a miniature of Paul the Hermit, which Margaret, 
 who viewed it with feelings of great devotion, 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 happened, that being, while pregnant, 
 abandoned by all the world, and continually occupied 
 in contemplating the image of this benevolent recluse, 
 her offspring had contracted 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 receiving this little 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 the world.” At this tone of 
 friendship, — this unhoped-for return of familiarity 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 93 
 
 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 de la Tour, 
 — “ Why do we not unite our children by marriage? 
 
 They have a strong 
 attachment for each 
 other, and though 
 my son hardly un- 
 derstands the real 
 nature of his feel- 
 ings, yet great care 
 and watchfulness 
 will be necessary. 
 Under such circum- 
 stances it will be as 
 well not to leave 
 them too much to- 
 gether.” Madame 
 de la Tour replied, 
 — “They are too 
 young and too poor. 
 What grief would it occasion us to see Virginia 
 bring into the world unfortunate children whom 
 she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to 
 
94 
 
 PACTL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 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 you well know that we have only 
 sufficient to supply the wants of the day : but were 
 we to send Paul for a short time to the Indies, he 
 might acquire, by commerce, the means of purchas- 
 ing 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 your son. We will 
 consult our neighbor on this subject.” 
 
 They accordingly asked my advice, which was in 
 accordance with Madame de la Tour’s opinion. 
 “The Indian seas,” I observed to them, “are calm, 
 and, in choosing a favorable time of the year, the 
 voyage out is seldom 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 advantage in the Indies.” I 
 took upon myself to obtain permission from Mon- 
 sieur de la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 95 
 
 and I determined previously to mention the affair to 
 Paul. But what was my surprise, when this young 
 man said to me, with a degree of good sense above 
 his age, “ And why do you wish me to leave my fam- 
 ily for this precarious pursuit of Fortune? Is there 
 any commerce in the world more advantageous than 
 the culture of the ground, which yields sometimes 
 fifty or a hundred fold? If we wish to engage in 
 commerce, can we not do so by carrying our super- 
 fluities to the town, without my wandering to the 
 Indies? Our mothers tell me that Domingo is old 
 and feeble ; but I am young, and gather strength 
 every day. If any accident should happen during 
 my absence, above all to Virginia, who already suf- 
 fers — Oh, no, no ! ■ — I cannot resolve to leave 
 them.” 
 
 So decided an answer threw me into great perplex- 
 ity, for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from 
 me the cause of Virginia’s illness and want of spirits, 
 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 compas- 
 sion. When she wrote, she was recovering from a 
 dangerous illness, which had, however, left her in- 
 curably 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 
 
96 
 
 PAUL AND VI PG INI A. 
 
 Virginia, on whom she promised to bestow a good 
 education, 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 consternation 
 spread itself through the whole assembled party. 
 Domingo and Mary began to weep. Paul, motion- 
 less with surprise, appeared almost ready to burst 
 with indignation ; 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. “No, my dear 
 friend, no, my beloved children,” replied Madame 
 de la Tour; “ I will never leave you. I have lived 
 with you, and with you I will die. I have known no 
 happiness but in your affection. If my health be de- 
 ranged, my past misfortunes are the cause. My heart 
 has been deeply wounded by the cruelty of my rela- 
 tions, 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 wealth of my family could now lead me to expect 
 in my own country.” 
 
 At this soothing language every eye overflowed 
 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 you, dear mamma ; and you shall never feel any 
 want with us.” But of the whole society, the person 
 who displayed the least transport, and who probably 
 felt the most, was Virginia : and, during the remain- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 97 
 
 der of the day, the gentle gayety which flowed from 
 her heart, and proved that her peace of mind was 
 restored, completed the general satisfaction. 
 
 At sunrise the next day, just as they had concluded 
 offering up, as usual, their morning prayer before 
 breakfast, Domingo came to inform them that a gen- 
 tleman on horseback, 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 and fresh plantains. The leaves of the plan- 
 tain-tree supplied the want of table-linen ; and cala- 
 bash shells, split in two, served for cups. The 
 Governor exhibited, at first, some astonishment at 
 the homeliness of the dwelling: 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, 
 madame,” he added, “a woman of quality, and im- 
 mensely rich, who expects that you will hasten to see 
 her, and who means to bestow upon you her whole 
 fortune.” Madame de la Tour replied, that the state 
 of her health would not permit her to undertake so 
 long a voyage. 
 
 “ At least,” resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, 
 “ you cannot, without injustice, deprive this amiable 
 young lady, your daughter, of so noble an inherit- 
 ance. I will not conceal from you, that your aunt 
 has made use of her influence to secure your daugh- 
 
98 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIN/ A. 
 
 ter being sent to her ; and that I have received official 
 letters, in which I am ordered to exert my authority, 
 if necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish to 
 employ my power for the purpose of rendering the 
 inhabitants of this country happy, I expect from your 
 good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few years, 
 upon which your daughter’s establishment in the 
 world, and the welfare of your whole life, depend. 
 Wherefore do we come to these islands? Is it not to 
 acquire a fortune? And will it not be more agreeable 
 to return, and find it in your own country?” 
 
 He then took a large bag of piastres from one of 
 his slaves, and placed it upon the table. “ This 
 sum,” he continued, “ is allotted 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 recourse to 
 him in her difficulties, he extolled at the same time 
 her noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the Gov- 
 ernor, “ My mother did apply to you, sir, and you 
 received her ill.” — ‘‘Have you another child, ma- 
 dame?” 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.” — “Young man,” said the Gov^ 
 ernor to Paul, “ when you have acquired a little more 
 experience of the world, you will know that it is the 
 misfortune of people in place to be deceived, and to 
 bestow, in consequence, upon intriguing vice that 
 which they would wish to give to modest merit.” 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 99 
 
 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 delighted 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 furniture, but 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 received with pleasure this insular com- 
 pliment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured him 
 that he might rely upon his friendship. 
 
 After breakfast he took Madame de la Tour aside, 
 and informed her that an opportunity 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 renouncing an immense for- 
 tune on account of the pain of being separated from 
 her daughter for a brief interval. “ Your aunt,” he 
 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 allowed to leave her departure for France 
 entirely to her own inclination.” 
 
lOO 
 
 rA{/L AND VIDG/N/A. 
 
 Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an oppor- 
 tunity of separating Paul and Virginia 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 ser- 
 vants are nowold. Paul is still very young ; Mar- 
 garet is advanced in years, and 1 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 existence. This idea over- 
 comes me with sorrow.” Virginia answered, — “ God 
 has appointed 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 provi- 
 dence watches most especially over the unfortunate. 
 You have told me this very often, my dear mother! 
 I cannot resolve to leave you.” Madame de la Tour 
 replied, with much emotion, — “I have no other aim 
 than to render you happy, and to marry you one day 
 to Paul, who is not 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 when it is once lifted by a friendly hand, 
 the hidden sorrows of her attachment escape as 
 through a newly-opened barrier, and the sweet out- 
 pourings of unrestrained confidence succeed to her 
 former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply af- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 lOI 
 
 fected by this new proof of her mother’s tenderness, 
 related to her the cruel struggles she had undergone, 
 of which Heaven alone had been witness : she saw, 
 she said, the hand of Providence in the assistance of 
 an affectionate 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 remain with her mother, 
 without anxiety for the present, and without appre- 
 hension for the future. Madame de la Tour, perceiv- 
 ing 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 together by 
 themselves the same evening, when a tall man, dressed 
 in a blue 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 to 
 them by the Governor. “ My children,” he ex- 
 claimed 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, 
 dear madam, obliges you to remain here ; but you, 
 young lady, are without excuse. We must obey the 
 direction of Providence ; and we must also obey our 
 aged relations, even when they are unjust. A sacri- 
 fice is required of you; but it is the will of God. 
 
102 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Our Lord devoted Himself for you ; and you, in imi- 
 tation 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, 
 ■ — “ Jf it is the command of God, I will not presume 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 103 
 
 to oppose it. Let the will of God be done!” As 
 she uttered these words she wept. 
 
 The priest went away, in order to inform the Gov- 
 ernor 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 prefer the 
 advantages of nature to those of fortune, and never 
 go in search of that at a distance which we may find 
 at home — in our own 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 authority 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 
 confessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding 
 the advantages she expected for her son from the 
 possession of Virginia’s fortune, had hitherto opposed 
 her departure, made no further objections. As for 
 Paul, in 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 some- 
 thing against me,” cried he, “ for they conceal every- 
 thing from me.” 
 
 A report having in the mean time been spread in 
 the island that fortune had visited these rocks, mer- 
 chants of every description were seen climbing their 
 
104 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 steep ascent. Now, for the first time, were seen dis- 
 played 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 beau- 
 tifully transparent ; the delicately white cottons of 
 Surat, and linens of all colors. They also brought 
 with them the gorgeous silks of China ; satin dam- 
 asks, some white, and others grass-green and bright 
 red ; pink taffetas, 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 Mada- 
 gascar. 
 
 Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to pur- 
 chase whatever she liked ; she only 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 furnishing the cottage, 
 and that will be very useful to Mary and Domingo.” 
 In short, the bag of piastres was almost emptied 
 before 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 Vir- 
 ginia’s departure, came a few days after to my dwell- 
 ing. With an air of deep despondency he said to 
 me, — “My sister is going away; she is already 
 
VIRGINIA DRESSED, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 105 
 
 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 un- 
 availing. 
 
 Virginia had ever appeared to me charming when 
 clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, with a red hand- 
 kerchief tied round 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 advan- 
 tage in her new attire, and the simple arrangement 
 of her hair accorded admirably with the form of her 
 head. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an expres- 
 sion of melancholy ; and the struggles of passion, 
 with which her heart was agitated, imparted a flush 
 to her cheek, and to her voice a tone of deep emo- 
 tion. The contrast between her pensive look and 
 her gay habiliments rendered her more interesting 
 than ever, nor was it possible to see or hear her un- 
 moved. 
 
 Paul became more and more melancholy ; and 
 at length Margaret, distressed at the situation of her 
 son, took him aside, and said to him, — “ Why, 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 mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, 
 by her mother’s side, to a rich and noble family, 
 
io6 
 
 PAUL AND V IRC I NT A. 
 
 while you are but the son of a poor peasant girl; 
 and what is worse, you are illegitimate.” 
 
 Paul, who had never heard this last expression 
 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 con- 
 sequence 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 1 have no relation in the world but 
 you, I will love you all the more. But what a secret 
 have you just disclosed to me ! I now see the reason 
 why Mademoiselle 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 I perceive 
 too well that she despises me ! ” 
 
 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 ap- 
 peared in the midst of the firmament, surrounded by 
 
PAUL AND VIPGINIA. loj 
 
 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 
 peaks 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 bright- 
 ness of the night and the serenity of the atmosphere. 
 The hum of insects was heard in the grass. The 
 stars sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs 
 were reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the tran- 
 quil bosom of the ocean. Virginia’s eyes 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 watchlight and the hull of the vessel in 
 which she was 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 plantain-trees ; and 
 owing to the stillness of the 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 dangers 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 adis- 
 
io8 
 
 PAUL AND VIP GIN/ A. 
 
 tant relation, whom you have never seen.” — “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 was the will of God that 
 
 I should go, and that life was a scene of trials ! 
 — and oh 1 this is indeed a severe one.” 
 
 “What!” exclaimed Paul, “you could find so 
 many reasons for going, and not one for remaining 
 here ! Ah I 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 
 
 persons who are worthy of you by their birth, and by 
 a fortune 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 
 accustomed? What will become of her, already 
 advanced in years, when she no longer sees you at 
 her side at table, in the house, in the walks, where 
 she used to lean upon you? What will become of 
 my mother, who loves you with the same affection? 
 What shall I say to comfort them when I see them 
 weeping for your absence? Cruel 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 witnesses 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 sustain your 
 spirits in the midst of those tempests 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 for- 
 tune 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 and adoration of all, rich and noble 
 
I lO 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 enough to make you the greatest of all sacrifices, by 
 dying at your feet.” 
 
 The violence of his emotions stopped his utter- 
 ance, 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 becoming rich, 
 it is only to return a thousandfold 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. Unhappy that I am! I could have repelled 
 your caresses, but I cannot support your affliction.” 
 
 At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, 
 holding her pressed close to his bosom, cried, in a 
 piercing tone, — “I will go with her, — nothing shall 
 ever part us.” We all ran towards him ; and Ma- 
 dame de la Tour said to him, — “ My son, if you go, 
 what will become of us ? ” 
 
 He, trembling, repeated after her the words, — 
 “ My son ! — my son ! You my mother ! ” cried he ; 
 “you, who would separate the brother from the sis- 
 ter! We have both been nourished at your bosom; 
 we have both been reared upon your knees ; we have 
 learnt of you to love one another ; we have said so a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 III 
 
 thousand times ; and now you would separate her 
 from me! — you would send her to Europe, that in-" 
 hospitable country which refused you an asylum, and 
 to relations, by whom you yourself were abandoned. 
 You will tell me that I have no right over her, and 
 that she is not my sister. She is everything to me ; 
 — my riches, my birth, my family, — all that I have ! 
 1 know no other. We have had but one roof, — one 
 cradle, — and we will have but one grave! If she 
 goes, I will follow her. The Governor will prevent 
 me! Will he prevent me from flinging myself into 
 the sea? — will he prevent me from following her by 
 swimming? The sea cannot be more fatal to me 
 than the land. Since I cannot live with her, at least 
 I will die before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman 
 mother! — woman without 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 
 Are ; the perspiration fell in great drops from his face ; 
 his knees trembled, and 1 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 for- 
 ever 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. 1 call you all 
 to witness; — you who have reared me from my in- 
 
I I 2 
 
 I^AUL AND F/DG/N/A. 
 
 fancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my tears. 
 I swear by that Heaven winch hears me, by the sea 
 which I am going to pass, by the air I breathe, and 
 which I never sullied by a hdsehood.” 
 
 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 I13 
 
 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 we will talk to the Gov- 
 ernor 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 
 horizon.” 
 
 He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; and, 
 after a night of great agitation, he arose at break of 
 day, and returned home. 
 
 “ But why should I continue any longer to you the 
 recital of this history? There is but one aspect of 
 human existence which we can ever contemplate with 
 pleasure. Like the globe upon which we revolve, the 
 fleeting course of our 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 conjure you, 
 the history which you have begun in a manner so in- 
 teresting. If the images of happiness are the most 
 pleasing, those of misfortune are 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 
 
1 14 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, — 
 “Where is Virginia?” Mary turned her head 
 tov/ards her young master, and began to weep. 
 Paul, distracted, retracing his steps, ran to the har- 
 bor. He was there informed that Virginia had em- 
 barked at break of day, and that the vessel had 
 immediately set sail, and was now out of sight. He 
 instantly returned to the plantation, which he crossed 
 without uttering a word. 
 
 Quite perpendicular as appears the wall 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 considera- 
 ble 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 of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul caught 
 sight of the vessel which was bearing away Virginia, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. iiS 
 
 and which now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like 
 a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He remained 
 a great part of the day with his eyes fixed upon this 
 object : when it had disappeared, he still fancied he 
 beheld it ; 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 dis- 
 tant sound of organs, inspire a profound melancholy. 
 On this spot I found him, his head reclined 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 morn- 
 ing, and the vessel being ready to sail, the Governor, 
 attended by some of his staff and the missionary, 
 had come with a palanquin to fetch her daughter ; 
 and that, notwithstanding Virginia’s objections, her 
 own tears and entreaties, and the lamentations of 
 Margaret, 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, I should now be more calm, I 
 would have said to her, — ‘ Virginia, if, during the 
 time we have lived together, one word may have 
 escaped me which has offended you, before you leave 
 
ii6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 me forever, tell me that you forgive me ’ I would 
 have said to her, — ‘ Since I am destined to see you 
 no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, farewell! Live 
 far from me, contented and happy !’” When he saw 
 that his mother and Madame de la Tour were weep- 
 ing, — “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 and down the plantation He hovered in partic- 
 ular about all those spots which had once been most 
 endeared to Virginia. He said to the 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 the bower called Virginia’s Resting-place, 
 and, as the birds flew around him, exclaimed, “ Poor 
 birds ! you will fly no more to meet her who cher- 
 ished you ! ” — and observing Fiddle running back- 
 wards and forwards in search of her, he heaved a 
 deep sigh, and cried, — “Ah! you will never find 
 her again.” At length he went and seated himself 
 upon the 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, appre- 
 hensive 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 affliction by his despair. At 
 length the latter soothed his mind by lavishing upon 
 
PAUL AND VIPGINIA. 117 
 
 him epithets calculated to awaken his hope, — calling 
 him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom she 
 destined for her daughter. She persuaded him to 
 return home, and to take some food. He seated him- 
 self 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 would 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 together everything 
 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 treas- 
 ures which the world contained, 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 mother 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 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 something of the manners of the society in 
 which she would be placed. The powerful senti- 
 
PAUL AND V/PG/N/A. 
 
 1 18 
 
 inent of love, which directed Ids 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 disappoint- 
 ments have given birth to philosophy, which teaches 
 us to bear up under misfortune. Love, thus the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 119 
 
 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 geog- 
 raphy, which, instead of describing the natural his- 
 tory of each country, gave only a view of its political 
 divisions and boundaries. History, and especially 
 modern history, interested him little more. He there 
 saw only general and periodical evils, the causes of 
 wnich he could not discover ; wars without either 
 motive or reason ; uninteresting intrigues ; with 
 nations destitute of principle, and princes void of 
 humanity. To this branch of reading he preferred 
 romances, which, being chiefly occupied by the pri- 
 
 vate feelings and concerns of men, sometimes repre- 
 sented situations similar to his own. Thus, no book 
 gave him so much pleasure as Telemachus, from the 
 pictures it draws of pastoral life, and of the passions 
 which are most natural to the human breast. He 
 read aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour 
 
120 
 
 l^AUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 those parts which affected him most sensibly ; but 
 sometimes, touched by the most tender remem- 
 brances, his emotion would choke his utterance, and 
 his eyes be filled with tears. He fancied he had 
 found in Virginia the dignity and wisdom of Antiope, 
 united to the misfortunes and the tenderness of 
 Eucharis. With very different sensations he perused 
 our fashionable novels, filled with licentious morals 
 and maxims. And when he was informed that these 
 works drew a tolerably faithful picture of European 
 society, he trembled, and not without some appear- 
 ance of reason, lest 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 ar- 
 rived 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 and Beloved Mother, — I have already 
 seijt you several letters, written by my own hand, but hav- 
 ing received no answer, I am afraid they have not reached 
 you. I have better hopes for this, from the means I have 
 now gained of sending you tidings of myself, and of hear- 
 ing from you. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 I2I 
 
 “I have shed many tears since our separation. I who 
 never used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others ! 
 My aunt was much astonished, when, having, upon my ar- 
 rival, 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 world ; 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, mathe- 
 matics, and riding on horseback. 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; and she has placed 
 two waiting 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, which 
 is as dear to me as it is to you, from all you have told me 
 of the sufferings my father endured in order to marry you. 
 She has 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 situa- 
 tion, I implored her to let me send you something to as- 
 sist 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 would 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 learning, no 
 doubt assisted my endeavors, for I succeeded in both in a 
 short time. I entrusted my first letters to some of the 
 ladies here, who, I have reason to think, carried them to 
 my aunt. This time I have recourse to a boarder, who is 
 my friend. I send you her direction, by means of which I 
 shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid my hold- 
 
t22 
 
 PAUL AND VIP GIN/A. 
 
 ing any correspondence whatever with anyone, lest, she 
 says, it should occasion an obstacle to the great views she 
 has for my advantage. No person is allowed to see me at 
 the grate but herself, and an old nobleman, one of her 
 friends, who, she says, is much pleased with me. I am 
 sure I am not at all so with him, nor should I, even if it 
 were possible for me to be pleased with any one at 
 present. 
 
 “ I live in all the splendor of affluence, and have not a 
 sous at my disposal. They say I might make an improper 
 use of money. Even my clothes belong to my femmes de 
 chaijibi'e^ 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 accomplishments they taught me 
 would not procure me the power of doing the smallest 
 good, I had recourse to my needle, of which happily you 
 had taught me the use. I send several pairs of stockings 
 of my own making for you and my mamma Margaret, a 
 cap for Domingo, and one of my red handkerchiefs for 
 Mary. I also send with this packet some kernels, and 
 seeds of various kinds of fruits which I gathered 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 coun- 
 try 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 plantains, 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 griefs, I 
 endeavor to soothe them by reflecting that I am in the 
 situation in 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 femjjies de chambre^ or rather those of my 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 123 
 
 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, mademoiselle, 
 that you are a French woman, and must forget that land 
 of savages.’ Ah ! sooner will I forget myself, than forget 
 the spot on which I was born and where you dwell ! It is 
 this country which is to me a land of savages, for 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, 
 
 “ ViRGINIE DE LA ToUR. 
 
 “I recommend to your goodness Mary and Domingo, 
 who took so much care of my infancy : caress Fidele for 
 me, who found me in the wood.” 
 
 Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one 
 word of him, — she, who had not forgotten even the 
 house-dog. But he was not aware that, however 
 long a woman’s letter maybe, she never fails to leave 
 her dearest sentiments for the end. 
 
 In a postscript Virginia particularly recommended 
 to Paul’s attention two kinds of seed — those of the 
 violet and the scabious. She gave him some instruc- 
 tions 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, which delights to conceal itself beneath 
 the bushes ; but it is soon discovered by its wide- 
 spreading perfume.” She desired that these seeds 
 might be sown by the border of the fountain, at the 
 foot of her cocoa-tree, “ The scabious,” she added, 
 “ produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and a 
 
124 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 black ground spotted with white. You might fancy 
 it was in mourning; 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 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 together, and knew that the beau- 
 tiful hair which formed the cipher 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-trees of the 
 fountain, now arrived at maturity ; telling her, that 
 he would not add any of the other productions of the 
 island, that the desire of seeing them again might 
 hasten her return. He conjured her to comply as 
 soon as possible with the ardent wishes of her family, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 125 
 
 and above all, with his own, since he could never here- 
 after taste happiness away from her. 
 
 Paul sowed with a careful hand the European seeds, 
 particularly the violet and scabious, the flowers of 
 which seemed to bear some analogy to the character 
 and present 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 unfavorable 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 em- 
 bitter human happiness, particularly in the French 
 colonies, spread some reports in the island which gave 
 Paul much uneasiness. 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 as to declare that the union 
 had already taken place, and that they themselves 
 had witnessed the ceremony. Paul at first despised 
 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, aflecting 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 subject of pleasantry ; and knowing that these 
 books contained pretty faithful representations of 
 European manners, he feared that the heart of Vir- 
 ginia was corrupted, and had forgotten its former 
 
126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 fol- 
 lowing 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 to visit me, in 
 the hope of confirming or banishing 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 Sloping Mountain : there I 
 lead a solitary life, without wife, children, or slaves. 
 
 After having enjoyed, and lost, the rare felicity of 
 living with a congenial mind, the state of life which 
 appears the least wretched is doubtless that of soli- 
 tude. 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 solitude 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 inter- 
 course, brings them in some degree back to the un- 
 
PAUL AND VIP G INI A. 
 
 127 
 
 sophisticated enjoyment of nature. In the midst of 
 modern society, broken up by innumerable pre- 
 judices, the mind is in a constant turmoil of agitation. 
 It is incessantly revolving in itself a thousand tumult- 
 uous and contradictory opinions, by which the mem- 
 bers of an ambitious and miserable circle seek to 
 raise themselves above each other. But in solitude 
 the soul lays aside the morbid illusions which 
 trouble 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, even in the world 
 itself, that it appears to me impossible to derive last- 
 ing pleasure from any pursuit whatever, 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 absolutely alone : he is connected by 
 his necessities 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 elements of the globe on 
 
128 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 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 pass my days far from man- 
 kind, whom I wish to serve, and by whom I have 
 been persecuted. After having travelled over many 
 countries of Europe, and some parts of America and 
 Africa, I at length pitched my tent in this thinly- 
 peopled island, allured by its mild climate and its 
 solitudes. 
 
 A cottage which I built in the woods, at the foot 
 of a tree, a little field which I cleared with my own 
 hands, a river which glides 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 abandoned, still contribute 
 something to my happiness. They lay before me 
 pictures of those passions which render its inhab- 
 itants 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 my 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 aversion: 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 
 lu ink of a torrent extends his hand to save a wretch 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 129 
 
 from drowning. But I have hardly ever found any 
 but the innocent attentive to my voice. Nature calls 
 the majority of men to her in vain. Each of them 
 forms an image of her for himself, and invests her 
 with his own passions. He pursues during the 
 whole of his life this vain phantom, which leads him 
 astray ; and he afterwards complains to Heaven of 
 the misfortunes which he has thus created for him- 
 self. Among the many children of misfortune whom 
 I have endeavored to lead back to the enjoyments of 
 nature, I have not found one but was intoxicated 
 with his own miseries. They have listened to me at 
 first with attention, in the hope that I could teach 
 them 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 happiness. 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 sufficient for me to serve as a les- 
 son 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, — patron- 
 age, fortune, reputation, pleasure, and the opinions 
 which are ever at strife over all the earth. I com- 
 pare the men whom I have seen disputing furiously 
 over these vanities, 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 
 
130 PAUL AND V/RGIN/A. 
 
 stream of time to the shoreless ocean of futurity; 
 while, in the contemplation 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, sit- 
 uated in the midst of a forest, that immense variety of 
 objects which this elevated spot presents, the grounds 
 are disposed with peculiar 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 passes 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 
 pom 7 ne^ with olive and cinnamon-wood trees ; while 
 in some parts the cabbage-palm trees raise their 
 naked stems more than a hundred feet high, their 
 summits crowned with a cluster of leaves, and tower- 
 ing above the woods like one forest piled upon 
 another. Lianas, of various foliage, 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 traveller, who has passed through the 
 forest, often retain for hours the most delicious fra- 
 grance. In the season when they produce their lavish 
 blossoms, they appear as if half-covered with snow. 
 Towards the end of summer, various kinds of 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 13* 
 
 productions of the island ; and the brilliancy of their plu- 
 mage forms a striking contrast to the more sombre tints 
 of the foliage, embrowned by the sun. Among these 
 are various kinds of parroquets, and the blue pigeon, 
 called here the pigeon of Holland. Monkeys, the 
 domestic inhabitants of our forests, sport upon the 
 dark branches of the trees, from which they are easily 
 distinguished by their gray and greenish skin, and their 
 black visages. Some hang, suspended 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 countries of the south, repeated from a dis- 
 tance 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 or 
 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 or 
 a cathedral. The air, kept ever in motion by the run- 
 ning water, preserves upon the banks of the river, 
 amid all the summer heats, a freshness and verdure 
 rarely found in this island, even on the summits or 
 the mountains. 
 
32 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 At some distance from this place is a rock, placed 
 far enough from the cascade to prevent the ear from 
 being deafened with the noise of its waters, and suffi- 
 ciently 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. 
 Virginia, who always, in her most ordinary actions, 
 was 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 traveller, 
 or at least to some bird.” One day, having eaten of 
 the papaw fruit at the foot of that rock, she planted 
 the seeds 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 scarcely 
 as high as her knee ; but, as it is a plant of rapid 
 growth, in the course 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 tran- 
 sient, 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 ourselves : but it is those we 
 behold again, after having for some years lost sight 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 133 
 
 of them, that most powerfully impress us with a feel- 
 ing of the swiftness with which the tide of life flows 
 on. Paul was no less overwhelmed and affected at 
 the sight of this great papaw-tree, loaded with fruit, 
 than is the traveller when, after a long absence from 
 his own country, he finds his 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 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 passionate 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 destroys the monu- 
 ments of kingly ambition, multiply in our forests 
 those which testify the beneficence of a poor young 
 girl! 
 
 At the foot of this papaw-t ree 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 perhaps 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 
 speakers from the character of his questions and of 
 my answers. 
 
134 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIN/ A. 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle 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 for- 
 tune ; and then 
 Mademoiselle de 
 la Tour’s aunt 
 will bestow her niece upon me when I shall have be- 
 come a great lord.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ But, my dear friend, have not you told me that 
 you are not of noble birth ? ” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 My mother has told me so; but, as for myself, 
 J know not what noble birth means. I never per- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 135 
 
 ceived that I had less than others, or that others had 
 more than 1.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “Obscure birth, in France, shuts every door of 
 access to great employments ; nor can you even be 
 received among any distinguished body of men, if 
 you labor under this disadvantage.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “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 mean condition, had conferred honor upon their 
 country. It was your wish, then, by concealing the 
 truth, to stimulate my ardor? ” 
 
 THE OLD MAN 
 
 “ Never, my son, would I lower it. I told you the 
 truth with regard to the past ; but now everything 
 has undergone 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 patri- 
 mony 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 exclu- 
 sive administrations, such phenomena have been 
 
136 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ But perhaps I shall find one of these nobles to 
 protect me.” 
 
 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 per- 
 formance 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 his- 
 tories 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 137 
 
 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 themselves in every pos- 
 sible 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 I said before, 
 the monarch sometimes, when he perceives it, ren- 
 ders to it due honor; but in the present day, the 
 distinctions which should be bestowed on merit are 
 generally to be obtained by money alone.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ 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 be- 
 loved by it.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “You will act then like other men? — you will 
 renounce your conscience to obtain a fortune?” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ Oh no! I will never lend myself to anything but 
 the truth.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ Instead of making yourself beloved, you would 
 become an object of dislike. Besides, public bodies 
 have never taken much interest in the discovery of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 13S 
 
 truth. All opinions are nearly alike to ambitious 
 men, provided only that they themselves can gain 
 their ends.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “How unfortunate I am! Everything 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 
 mankind the public body 
 would serve. Be constantl 
 attached to them both. 
 
 Families, corporations, 
 nations and kings, have, 
 all of them, their preju- 
 dices and their 
 passions ; it is 
 often necessary 
 to serve them 
 by the practice 
 of vice : God 
 and mankind 
 at large require 
 only the exer- 
 cise of the vir- 
 tues. 
 
 “ But why do you wish to be distinguished from 
 other men? It is hardly a natural sentiment, for, if 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 139 
 
 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 coun- 
 try and a condition in which you are not reduced to 
 deceive or to flatter any one, or to 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, patient, 
 temperate, chaste, indulgent to others’ faults, pious, 
 and no shaft of ridicule be aimed at you to destroy 
 your wisdom, as yet only in its bud. Heaven has 
 given you liberty, health, a good conscience, and 
 friends : kings themselves, whose favor you desire, 
 are not so happy.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ Ah ! I want only to have Virginia with me : with- 
 out her I have nothing, — with her, I should possess 
 all my desire. She alone is to me birth, glory, and 
 fortune. But, since 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 w*ill become a man of science : I will ren- 
 der my knowledge useful to the service of my coun- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIN/ A. 
 
 1 40 
 
 try, without injuring any one, or owning dependence 
 on any one. I will become celebrated, and my glory 
 shall be achieved only by myself.” 
 
 THE 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. They are seldom 
 acquired but by every species of privation, by the 
 possession of exquisite sensibility, which often pro- 
 duces inward unhappiness, and which exposes us 
 without to the malice and persecutions of our con- 
 temporaries. The 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 
 assumption 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 
 round the tree, and kissed it with transport. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 141 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 ‘‘ The best of books, — that which preaches noth- 
 ing but equality, brotherly love, charity, and peace, 
 — the Gospel, has 
 served as a pretext, 
 during many centu- 
 ries, for Europeans 
 to let loose all their 
 fury. How many 
 tyrannies, both pub- 
 lic and private, are 
 still practised in its 
 name on the face of 
 the earth ! After this, 
 who will dare to flat- 
 ter himself that any- 
 thing he can write 
 will be of service to 
 his fellow-men ? Re- 
 member the fate of 
 most of the philos- 
 ophers 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 
 admirable lessons to the Athenians, was sentenced 
 by them to be poisoned. His sublime disciple, Plato, 
 was delivered over to slavery by the order of the 
 very prince who protected him ; and, before them, 
 Pythagoras, whose humanity extended even to ani- 
 mals, was burned alive by the Crotoniates. What 
 
142 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 do I say ? — many even of these illustrious names 
 have descended to us disfigured by some traits of 
 satire by which they became characterized, human 
 ingratitude taking 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 contemporaries ; like those statues 
 which are found entire beneath the soil in Greece 
 and Italy, and which, by being hidden in the bosom 
 of the earth, have escaped, uninjured, 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 practised in this age, because it is habitually 
 indifferent to everything except wealth and luxury ; 
 but knowledge and virtue no longer lead to distinc- 
 tion, since everything in the state is to be purchased 
 with money. Formerly, men of letters were certain 
 of reward by some place in the church, the magis- 
 tracy, or the administration : now, they are consid- 
 ered 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 the privilege of shedding lustre on 
 obscure virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of enlight- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 143 
 
 ening nations, and of telling the truth even to kings. 
 This is, unquestionably, the most august commission 
 with which Heaven can honor a mortal upon this 
 earth. Where is the author who would not be con- 
 soled for the injustice or contempt of those who are 
 the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, 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 efface that of the common herd of mon- 
 archs, the monuments of whose deeds perish in 
 oblivion, notwithstanding the flatterers 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 ? — when a single anticipated mis- 
 fortune gives us so much useless uneasiness — when 
 the foreknowledge 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 
 
144 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of reflection to foresee our necessities, gave us also 
 those very necessities to set limits to its exercise.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “You tell me that with money people 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 her mother and yours ? ” 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ Why, you yourself have advised my going to the 
 Indies.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “Virginia was then here; but you are now the 
 only means of support both of her mother and of 
 your own.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ Virginia will assist them, by means of her rich 
 relation.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 I4S 
 
 than Madame de la Tour, who, for want of their 
 assistance, sacrifice their liberty for bread, and pass 
 their lives immured within the walls of a convent.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “Oh, what a country is Europe! Virginia must 
 come back here. What need has she of a rich rela- 
 tion ? She was so happy in these huts ; she looked 
 so beautiful and so well dressed with a red handker- 
 chief or a few flowers round her head ! Return, 
 Virginia ! 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 from me: if you cannot tell me 
 whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at least if 
 she loves me still, surrounded as she is by noblemen 
 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 himself on my 
 neck in a transport of joy. 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ But do you think that the women of Europe are 
 false, as they are represented in the comedies and 
 books which you have lent me ? ” 
 
146 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “Women are false in those countries where men 
 are tyrants. Violence always engenders a disposi- 
 tion to deceive.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ In what way can men tyrannize over women ?” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ In giving them in marriage without consulting 
 their inclinations : — in uniting a young girl to an 
 old man, or a woman of sensibility to a frigid and 
 indifferent 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 when they are old, they cannot secure 
 the affections of their own. At first, they them- 
 selves are deceivers ; and afterwards, they are de- 
 ceived in their turn. This is one of the re-actions of 
 
PAUL ANB VIRGINIA. 
 
 147 
 
 that eternal justice by which the world is governed : 
 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 accumulated in the hands of a few individ- 
 uals. 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 number 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.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ But where is the necessity for being rich in order 
 to marry ? ” 
 
148 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ In order to pass through life in abundance, with- 
 out being obliged to work.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “But why not work? I am sure I work hard 
 enough.” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “ In Europe, working with your hands is con- 
 sidered a degradation : it is compared to the labor 
 performed by a machine. The occupation of culti- 
 vating the earth is the most despised of all. Even 
 an artisan is held in more estimation than a peas- 
 ant.” 
 
 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 ac- 
 cording 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, happi- 
 ness, have all their defined proportions : deformity, 
 vice, and misery have none.” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 149 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “The rich then are always very happy! They 
 meet with no obstacles to the fulfilment 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 ; 01 
 that of drinking, by thirst? The pleasure also of lov- 
 ing and being beloved is only to be acquired by innu- 
 merable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, by antici- 
 pating all their necessities, deprives its possessors ol 
 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 enjoyment of 
 it. The effect of everything is increased by contrast ; 
 nature has balanced all things. Which condition, 
 after all, do you consider preferable, — to have 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 150 
 
 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 difficulty supported by man, whose happiness 
 consists in a middle station of life, in union with 
 virtue.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ What do you understand by virtue?” 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 “To you, my son, who support your family by 
 your labor, it need hardly be defined. Virtue con- 
 sists in endeavoring to do all the good we can to 
 others, with an ultimate intention of pleasing God 
 alone.” 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 “ Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Virginia! Virtue led 
 her to seek for riches, that she might practise benev- 
 olence. Virtue induced her to quit this island, and 
 virtue will bring her back to it.” 
 
 The idea of her speedy return firing the imagina- 
 tion of this young man, all his anxieties suddenly 
 vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, had not writ- 
 ten, because she would soon arrive. It took so little 
 time to come from Europe with a fair wind I Then 
 he enumerated the vessels which had made this pas- 
 sage of four thousand five hundred leagues in less than 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 151 
 
 three months ; and perhaps the vessel in which Vir- 
 ginia had embarked might not be more than two. 
 Shipbuilders were now so ingenious, and sailors were 
 
 so expert! He then talked to me of. the arrange- 
 ments he intended to make for her reception, of the 
 new house he would build for her, and of the pleas- 
 ures and surprises 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, we shall 
 
152 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 anticipations to his family. 
 
 In a short time, however, these enchanting hopes 
 were succeeded by the most cruel apprehensions. It 
 is always the effect of violent passions to throw the 
 soul into opposite extremes. Paul returned the next 
 day to my dwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, 
 and said to me, — “ I hear nothing from Virginia. 
 Had she left Europe, she would have written me word 
 of her departure. Ah ! the reports which I have heard 
 concerning her are but too well founded. Her aunt 
 has married her to some great lord. She, like others, 
 has been undone by the love 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 forsaken 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 excited 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 sup- 
 port, without witness and without applause, the vex- 
 ations of life : this virtue is patience. Relying for 
 
PAUL AJVD VIRGINIA. 
 
 IS3 
 
 support, not upon the opinions of others, or upon the 
 impulse of the passions, but upon the will of God, 
 patience is the courage of virtue.” 
 
 “Ah!” cried he, “I am then without virtue! 
 Everything overwhelms me and drives me to de- 
 spair.” — “Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,” 
 I replied, “ belongs not to man. In the midst of the 
 many passions which agitate us, our reason is disor- 
 dered and obscured : but there is an ever-burning 
 lamp at which we can rekindle its flame ; and that 
 is, literature. 
 
 “ Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven, — 
 a ray of that wisdom by which the universe is gov- 
 erned, and which man, inspired by a celestial intelli- 
 gence, 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 fire, 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 examples of 
 great and good men which it has handed down to us, 
 and whose time-honored images it ever brings before 
 our eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven, who 
 has descended upon earth to soften and to charm 
 away all the evils of the human race. The greatest 
 writers have ever appeared in the worst times, — in 
 times in which society can hardly be held together, — 
 the times of barbarism and every species of depravity. 
 My son, literature has consoled an infinite number of 
 
^54 
 
 PACTL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 men more unhappy than yourself : Xenophon, ban- 
 ished 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 in- 
 gratitude 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 pas- 
 sions, to bring them under proper restraint. Litera- 
 ture, in this imaginative guise, would thus fulfil, 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 
 travellers who have preceded us in the paths of mis- 
 fortune, and who stretch out a friendly hand towards 
 us, and invite us to join their 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 she had studied as little 
 as myself : but when she looked at me and called me 
 her friend, I could not feel unhappy.” 
 
 “Undoubtedly,” said I, “there is no friend so 
 agreeable as a mistress by whom we are beloved. 
 There is, moreover, in woman a liveliness and gayety 
 which powerfully tend to dissipate the melancholy 
 feelings of man : her presence drives away the dark 
 phantoms of imagination produced by over-reflection. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 155 
 
 Upon her countenance sit soft attraction and tender 
 confidence. What joy is not heightened when it is 
 shared by her? What brow is not unbent by her 
 smiles? What anger can resist her tears? Vir- 
 ginia will return with more philosophy than you, and 
 will be quite surprised to find the garden so unfin- 
 ished ; — she who could think of its embellishments 
 in spite of all the persecutions of her aunt, and when 
 far from her mother and from you.” 
 
 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 re- 
 flection 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 De- 
 cember, 1744), Paul when he arose perceived a white 
 flag hoisted upon the Mountain of Discovery. This 
 flag he knew to be the signal of a vessel descried at 
 sea. He instantly flew to the town to learn if this 
 vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited 
 there till the return of the pilot, who was gone, ac- 
 cording to custom, to board the ship. The pilot did 
 not return till the evening, when he brought the Gov- 
 ernor information that the signalled vessel was the 
 Saint-Geran, of seven hundred tons burthen, 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 after- 
 noon, 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 was one addressed to 
 
IS6 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, in the handwriting of Virginia. 
 Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, 
 and, placing it in his bosom, flew to the plantation. 
 No sooner did he perceive from a distance the family, 
 who were awaiting his return upon the Rock of 
 Adieus, than he waved the letter aloft in the air, 
 without being able to utter a word. No sooner was 
 the seal broken, than they all crowded round Ma- 
 dame de la Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia in- 
 formed her mother that she had experienced much ill- 
 usage from her aunt, who, after having in vain urged 
 her to a marriage against her inclinations, had disin- 
 herited her, and had sent her back at a time when 
 she would probably reach the Mauritius during the 
 hurricane season. In vain, she added, had she en- 
 deavored to soften her aunt, by representing what 
 she owed to her mother, and to her early habits : 
 she was treated as a romantic girl, whose 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 landing in the pilot’s boat, i£ the captain 
 had allowed her ; but that he had objected, on ac- 
 count of the distance, and of a heavy swell, which, 
 notwithstanding the calm, reigned in the open 
 sea. 
 
 As soon as the 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 157 
 
 torch of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent their 
 way towards my dwelling. 
 
 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 the pali- 
 sades 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 we set ofif. 
 
 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 walk- 
 ing behind us. It proved to __ 
 
 be a negro, and he was ad- 
 vancing with hasty steps. When he had 
 us, I asked him whence he came, and 
 he was going with such expedition. He answered, 
 — “I come from that part of the island called Golden 
 
 reached 
 
 whither 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIN/ A. 
 
 158 
 
 Dust ; and am sent to the port, to inform the Gov- 
 ernor 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 darkness shrouded the sky ; 
 but the frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us 
 long rows of thick and gloomy clouds, hanging very 
 low, and heaped together over the centre of the 
 island, being driven in with 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 atten- 
 tively, we perceived that it was the sound of cannon 
 at a distance, repeated by the echoes. These omin- 
 ous sounds, joined to the tempestuous aspect 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 apprehen- 
 sions. At midnight, by great exertion, we arrived 
 at the seashore, in that part of the island called 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 159 
 
 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 distinguished, notwithstanding the dark- 
 ness, a number of fishing canoes, drawn up high 
 upon the beach. 
 
 At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from 
 us, we saw a hre, round which a party of the inhabit- 
 ants was assembled. We repaired thither, in order 
 to rest ourselves till the morning. While we were 
 seated near this fire, one of the standers-by related, 
 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 approached so 
 near the coast, had steered between 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, the 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 
 
i6o 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 inhabitants gave 
 different opinions upon this subject, which they con- 
 tinued to discuss in the usual desultory manner of 
 the indolent creoles. Paul and I observed a pro- 
 found 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, ev^erything being 
 covered with fog. All we could descry to seaward 
 was a dark cloud, which they told us was the Isle of 
 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 announced the approach 
 of the Governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, who 
 soon after arrived on horseback, at the head of a 
 detachment 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. 
 
PAUL AND VI PG INI A. 
 
 i6i 
 
 which was instantly followed by the report of a can- 
 non. We judged that the ship was at no great dis- 
 tance, 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, notwith- 
 standinof the 
 
 tumult of the waves, we could distinctly hear the 
 whistle of the boatswain and the shouts of 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 
 
i 62 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIN/ A. 
 
 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 perceived that we were 
 near enough to render her assistance, 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 neighborhood 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, 
 approaching the Governor, said to him, — “We have 
 heard all night hollow noises in the mountain ; 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 certain that all these signs announce a 
 hurricane.” “Well, my friends,” answered the Gov- 
 ernor, “we are prepared for it, and no doubt the 
 vessel is also.” 
 
 Everything, indeed, presaged the near approach of 
 the hurricane. The centre of the clouds in the zenith 
 was of a dismal black, while their skirts were tinged 
 with a copper-colored hue. The air resounded with 
 the cries of tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds and in- 
 numerable other sea-fowl which, notwithstanding the 
 obscurity of the atmosphere, 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 direc- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 163 
 
 tion of the ocean the most terrific noise, like the 
 sound of thunder mingled with that of torrents rush- 
 ing dowh the steeps of lofty mountains. A general 
 cry was 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 presented herself to our view, 
 her deck crowded with people, her yards and top- 
 masts lowered 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. 
 
164 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 She presented 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, disap- 
 peared altogether from our sight, as if it were swal- 
 lowed 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 
 dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence 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 yawn- 
 ing 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 hori- 
 zontally 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 tem- 
 pest : the sky and the water seemed blended together. 
 Thick masses of clouds, of a frightful form, swept 
 
VIRGINIA ON BOARD THE SHIP. 
 

PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 165 
 
 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 which held 
 her bow were torn away ; she then swung to a single 
 hawser, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at 
 the distance of half a cable’s length from the shore. 
 A general cry of horror issued from the spectators. 
 Paul rushed forward to throw himself 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 despair had deprived him of reason, 
 Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, fastened a 
 long cord round his waist, and held it fast by the end. 
 Paul then precipitated himself towards the Saint- 
 Geran, now swimming, and now walking upon the 
 rocks. Sometimes 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, shrowded it beneath mountains of water, 
 which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The break- 
 ers at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul 
 far upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his 
 bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The 
 moment he had recovered the use of his senses, he 
 arose, and returned with new ardor towards the 
 
i66 
 
 PAUL AND V/RGTNIA. 
 
 vessel, the parts of which now yawned asunder from 
 the violent strokes of the billows. The crew then, 
 despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds 
 into the sea upon yards, planks, hencoops, 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 intrepidity. The 
 sight of this amiable 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. Then were heard re- 
 doubled cries from the spectators, “Save her! — 
 save her ! — do not leave her ! ” But at that moment 
 a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed 
 itself between the Isle of Amber and the coast, and 
 menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it rolled 
 bellowing, with its black sides and foaming head. 
 
 At this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into 
 ■ the sea, and Virginia, seeing death inevitable, crossed 
 her hands upon her breast, and, raising upwards her 
 serene and beauteous eyes, seemed an angel prepared 
 to take her flight to heaven. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 167 
 
 Oh, day of horror ! Alas ! everything was swal- 
 lowed up by the relentless billows. The surge threw 
 some of the spectators, whom an im- 
 pulse of humanity had prompted to 
 advance towards Virginia, far upon 
 the beach, and also the sailor who 
 had endeavored to save her life. This 
 man, who had escaped from almost 
 certain death, kneeling on 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 “ Oh my God ! Thou hast saved my life, but I would 
 have given it willingly for that excellent young lady, 
 who persevered in not undressing herself as I had 
 done.” 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 1 68 
 
 Domingo and I 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, wandered along 
 the beach, in hopes that the sea 
 would throw up the corpse of Vir- 
 ginia. But the wind having sud- 
 
 
 denly changed, as it frequently happens during 
 liurricanes, our search was in vain; and we had the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 169 
 
 grief of thinking that we should not be able to 
 bestow on this sweet and unfortunate girl the last 
 sad duties. We retired from the spot overwhelmed 
 with dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by 
 one cruel loss, although numbers had perished in 
 the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed tempted, 
 from the fatal destiny of this virtuous girl, to doubt 
 the existence of Providence ; for there are in life such 
 terrible, such unmerited evils, that even the hope of 
 the wise is sometimes shaken. 
 
 In the meantime, Paul, who began to recover his 
 senses, was taken to a house in the neighborhood, 
 till he was in a fit state to be removed to his own 
 home. Thither I bent my way with Domingo, to 
 discharge 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 us that the sea had thrown up many pieces 
 of the wreck in the opposite bay. We descended 
 towards it ; and one of the first objects which struck 
 my sight upon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. 
 The body was half covered with sand, and preserved 
 the attitude 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 I took from its 
 grasp a small box. How great was my emotion. 
 
170 
 
 PAUL AND V/PGIN/A. 
 
 when I saw it contained the picture of Paul, which 
 she had promised him never to part with while she 
 lived ! 
 
 At the sight of this last mark of the fidelity and 
 tenderness of the unfortunate girl, I wept bitterly. 
 As for Domingo, he beat his breast, and pierced 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 to some poor Malabar women, who 
 carefully washed away the sand. 
 
 While they were employed in this melancholy 
 office, we ascended the hill with trembling steps to 
 the plantation. We found Madame de la Tour and 
 Margaret at prayer, hourly expecting to have tidings 
 from the ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw 
 me coming, she eagerly cried, — “Where is my 
 daughter — my dear daughter — my ^hild ? ” My 
 silence and my tears apprised her of her misfortune. 
 She was instantly seized with a convulsive stopping 
 of the breath and agonizing pains, and her voice was 
 only heard in sighs and groans. Margaret cried, — 
 “ Where is my son? I do not see my son ! ” — and 
 fainted. 
 
 We ran to her assistance. In a short time she 
 recovered, and being assured that Paul was safe, and 
 under the care of the Governor, she thought of noth- 
 ing but of succoring her friend, who recovered from 
 one fainting fit only to fall into another. Madame 
 de la Tour passed the whole night in these cruel 
 sufferings, and I became convinced that there was no 
 sorrow like that of a mother. 
 
 When she recovered her senses, she cast a fixed, 
 
JVIL/L AA^n PVKG/NIA. 17 1 
 
 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 testimonials 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 recovered the use of his rea- 
 son, but was unable to utter a word. His interview 
 with his mother and ?vladame 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 hav- 
 ing thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the 
 convulsive pangs they had suffered, and afforded 
 them a lethargic repose, which was, in truth, like 
 that of death. 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise me 
 secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been borne 
 to the town by his order, from whence it was to be 
 transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. 
 I immediately went down to Port Louis, where I 
 found a multitude assembled from all parts of the 
 island, in order to be present at the funeral solem- 
 nity, 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. 
 
172 
 
 PAUL AND V/PG/N/A, 
 
 A body of grenadiers led the funeral procession, 
 with their muskets reversed, their muffled drums send- 
 ing forth slow and dismal sounds. Dejection was 
 depicted in the countenances 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 covered with flowers. 
 
 They were followed by a chorus of children, chant- 
 ing hymns, and by the Governor, his field officers, all 
 the principal inhabitants of the island, and an im- 
 mense crowd of people. 
 
 This imposing funeral solemnity had been ordered 
 by the administration of the country, 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 cottages of 
 which she had so long been an inmate and an orna- 
 ment, diffusing happiness all around them, and which 
 her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral 
 pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthem 
 ceased, and the whole plain resounded with sighs 
 and lamentations. Numbers of young girls ran from 
 the neighboring plantations, to touch the coffin of 
 Virginia with their handkerchiefs, and, with chaplets 
 and crowns of flowers, invoking her as a saint. 
 Mothers asked of Heaven a child like Virginia; 
 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 173 
 
 interment, some negresses of Madagascar and 
 Caffres of Mozambique placed a number of baskets 
 of fruit around the corpse and hung pieces of stuff 
 upon the adjoining trees, according to the custom of 
 
 their several countries. Some Indian women from 
 Bengal, also, and from the coast of Malabar, 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. 
 
174 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and thus was the ritual of various religions performed 
 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 bamboos, where, in return- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 175 
 
 ing from mass with her mother and Margaret, Virginia 
 loved to rest herself, seated by the side of him whom 
 she then called her brother. This was the spot 
 selected for her interment. 
 
 At his return from the funeral solemnity. Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais came up here, followed by part of 
 his numerous retinue. He offered Madame de la 
 Tour and her friend all the assistance it was in his 
 power to bestow. After briefly expressing his indig- 
 nation at the conduct of her unnatural aunt, he 
 advanced to Paul, and said everything which he 
 thought most likely to soothe and console him. — 
 “Heaven is my witness,” said he, “that I wish 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 plantation 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 insensible to every- 
 thing ; his look was vacant ; 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 
 
176 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 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 Governor’s 
 surgeon, who 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 pos- 
 session of his mind, we must allow him to do what- 
 ever he pleased, without contradiction : this, he said, 
 afforded the only chance of overcoming the silence 
 in which he persevered. 
 
 I resolved to follow this advice. The first use 
 which Paul made of his returning strength was to ab- 
 sent himself from the plantation. Being determined 
 not to lose sight of him, I set out immediately, and 
 desired Domingo to take some provisions and accom- 
 pany us. The young man’s strength and spirits 
 seemed renewed as he descended 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 confi- 
 dence in the Supreme Being showed that his mind 
 was beginning to resume its natural functions. Do- 
 mingo and I, following his example, fell upon our 
 knees, and mingled our prayers with his. When he 
 arose, he bent his way, paying little attention to us, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 177 
 
 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 bor- 
 ders of the forest, when night came on. I set him 
 the example of taking some nourishment, and pre- 
 vailed on him to do 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 guessed 
 what was his design, and I endeavored, but in vain, 
 to dissuade him from it. About noon we arrived at 
 the quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down to the 
 seashore, 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 ex- 
 claimed, — “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 seashore ; but we conjured him not 
 to renew his own anguish and ours by such cruel 
 remembrances, and he took another direction. Dur- 
 ing a whole week he sought every spot where he had 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 1 78 
 
 once wandered with the companion of his childhood. 
 He traced the path by which she had gone to inter- 
 cede 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 farther, and upon that part of the wood where 
 they had lost their way. All the haunts, which re- 
 called 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 I ” 
 
 During this savage and wandering life his eyes be- 
 came sunk and hollow, his skin assumed a yellow 
 tint, and his health rapidly declined. Convinced 
 that our present sufferings are rendered more acute 
 by the bitter recollection of bygone pleasures, and 
 that the passions gather strength in solitude, I re- 
 solved to remove my unfortunate friend from those 
 scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, 
 and to lead him to a m.ore 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 carpenters were em- 
 ployed in hewing down and squaring trees, while 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 179 
 
 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 feed- 
 ing on those widespread meadows, and the whole 
 country was dotted with the dwellings of man. On 
 some spots the elevation 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 the church of the Shaddock 
 Grove, nor any other object associated with the re- 
 membrance of Virginia could be discerned. Even 
 the mountains, which present various shapes on the 
 side of Port Louis, appear from hence like a long 
 
i8o PAUL AND VI RG I NLA. 
 
 promontory, in a straight and perpendicular line, 
 from which arise lofty pyramids of rock, whose sum- 
 mits are enveloped in the clouds. 
 
 Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him con- 
 tinually in action, walking with him in rain and sun- 
 shine, by night and by day. 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 of ob- 
 livion over so many other remembrances, in vain 
 would tear that tender and sacred recollection from 
 the heart. The needle, when touched by the lode- 
 stone, however it may have been moved from its po- 
 sition, is no sooner left to repose, than it turns to 
 the pole of its attraction. So, when I inquired of 
 Paul, as we wandered amidst the plains of Wil- 
 liams, — “Where shall we now go?” he pointed to the 
 north, and said, “Yonder are our mountains; let us 
 return home.” 
 
 I now saw that all the means I took to divert him 
 from his melancholy were fruitless, and that no re- 
 source was left but an attempt to combat his passion 
 by the arguments which reason suggested. I an- 
 swered 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 dy- 
 ing, to her heart ; that heart, which even in its last 
 moments only beat for you.” I then presented to 
 
FA[/L AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 i8i 
 
 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 countenance. He 
 eagerly seized the picture with his feeble hands, and 
 held it to his lips. His oppressed bosom seemed 
 ready to burst with emo- 
 tion, and his eyes were 
 filled with tears which had 
 no power to flow. 
 
 “ My son,” said I, “ lis- 
 ten to one who is your 
 friend, who was the friend 
 of 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 bit- 
 terness? 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 amiable of girls, who would have 
 grown up to womanhood a pattern to her sex ; one 
 who sacrificed her own interests to yours, who pre- 
 ferred you to all that fortune could bestow, and con- 
 sidered you as the only recompense worthy of her 
 virtues. But might not this very object, from whom 
 you expected the purest happiness, have proved to 
 you a source of the most cruel distress ? She had re- 
 
t 82 
 
 PAUL AND V/RGINIA, 
 
 turned poor and disinherited : all you could henceforth 
 have partaken with her was your labor. Rendered 
 more delicate by her education, and more coura- 
 geous by her misfortunes, you might have beheld her 
 every day sinking beneath her efforts to share and 
 lighten your fatigues. Had she brought you children, 
 they would only have served to increase her anxieties 
 and your own, from the difficulty of 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 Governors are so frequently 
 changed, you would have had others like Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais? — 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 vou, you may say, 
 to have enjoyed a pleasure independent of fortune, 
 — that of protecting a beloved being, who, in propor- 
 tion to her own helplessness, had more attached her- 
 self to you. You may fancy that your pains and 
 sufferings would have served to endear you to each 
 other, and that your passion would have gathered 
 strength from your mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 183 
 
 virtuous love does find consolation even in such 
 melancholy retrospects. But 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 other greater 
 or more certain enjoyment on the earth. Schemes 
 of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth, and glory are 
 not suited to man, weak, wandering, 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 Vir- 
 ginia’s voyage would terminate in her happiness and 
 your own? An invitation from a rich and aged rela- 
 tion, 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 us. It would be better, no 
 doubt, not to believe 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 
 losing, at some period, all that he most values, — 
 greatness, wealth, wife, children, and friends. Most 
 of these would have their sorrow increased by the 
 remembrance of their own imprudence. But you 
 
184 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 disinter- 
 ested. You had, besides, on Virginia, sacred claims 
 which nothing could countervail. You have lost her ; 
 but it is neither your own imprudence, nor your 
 avarice, nor your false wisdom which has occasioned 
 this misfortune, but the will of God, who has em- 
 ployed the passions of others to snatch from you the 
 object of your love ; God, from whom you derive 
 everything, 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 oureslves. 
 
 “ Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to your- 
 self, ‘ I have not deserved them.’ Is it then the 
 calamity of Virginia — her death, and her present 
 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 his projects, may be compared to a tower, at 
 whose summit is death. When your Virginia 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 185 
 
 fears, which perpetually imbitter 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 been the happiest, you will find that 
 they have bought their apparent felicity very dear : 
 public consideration, perhaps, by domestic evils ; for- 
 tune, by the loss of health ; the rare happiness of be- 
 ing 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 relations. But Virginia was happy to 
 her very last moment. When with us, she was happy 
 in partaking of the gifts of nature ; when far from us, 
 she found enjoyment in 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 endeavor- 
 ing 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 re- 
 serves for virtue, — a courage superior to danger. 
 She met death with a serene countenance. 
 
 “ My son ! God gives all the trials of life 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 ex- 
 hibits it on a wide theatre, and contending with 
 death. Then does the courage of virtue shine forth 
 as an example, and the misfortunes to which it has 
 
i86 
 
 PAUL AND VIPGINIA. 
 
 been exposed receive forever, from posterity, the tribT 
 ute of their tears. This is the immortal monument 
 reserved for virtue in a world where everything else 
 passes away, and where the 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 ca;i 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, she is now much more so. 
 
 “ There is a God, my son : it is unnecessary for 
 me to prove it to you, for the voice of all nature 
 loudly proclaims it. The wickedness of mankind 
 leads 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 would leave 
 Virginia without recompense? Do you think that 
 the same Power which enclosed 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 187 
 
 our existence here? And now that we are in the 
 midst of this gloomy and transitory life, can we fore- 
 see what is beyond the tomb, or in what manner we 
 shall be emancipated from it? Does God, like man, 
 need this little globe, the earth, as a theatre for the 
 display of His intelligence and His goodness? — and 
 can He only dispose 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 surround them, and which nei- 
 ther storms nor darkness can extinguish, is there 
 nothing but empty space and an eternal void ? If we, 
 weak and ignorant as we are, might dare to assign 
 limits to that Power from whom we have received 
 everything, we might possibly imagine that we were 
 placed on the very confines of His empire, where life 
 is perpetually struggling with death, and innocence 
 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, — 
 ‘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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 i88 
 
 I preferred the loss of life to disobeying the dictates 
 of modesty. Heaven found that 1 had fulfilled my 
 duties, and has snatched me forever 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 unchangeable 
 as a particle of light, and you would recall me to the 
 darkness of human life ! O Paul ! O my beloved 
 friend ! recollect those days of happiness, when in 
 the morning we felt the delightful sensations excited 
 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 thou- 
 sand perfumes at once ; all hearing, to listen to the 
 singing of our birds ; and all heart, to be capable of 
 gratitude for these mingled blessings. Now, at the 
 source of the beauty whence flows all that is delight- 
 ful upon earth, my soul intuitively sees,, tastes, hears, 
 touches what before it 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 number- 
 less beings exulting in the same felicity can impart, 
 we enjoy in unmixed perfection. Support, then, the 
 trial which is now allotted to you, that you may 
 
FA[/L AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 189 
 
 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 youthful 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 is no more ! 
 she is no more 1 ” and a long fainting fit succeeded 
 these words of woe. 
 
 When restored to himself, he said, “Since death 
 is a good, and since 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 attempt- 
 ing to save a friend who is sinking in the midst of a 
 flood, and who obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow 
 had completely overwhelmed his soul. Alas I the 
 trials of early years prepare 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 delicious gardens. She said to 
 me, ‘ I enjoy the most perfect happiness ; ’ and then 
 approaching Paul with a smiling air, she bore him 
 
190 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 away with her. While I was struggling to retain 
 my son, I felt that I myself 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 was hastening after me, accompanied by 
 Mary and Domingo. But the strangest circumstance 
 remains yet to be told : Madame de la Tour has this 
 very night had a dream exactly like mine in every 
 possible respect.” 
 
 “ My dear friend,” I replied, “ nothing, I firmly 
 believe, happens in this world without the permis- 
 sion 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 dreams, 
 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 nations of the earth. The greatest men 
 of antiquity have had faith in it, among whom may 
 be mentioned Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, the 
 Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, none of whom 
 were weak-minded persons. 
 
 Both the Old and the New Testament furnish us 
 with numerous instances of dreams that came to 
 pass. As for myself, I need only, on this subject, 
 appeal to my own experience, as I have morg than 
 once had good reason to believe that superior 
 intelligences, who interest themselves in our wel- 
 
PAUL AND VIP G INI A 
 
 191 
 
 fare, 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 t^ 
 the ends of the earth by secret missives, may not the 
 Supreme Intelligence which governs the universe 
 employ similar means to attain a like end? One 
 friend consoles another by a letter, which, after pass- 
 ing 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 Sov- 
 ereign Protector of innocence come, in some 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 fleet- 
 ing 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 expired two months after the death of 
 his Virginia, whose name dwelt on his lips in his ex- 
 piring moments. 
 
 About a week after the death of her son, Margaret 
 saw her last hour approach with that serenity which 
 virtue only can feel. She bade Madame de la Tour 
 a most tender farewell, “in the certain hope,’' she 
 
192 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 said, “of a delightful and eternal reuxiion. 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 who survived 
 their mistresses but a short time. 
 
 As for poor Fiddle, 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 in- 
 credible 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, how- 
 ever, but one month. Far from reproaching her aunt 
 for the afflictions she had caused, her benign spirit 
 prayed to God to pardon her, and to appease that 
 remorse which we heard began to torment her as soon 
 as she had sent Virginia away with so much inhuman- 
 
 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. Some- 
 times she reproached herself with the untimely fate 
 of her lovely niece, and with the death of her mother 
 which had immediately followed it. At other times 
 she congratulated herself for having repulsed far from 
 
PAUL AND VIPGINIA. 193 
 
 her two wretched creatures, who, she said, had both 
 dishonored their family by their grovelling inclina- 
 tions. Sometimes, at the sight of the many miser- 
 able objects with which Paris abounds, she would fly 
 into a rage and exclaim, — “ Why are not these idle 
 
 people sent off to the colonies ? ” As for the notions 
 of humanity, virtue, and religion adopted by all na- 
 tions, she said, they were only the inventions of their 
 rulers, to serve political purposes. Then, flying 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 
 
194 PAUL AA^B VIP G INI A. 
 
 wealthy ecclesiastics who governed her, beseeching 
 them to appease the wrath of God by the sacrifice of 
 her fortune, — as if the offering to Him of the wealth 
 she had withheld from the miserable could please her 
 Heavenly Father! In her imagination she often be- 
 held fields of fire, with burning mountains, wherein 
 
 hideous spectres wandered about, loudly calling on 
 her by name. She threw herself at her confessoFs 
 feet, imagining every description of agony and tor- 
 ture ; 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, holding both life 
 and death in equal horror, she lived on for several 
 years. But what completed the torments of her 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 195 
 
 miserable existence, was that very object to which 
 she had sacrificed every natural affection. She was 
 deeply annoyed at perceiving that her fortune must 
 go, at hhr 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 possession of it had hardened her own heart, 
 so did its anticipation corrupt the hearts of those who 
 coveted it from her. At length she died ; and, to 
 crown her misery, she retained reason enough at last 
 to be sensible that she was plundered and despised 
 by the very persons whose opinions had been her 
 rule of conduct during her whole life. 
 
 On the same spot and at the foot of the same shrubs 
 as his Virginia, 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 en- 
 graven upon the hearts of those whom they have 
 befriended, in indelible characters. Their spirits 
 have no need of the pomp which they shunned dur- 
 ing their life ; but if they still take an interest in 
 what passes upon earth, they no doubt love to wander 
 beneath the roofs of these humble dwellings, inhab- 
 ited by industrious virtue, to console poverty discon- 
 tented with its lot, to cherish in the hearts of lovers 
 the sacred flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste for 
 
96 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 immor- 
 talize the loss of Virginia. Near the Isle of Amber, 
 in the midst of sand-banks, 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 which you see 
 yonder, three leagues off, half-covered with water, 
 and which the Saint-Geran could not double the night 
 before the hurricane, is called The Cape of Misfor- 
 tune ; and before us, at the end of the valley, is the 
 Bay of the Tomb, where Virginia was found buried in 
 the sand ; as if the waves had sought to restore her 
 corpse 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 hillsides 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 destroyed ; your birds are all fled, 
 and nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrowhawk, 
 as it skims in quest of prey around this rocky basin. 
 
 As for myself, since I have ceased to behold you, I 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 197 
 
 have felt friendless and alone, like a father bereft of 
 his children, or a traveller 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.