PAUL 
 
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 .Paul and Virginia / 
 
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PAUL 
 
 AND 
 
 VIRGINIA 
 
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BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIElUil': 
 
 PAUL 
 
 AND 
 
 VIRGINIA 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 MAURICE LELOIR 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ROUTE EDGE AND SONS 
 
 BROAIJWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 
 GLAS(;0\V AND MEW YORK 
 
 A \ 
 
 , u\^ 
 

 
 
 
 
 m^ 
 
 
 TABLE OF FULL-P^GE ENGRAVINGS 
 
 BERN'AnDi>f BE Sai.n't-Pierhe. 
 TuE Children's Bath. 
 Tee Petticoat Umbrella. 
 The Slave pardoned.. 
 The Passage of the River. 
 Virginia te\di.\g the Sick. 
 
 Page 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 15 
 19 
 
 35 
 53 
 
TABr.E OF KULL-PAGE ElNGRAVKNGS. 
 
 Paul and Virginia dancing. 
 Virginia escaping from Paul, 
 Virginia dressed.. 
 Paul on the Rock. 
 Virginia on board the Ship.. 
 The Funeral 
 
 Page 
 60 
 
 75 
 
 91 
 
 107 
 
 . 163 
 
 173 
 
3^4 
 
 BERNARDIN I)E SAINT-PIERRE 
 
 .K 
 
 Love of Nature, that strong feeling of 
 enthusiasm which leads to a profound ad- 
 miration of the whole works of creation, 
 helongs, it may be presumed, to a certain 
 peculiarity of organization, and has^ no 
 doubt, existed in different individuals from the beginning of 
 the world. The old poets and philosophers, romance-wi'iters 
 and troubadours, had all looked upon Nature with observing 
 and admiring eyes. They have most of them given inciden- 
 tally charming pictures of Sjjring, of the setting sun, of parti- 
 cular spots, and of favourite flowers. 
 
 There are few writers of note, of any country or of any 
 age, from whom quotations might not be made in proof of 
 
 b 
 
X MEMOIR OV 
 
 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. Frangois de Sales, Bacon, and 
 Fenelon, as to Shakspeare, Racine, Calderon, or Burns; for 
 from no really philosophic or religious doctrine can the love 
 of the works of Nature be excluded. 
 
 But before the days of Jean Jacques 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 exclusively. The lovers of Nature were not, till 
 then, as they may perhaps since be considered, a sect apart. 
 Though perfectly sincere in all the adorations they offered, 
 they were less entirely, and certainly less diligently and con- 
 stantly, her adorers. 
 
 It is the great praise of Bernardin de Si. 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 without his collecting some valuable materials 
 for his writings. In the divine works of Nature he diligently 
 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 plant, 
 was far beyond his ability. Before, however, speaking fur- 
 ther of him as an author, it will be necessary to recapitulate 
 the chief events of his life. 
 
 Henri-Jacqdes Bernardin de Sr. Pierre vt^as born at Havre 
 in 1737. He always considered himself descended from that 
 
BERNARniN 1)E ST. PIERRE. xi 
 
 Eustache de St. Pierre, who is said by Froissart (and 1 
 believe by Froissart only) to have so generously offered him- 
 self as a victim to appease the wrath of Edward the Third 
 against Calais. lie, with his companions in virtue, it is also 
 said, was saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. In 
 one of his smaller works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and 
 it was certainly one of which hcmightbe proud. Many anec- 
 dotes 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 ago 
 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 sympathy with 
 all living things was extreme. In "Paul and Yirginia" 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 dis- 
 posed heart, deeply imbued with a love of Nature, is at 
 times somewhat Braminical. St. Pierre's certainly was. 
 
 ^Yhen quite young, he advanced with a clenched 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. Bernardin had only noticed the flight of some 
 swallows who had built their nests there. He thus early 
 revealed those instincts which afterwards became the guidance 
 of his life, the strength of which possibly occasioned his too 
 great indilTerence to all monumcn ts of art. The love of study 
 
xii MEMOIR OF 
 
 and of solitude were also characteristics of his childhood. His 
 temper is said to have been moody, impetuous, and mtracl- 
 ahle. Whether this faulty l(>niper may not have been pro- 
 duced or rendered worse by mismanagement, cannot now be 
 ascertained. Itundoubtedlybecamc. 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 favour of the sea, ho 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 afterwards 
 placed with the Jesuits at Caen, with whom he made im- 
 mense progress in his studies. But, it is to be feared, he did 
 not conform too well to the regulations of the college, for 
 he conceived, from that time, the greatest detestation lor 
 places of public education. And Uiis aversion he has fre- 
 quently testified in his writings. While devoted to his books 
 of travels, he in turn anticipated being a Jesuit, a missionary, 
 or a martyr : but his family at length succeeded in establish- 
 ing him at Rouen, where he completed his studies with bril- 
 liant 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 com- 
 mand of Count St. Germain. This was a career in which 
 he might have acquired both honour and fortune; but, most 
 unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the useful and neces- 
 sary etiquettes of life as so many unworthy prejudices. In- 
 stead of conforming to them, he sought to trample on them. 
 In addition, he evinced some disposition to rebel against his 
 commaniler, and was unsocial with his equals. It is not 
 
BERNAKDLN DE ST. PIERRE. xiii 
 
 therefore, to ho wondered at, that at this unrortunato period 
 of his existence ho madi' himself enemies; or that, notwith- 
 standing his great talents, or the coolness he had exhihid'd 
 in moments of danger, he shonld have been sent back to 
 France. Unwelcome, under Ihcse circumstances, to his 
 family, he was ill receiveil by all. 
 
 It is a lesson yet to he learned, that genius gives no 
 charter for the indulgence of error, — a truth yet to be 
 remembered, that only a small portion of tlie 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 convic- 
 tions of the ardent in mind, that no degree of excellence in 
 science or literature, not e^cn the immortality of a name, 
 can exempt its possessor from obedience to moral discipline, 
 or give him happiness, unless " temper's image " be stamped 
 on his daily words and actions. St. Pierre's life was sadly 
 embittered by his own conduct. The adventurous life he led 
 after his return from Diisseldorf, some of the circumstances 
 of which exhibited him in an unfavourable light to others, 
 tended, perhaps, to tinge his imagination with that wild and 
 tender melancholy so prevalent in his writings. A prize in the 
 lottery had just doubled his very slender means of existence, 
 wlien he obtained the appointment of geographical engineer, 
 and was sent to Malta. The Knights of liie 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 tlie 
 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 mortilica- 
 tions he suffered. After receiving an insufficit'ol indemuily 
 
XIV MEMOIR OF 
 
 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 mathe- 
 matics. But St. Pierre was less adapted than most others for 
 succeeding in the apparently easy, but really ingenious and 
 difficult, art of teaching. When education is better under- 
 stood, it will be more generally acknowledged, that, to impart 
 instruction with success, a teacher must possess deeper intel- 
 ligence than is implied by the profoundest sldll in any one 
 branch of science or of art. All minds, even to the youngest, 
 require, while being taught, the utmost compliance and 
 consideration; and these qualities can scarcely be properly 
 exercised without a true knowledge of the human heart, 
 united to much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this period 
 of his life, certainly did not possess them. It is probable that 
 Rousseau, when he attempted in his youth to give lessons 
 in music, not knowing anything whatever of music, was 
 scarcely less fitted for the task of instruction than St. Pierre 
 with all his mathematical knowledge. The pressure of 
 poverty drove him to Holland. He was well received at 
 Amsterdam by a French refugee named Mvistel, who edited a 
 popular journal there, and who procui'ed him employment, 
 with handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, however, 
 remain long satisfied with this quiet mode of existence. Allured 
 by the encouraging reception given by Catherine H. to 
 foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg. Here, until he 
 obtained the protection of the Marechal de Munich and the 
 friendship of Duval, he had again to contend with poverty. 
 The latter generously opened to him his purse, and by the 
 Marechal he was introduced to Yillebois, the Grand Mas- 
 ter of Artillery, and by him presented to the Empress. 
 St. Pierre was so handsome, that by some of his friends 
 
BEHNAHDIN DE ST. PIERRE. xv 
 
 it was supposed — perhaps too, hoped, — that he would super- 
 sede Orloff ill the favour of Catherine. But more honour- 
 able illusions, though they wore but illusions, occupied 
 his own mind, lie 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 tobc the legislator. Prc-oocupied with the 
 reformation of despotism, he did not sufficiently look into his 
 own heart, or seek to avoid a repetition of the same errors 
 that had already changed friends into enemies, and been such 
 a terrible barrier to his success in life. His mindwas already 
 morbid, and in fancying that others did not understand him, 
 he forgot that he did not understand others. The Empress, 
 with the rank of captain, bestowed on him a grant of 1500 
 francs; but when General Dubosquet proposed to take him 
 with him to examine the military position of Finland, his only 
 anxiety seemed to be to return to France : still he went to 
 Finland ; and his own notes of his occupations and experiments 
 on that expedition prove that he gave himself up in all dili- 
 gence to considerations of attarlc 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 
 instance, he appears to have stifled every emotion of admira- 
 tion, and to have beheld alike cities and countries in his 
 character of military surveyor. 
 
 On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his protector, 
 Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then resolved on espousing 
 the cause of the Poles. He went into Poland with a high 
 reputation, — that of having refused the favours 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 
 
XVI MEMOIR OF 
 
 with him. Yielding, howcvor, at length, lo 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 
 Ly 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 Korth, that I shall never see again! — 
 tender friendship, and the still dearer sentiment which sur- 
 passed it! — days of intoxication and of happiness, adieu! 
 adieu ! We live but for a day, to die during a whole life ! " 
 
 This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's most partial 
 biographers as if steeped in tears; and he speaks of his 
 romantic and unfortunate adventure in Poland as the ideal 
 of a poet's love. 
 
 "To be, " says ^I. Sainte-Beuve, " a great poet, and loved 
 before he had thought of glory ! To exhale the first perfume of 
 a soul of genius, believing himself only a lover! To reveal 
 himself, for the first time, entirely, but in mystery! " 
 
 In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses sight of the 
 melancholy sequel, which must have left so sad a remem- 
 brance in St. Pierre's own mind. His suffering from this 
 circumstance may perhaps have conduced to his making 
 Virginia so good and true, and so incapable of giving pain. 
 
 In 1766 he returned to Havre; but his relations were by 
 this time dead or dispersed, and after six years of exile, he 
 found himself once more in his own country, without employ- 
 ment, and destitute of pecuniary resources. 
 
 The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for him a com- 
 mission as engineer to the Isle of France, whence he returned 
 in 1 77 1 . In this interval his heart and imagination doubtless 
 
BEHNARDIN DE ST. PIEHKE. xvii 
 
 received the germs of his immortal woi'ks. Many of the 
 events, indeed, of the "Voyage a I'lle de France, " are to be 
 found modified by imagined circumstances in " Paul and 
 Virginia. " lie 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 re- 
 commended to D'Alembcrt, wlio 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 sympathising indifferent. Judging of 
 J\Jlle. de I'Espinasse from her letters, and the testimony of her 
 contemporaries, it seems quite impossible thai 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'Alembcrt 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'Alembert, did not return to it. The 
 inflictors of all this pain, in the meantime, were possibly as 
 unconscious of the meaning attached to their words as were 
 the birds of old of the augury drawn from their flight. 
 
 St. Pierre, in his "Preambule de I'Arcadie," has patheti- 
 cally and eloquently described the deplorable state of his 
 health and feelings, aiter fi'equent humihating disputes 
 and disappointments had driven him from society; or rather, 
 
xvHi MEMOIR OF 
 
 when, like Rousseau, he was "self-banished" from it. 
 "I was struck," he says, "with an extraordinary malady. 
 Streams of fire, like lightning. Hashed before my eyes : every 
 object appeared to me double or in motion : like GCdipus, I 
 saw two suns... In the finest day of summer, I could not cross 
 the Seine in a boat without experiencing intolerable anxiety. 
 If, in a public garden, I merely passed by a piece of water, I 
 suffered from spasms and a feeling of horror. I could not 
 cross a garden in which many people were collected : if they 
 looked at me, I immediately imagined Ihey were speaking ill 
 of me." It was during this state of suffering that he devoted 
 himself with ardour to collecting 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 witii 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 Rousseau, in one of their frequent 
 rambles, if, in delineating St. Preux, he had not intended to 
 represent himself. "No," replied Rousseau, "St. Preux is 
 not what I have been, but what I wished to be." St. Pierre 
 would most likely have given the same answer had a similar 
 question been put to him with regard to the Colonel in "Paul 
 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 muri'ied. 
 
LiERNAliDlN ])]• ST. PJEUHE. xix 
 
 consented to print a manuscript which had been declined by 
 many otliers. He was well rewarded for the undertaking. 
 The success of the "Etudes de la Natui'i'," surpassed (he most 
 sanguine expectation, even of the author. Four years after 
 its publication, S(. Pierre gave to the world "Paul and Virgi- 
 nia," which had for some time been lying in his portfolio. 
 He had tried its elfect, in manuscript, on persons of dillerent 
 characters and pursuits. They had given it no applause, but 
 all had shed tears at ils perusal; and perhaps few works of a 
 decidedly romantic character have ever been so generally read, 
 or so much approved. Among the great names whose admi- 
 ration of it is on record, may be mentioned Napoleon and 
 Humboldt. 
 
 In 1789 he published "Les Vieux d"un Solitaire" and "La 
 Suite des Vu'ux." By the Moniletir of the day these works 
 wore compared to the celebrated pamphlet of Sieyes, "Qu'est- 
 ce que le tiers etat?" which then absoi'bed all the public 
 favour. In 1791 "La Chaumiere Indienne" was published; 
 and in the following year, about thirteen days before the cele- 
 brated tOth of AugusI, Louis XVI. appointed St. Pierre Super- 
 intendent of the "Jardin des Plantes." Soon afterwards the 
 King, on seeing him, complimented him on his writings, and 
 told him he was happy to have found a worthy successor to 
 Buffon. 
 
 Although deficient in exact knowledge of the sciences, 
 and knowing little of the world, St. Pierre was, by his simpli- 
 city 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 4795 he became a member of the French Academy, 
 and, as wasjust, after his acceptance of this honour, lie wrote 
 no more against literary societies. On the suppression of his 
 place, he retired to Essonne. It is deligblful to follow him 
 
XX MEMOIR OF 
 
 there, and to contemplate his quiet existence. His days flowed 
 on peaceably, occupied in the publication of "Les Harmonies 
 de la Nature," the republication of his earlier works, and the 
 composition of some lesser pieces. He himself affectingly 
 regrets an interruption to these occupations. On being- 
 appointed Instructor 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 object of his ambi- 
 tion. 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 Ei'agny sur I'Oise, on the 
 21st of January 1814. The stirring events which then occu- 
 pied 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 honours 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 sviccessor. 
 
 Having himself contracted the habit of confiding his griefs 
 and sorrows to the public, the sanctuary of his private life 
 was open alike to the discussion of friends and enemies. 
 The biographer who wishes to be exact, and yet set down 
 nought in malice, is forced to the contemplation of his 
 errors. The secret of many of these, as well as of his mise- 
 ries, seems revealed bv himself in this sentence : 
 
BER.NAhDlN DE ST. PIERRE. xxi 
 
 ' 'I experience more pain from a single thorn than pleasure 
 from a thousand roses." And elsewhere, " The best society 
 seems to me bad, if I find in it one troublesome, wicked, 
 slanderous, envious, or perfidious person." Now, taking- into 
 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 diflicult indeed to 
 find a society in which he could have been happy. He was, 
 therefore, wise in seeking retirement, and indulging in soli- 
 tude. 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 be- 
 longed, and from which, perhaps, it could not be separated. 
 And he was exposed (as often happens) to the very descrip- 
 tion of trials that were least in harmony with his defects. 
 Few dispositions could have run a career like his, and have 
 remained unscathed. But one less tender than his own would 
 have been less soured by it. For many years he bore about 
 with him the consciousness of unacknowledged talent. The 
 world cannot be blamed for not appreciating that which had 
 never been revealed. But we know not what the jostling 
 and elbowing of that world, in the 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 bye-play of the world? 
 
 Through all his writings, and throughout his correspon- 
 dence, there are beautiful proofs of the tenderness of his 
 feelings, — the most essential quality, perhaps, in any writer. 
 
XXII .MEMOIR OF 
 
 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 fi'ora them, is remarkable, and 
 often affecting. 
 
 He returned to this country, so fondly loved and deeply 
 cherished in absence, to experience only trouble and diffi- 
 culty. Away fi'om it, he had yearned to behold it, — to fold it, 
 as it were, once more to his bosom. He returned to feel as if 
 neglected by it, and all his rapturous emotions were changed 
 to bitterness and gall. His hopes had proved delusions — his 
 expectations, mockeries. Oh ! who but must look with chai'ity 
 and mercy on all discontent and irritation consequent on such 
 a depth of disappointment — on what mustbavethen appeared 
 to him such unmitigable woe! Under the induence of these 
 saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back to the island he had 
 left, to place all lieauly, as well as all happiness, there! 
 
 One great proof that he did beautify the distant may lie 
 foundin theconlrastof some of the descriptions inthe " Voyage 
 a rile de France," and those in " Paul and Virginia." That 
 spot which, when peopled liy the cherislied creatures of his 
 imagination, he described as an enchanting and delightful 
 Eden, he had previously spoken of as a " rugged counlrv, 
 covered with rocks," — "a land of Cyclops blackened by fire." 
 Truth, probably, lies belween the two representations; the 
 sadness of exile having darkened the one, and the exuberance 
 of his imagination embellished the other. 
 
 St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too long and too 
 universally acknowledged to make it 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 per- 
 mitted so to speak) out of his life. In his most imaginalive 
 passages, to whatever height his fancy soared, the starting- 
 point seems ever from a fact. The past appears to liave been 
 
BiniNAROI.N BE ST. PlERUi:. xxiii 
 
 always spread out before him when he wrote, like a beautiful 
 landsca|te, on which his eye rested with comphicency, and 
 from which his mind transferred and idealised some objects 
 without a servile imitation of any. When at Berlin, he had 
 had it in his power to marry Virginia Tanbenheim;andin Rus- 
 sia, MUe. de la Tonr, the niece of General Dubosquet, would 
 luivc 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 whose life 
 he wished to imitate. How little had the owners of these 
 names anticipated that they were to become the baptismal 
 appellations of half a generation in France, and to be re-echoed 
 through the world to the end of time ! 
 
 In " Paul and Virginia" he was supremely fortunate in his 
 subject. It was an entirely new creation, uninspired by any 
 previous work, but which gave birth to many others, having 
 furnished the plot to six theatrical pieces. It was a subject 
 to which the author could bring all his excellences as a writer 
 and a man ; while his deficiencies and defects were necessarily 
 excluded. Inno manner couldheincorporatepolitics, science, 
 or misapprehension of persons, while his sensibihty, morals, 
 and wonderful talent for description, were in perfect accor- 
 dance with, and ornaments to it. Lemontcy 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, whenever he saw St. Pierre, 
 " M. Bernardin, when do you mean to give us more Pauls 
 and Virginias, and Indian Cottages? Yououghttogivciissome 
 every six months." 
 
 The " Indian Cottage," if not quite equal in interest to 
 
XXIV MEMOIR OF BERNAHDI.\ DE ST. PIERRE. 
 
 " Paul and Virginia," is still a charming production, and does 
 great honour lo the genius of ils author. It abounds in 
 antique and Eastern gems of thought. Striking and excellent 
 comparisons are scattered through its pages ; and it is delight- 
 ful to reflect that the following beautiful and solemn answer 
 of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the result of bis own expe- 
 rience : — " Misfortune resembles the Black Mountain of Bem- 
 ber, situated at the extremity of the burning kingdom of La- 
 hore ; while you are climbing it, you only see before you 
 barren rocks ; but when you have reached its summit, you 
 see heaven above your head, and at your feet the kingdom of 
 Cachemere." 
 
 M'hen 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 " Biographic Uni- 
 verselle," to the "• Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages de Ber- 
 nardin de St. Pierre," by M. Aime Martin, and to the very 
 excellent and interesting " Notice Historique ct Litteraire " 
 of M. Sainte Beuve. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 I projected a very grand design 
 in this little book. I under- 
 took 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 cocoa-nut 
 trees, banana-trees and flowering lemon-trees. A Theocritus 
 and a Virgil are only needed in ihe other hemisphere to 
 give us scenes at least as interesting as those in our 
 
XXVI PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 invn land. T am aware that travellers of fine taste 
 have given us charming descriptions of many islands of 
 the southern sens; but the maimers of their inhabi- 
 tants 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. Ipurposedalso to bring out many grand 
 truths, and this amongst others : that our happiness consists 
 in living accorditig to the dictates of Nature and Virtue. 
 Nevertheless there has been no need for me to go to fiction 
 for my description of such happy families. lean assert 
 that those of whom I write actually existed; and that their 
 history is true in its principal inciilents. 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 dreic out a very imper- 
 fect 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 loould produce upon 
 readers of such completely opposite characters. I had 
 the satisfaction to see them shed tears. This iras the 
 only criticism I could obtain 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 
 
PHEFACK. xxvii 
 
 how great a strangpv I was to Nature even in my nalive 
 land, and in cntmtries where//) I had merely seen her 
 productions en voyageur how rich, hoiv varied, beautiful, 
 iconderful and mysterious she is ; and how devoid I was of 
 talent, taste, and mode of expression to appreciate and to 
 describe her I 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, ivill always be a memorial of 
 their indulgence. 
 

 "-^^■^^^k^m 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 
 
 Situate on the eastern side of 
 file mountain >\hich 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 distant sail when it first 
 touches the verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is 
 
 1 
 
2 PALL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 given when a vessel approaches the island. At tiiefoot of 
 this mountain stands the town of Port Louis. Onthe right 
 is formed tlieroad which stretches from Port Louis to the 
 Shaddock Grove,where the church jjearing that 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 furthest bounds of the island. The 
 front view presents the bay, denominated the Bay of the 
 Tomb : a little on the right is seen the Cape of Misfor- 
 tune; and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the sur- 
 face of which appear a few uninhabited islands ; and, 
 among others, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles 
 a bastion built upon the flood. 
 
 At the entrance of the valley which presents these 
 various objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly 
 repeat the hollow murmurs of the winds that shake the 
 neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing of the 
 waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs ; but near 
 the ruined cottages all is calm and still, and the only 
 objects which there meet the eye are rude steep rocks, 
 that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of 
 trees grow at their base , on tlieir 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 colours 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. \\'ithin this enclosure reigns the most profound 
 silence. The waters, the air, all the elements are at peace. 
 Scarcely does the echo repeat the whispers of the palm- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 
 trees, spreading their broad 
 
 leaves, the long points of which 
 
 are gently agitated by the winds. A 
 
 soft light illumines the bottom of this 
 
 deep valley, on which the sun shines only 
 
 at noon. But, even at break of day, the rays of light are 
 
 thrown on the surrounding rocks; and their sharp peaks, 
 
 rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints 
 
 of gold and purple gleaming upon the azure sky. 
 
 To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy 
 at once the richness of an unbounded landscape, and the 
 charm of uninterrupted solitude. One day, when I was 
 
4 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 untitled land, were, twenty years ago, the property 
 of two famihes, 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 imagination 
 amidst poverty and neglect? The curiosity of mankind is 
 only attracted by the history of the great, and yet from 
 that knowledge little use can be derived." — ^" Father," 1 
 rejoined, "from your manner and your observations, 
 I perceive that you have acquired much experience of 
 human life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech 
 you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert; 
 and be assured, that even the men who are most perverted 
 by the prejudices of the world find a soothing pleasure in 
 contemplating that happiness which belongs to simplicity 
 and virtue." The old man, after a short silence, during 
 which he leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were 
 
PAUL AiND VIRGINIA. 3 
 
 trying to recall the images of the past, thus began his 
 narration : — 
 
 Monsieur de la Tour, a young man, who was a native 
 of Normandy, after having in vain solicited a commission 
 in the French army, or some support from his 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 tenderly, and by whom he was no 
 less tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient 
 family of the same province; but he had married her 
 secretly and without fortune, and in opposition to the 
 will of her relations, who refused their consent because 
 he was found guilty of being descended from parents who 
 had no claims to nobiUty. 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 atMadagascar during 
 that unhealthy season which commences about the middle 
 of October ; and soon after his arrival died of the pesti- 
 lential fever which prevails in that island six months of 
 the year, and which will for ever baffle the attempts of 
 the European nations to form estabhshments on that 
 fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity 
 of strangers, as commonly happens to persons dying in 
 foreign parts; and his wife, who was pregnant, found 
 herself a widow in a country where she had neither 
 credit nor acquaintance, and no earthly possession, or 
 rather support, but one negro woman. Too delicate to 
 solicit protection or relief from any one else after the 
 death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune armed 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 her with courage, and she resolved to cuUivate, with her 
 slave , a little spot of ground , and procure for herself the 
 
 means of subsistence. Desert as 
 
 was the island, and the ground 
 
 left to the choice of the settler, 
 
 /CM^^^M^^" she avoided those spots which 
 
 ^'^^^'■^K were most fertile and most 
 
 favourable to commerce : 
 
 !.v^./ V seeking some nook of the 
 
 mountain , some se- 
 
 cretasylumwhere 
 
 she might live 
 
 solitary and 
 
 ^, unknown, 
 
 she bent her way from the town towards these rocks, where 
 she might conceal herself from observation . All sensitive and 
 suffering creatures, from a sort of common instinct, fly for 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 7 
 
 refuge amidst their pains to haunts the most wild and deso- 
 late ; 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 bless- 
 ing 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 disposition. Margaret (for 
 that was her name) was born in Brittany, of a family of 
 peasants, by whom she was cherished and beloved, and 
 with whom she might have passed through life in simple 
 rustic happiness, if, misled by the weakness of a tender 
 heart, she had not listened to the passion of a gentleman 
 in the neighbourhood, who promised her marriage. He 
 soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to seduc- 
 tion, refused to insure a provision for the child of which 
 she was pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave for 
 ever her native village, and retire, where her fault might 
 be concealed, to some colony distant from that country 
 where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant 
 girl — her reputation. With some borrowed money she 
 purchased an old negro slave, with whom she cultivated 
 a little corner of this district. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, 
 came to this spot, where she found Margaret engaged in 
 suckling her child. Soothed and charmed by the sight of 
 a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own, 
 Madame de la Tour related, in a few words, iier past 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMIA. 
 
 condition and her present wants. Margaret was deeply 
 affected by the recital; and, more anxious to merit con- 
 fidence than to create esteem, she confessed, without 
 disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. " As for 
 me, "said she," I deserve my fate; but you. 
 Madam! — you! at once vir- 
 tuous and un- 
 happy" — 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 in- 
 spires you, to whom I am a stranger, with more goodness 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 9 
 
 towards mc than 1 have ever experienced from my own 
 relations !" 
 
 I was acquainted with Margaret ; and, although my 
 habitation is a league and a half from hence, in the woods 
 behind that sloping mountain, I considered myself as her 
 neighbour. In the cities of Europe, a street, even a simple 
 wall, frequently prevents members of the same family 
 from meeting for years ; but in new colonies we consider 
 those persons as neighbours from whom we are divided 
 only by woods and mountains; and above all, at that 
 period, when this island had little 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 neighbour and her guest. I found 
 Madame de la Tour possessed of all those melancholy 
 graces which, by blending sympathy 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 included 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 
 
10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 ^Yild 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 com- 
 mon is less rugged , but not more valuable , than the 
 other; since in the raiay 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 neighbours to draw 
 lots for their respective possessions. The higher portion of 
 land, containing the source of the river of Fan-Palms, 
 became the property of Madame de la Tour ; the lower, 
 comprising the plain on the banks of the river, was 
 allotted to Margaret ; and each seemed satisfied with 
 her share. They entreated me to place their habitations 
 together, that they might at all times enjoy the soothing 
 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 boundary 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 neigh- 
 bourhood, lived on their own property. I myself cut pali- 
 
PAUL AND VlUr,IMA. 
 
 sades from the mountain, and brought leaves of I'an-palms 
 from the sea-shore, in order to construct those two cot- 
 tages, of which you can 
 now discern neither the 
 entrance nor the roof. 
 Yet, alas! there still re- 
 main but too many 
 traces for my remem- 
 brance ! Time, which 
 so rapidly destroys the 
 proud monuments of empires, 
 seems in this desert to spare 
 those of friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to the 
 last hour of my existence. 
 
 As soon as the second cottage was 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 
 
12 PAUL AND VIUGIMA. 
 
 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 occa- 
 sionally bestowed on their improvement, but far more to 
 the indefatigable labours 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 culti- 
 vated indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots of 
 ground that seemed most fertile, and sowed whatever grain 
 he thought most congenial to each particular soil. \\'here 
 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 flou- 
 rished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the 
 clayey soil. He reared some plants of coffee on the hills, 
 where the grain, although small, is excellent. His plantain- 
 trees, which spread their grateful shade on the banks of 
 the river, and encircled the cottages, yielded fruit through- 
 out 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 13 
 
 in order to level the paths. Tlie zeal which inspired him 
 enabled him to perform all these labours with intelligence 
 
 andaclivity. He was much at- 
 tached to Margaret, and not less 
 to Madame de la Tour, whose 
 negro woman , Mary, he had 
 married on the birth of Virgi- 
 nia; and he was passionately 
 fond of his wife. Mary was 
 born at Madagascar, and 
 had there acquired 
 the know- 
 ledge 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 
 
 plantations, which was not, however, very considerable. 
 
14 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 produc- 
 tions, of these two little farms. 
 
 Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly 
 employed in spinning cotton for the use of their families. 
 
 Destitute of everything which their own industry could not 
 supply, at home they went bare-footed : shoes were a 
 convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at aa 
 early hour, they attended mass at the church of the Shad- 
 dock Grove, Nvhich you see yonder. That church was 
 more distant from (heir homes than Port Louis ; but they 
 seldom visited the town, lest they should be treated with 
 contempt on account of their dress, which consisted 
 simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually worn 
 

 111'; LiiiLUKiix's bA'ni 
 
 C^O^Xr POU'lilJDCl' AJ.u 30[I3 
 
PAUL AND VIKGIXIA. 13 
 
 by slaves. But is there in that external deference which 
 fortune commands, a compensation for domestic hap- 
 piness? 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 mis- 
 tresses on the road of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew 
 to the foot of the mountain in order to help them to 
 ascend. They discerned in the looks of their domestics the 
 joy which their return excited. They found in their retreat 
 neatness, independence, all the blessings which ai^e 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 similar misfortunes, they gave 
 each other the tender names of companion, friend, sister. 
 They had but one will, one interest, one table. All their 
 possessions were in common. And if sometimes a passion 
 more ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts 
 the pang of unavailing anguish, a pure religion, united 
 with chaste manners , 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 additional 
 happiness to these affectionate mothers, whose mutual 
 friendship gained new strength at the sight of their chil- 
 dren, equally the offspring of an ill-fated attachment. 
 They delighted in washing their infants together in the 
 same bath, in putting them to rest in the same cradle, and 
 in changing the maternal bosom at which they received 
 nourishment. "My friend," cried Madame de la Tour, 
 
16 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 "we shall each of us have two children, and each of our 
 children will have two mothers." As two buds which 
 remain on different trees of the same kind, after the tem- 
 pest has broiven all their branches, produce more deli- 
 cious fruit, if each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
 grafted on the neighbouring tree; so these 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 mar- 
 riage. They soothed their own cares by looking forward 
 to the future happiness of their children ; but this contem- 
 plation often drew forth their tears. The misfortunes 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 con- 
 solation in reflecting that their more fortunate children, 
 far from the cruel prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at 
 once the pleasures of love and the blessings of equably. 
 Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as 
 that which the two children already testified for each 
 other. IfPaul 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, ^^'hen 
 I came hither,! usually found them quite naked, as is the 
 custom of the country, tottering in their walk, and hold- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 17 
 
 ing 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 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 economy, the care of preparing their 
 rural repasts, became the tasic of Virginia, whose labours 
 were always cro\Yned 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 beautiful 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 has- 
 tened towards 
 her in order to 
 help her on, I 
 perceived that 
 she held Paul 
 by the arm, al- 
 most entirely 
 enveloped in the 
 same canopy, 
 and both were laughing 
 
 heartily at their being sheltered together under an um 
 brella of their own invention. These two charming faces, 
 in the middle of the swelling petticoat, recalled to mv 
 mind the children of Leda, enclosed in the same shell. 
 
 Their sole study was how they could please and assist 
 one another ; for of all other things they were ignorant, 
 and indeed could neither read nor write. They were never 
 
Till 
 
 .T 1 .Ml;i:!-1 I \ 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 i9 
 
 disturbed by 
 inquiries 
 about past 
 times , nor 
 did their 
 curiosity ex- 
 tend 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, be- 
 cause their simple food was left to their 
 own discretion ; or not to lie, because they had nothing 
 to conceal. Their young imaginations had never been 
 terrified by the idea that God has punishments in store for 
 ungrateful children, since, with them, fdial affection arose 
 
20 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 vir- 
 tuous affections. All their early childhood passed thus, 
 like a beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. Already 
 they assisted their mothers in the duties of the household. 
 As soon as the crowing of the wakeful cock announced the 
 first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and hastened to 
 draw water from a neighbouring spring: then returning to 
 the house, she prepared the breakfast. When the rising 
 sun gilded the points of the rocks which overhang the en- 
 closure in which they lived, Margaret and her child repaired 
 to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, where they offered 
 up their morning prayer together. This sacrifice of thanks- 
 giving always preceded their first repast, which they often 
 took before the door of the cottage, seated upon the 
 grass, under a 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, 
 supphed the place of linen. Plentiful and wholesome nou- 
 rishment gave early growth and vigour 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 
 
PAUL AND VlRGIlMA. 
 
 21 
 
 when slie was silent they were habitually turned upwards, 
 with an expression of extreme sensibility, or rather of 
 tender mclanclioly. 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 
 eyelashes , by 
 which they were sha- 
 ded, had not imparted 
 to them an ex- 
 pression of soft- 
 ness. He 
 \Nas con- 
 stantly in 
 motion, ex- 
 cept when 
 his sister ap- 
 peared , and 
 then, seated by 
 her side , he became 
 still. Their meals often 
 passed without a word being spoken ; and from their si- 
 lence, the simple elegance of their attitudes, and the beauty 
 of their naked feet, you might have fancied you beheld an 
 antique group of white marble, representing some of 
 
 ^,<f^^^ -^ 
 
•22 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the children of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, 
 which were constantly seeking to meet, and their mutual 
 soft and tender smiles, which suggested 
 rather the idea of happy celestial 
 spirits, whose nature is love, and 
 who are not obliged to have 
 recourse to words for the expres- 
 sion of their feehngs. 
 
 In the meantime Madame de 
 la Tour, perceiving every day 
 some unfolding grace , some 
 new beauty, in her daughter, 
 felt her maternal anxiety in- 
 crease with her tenderness. 
 She often said to me, 
 " If I were to die, 
 what will become of 
 Virginia without for- 
 tune? " 
 
 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 extre- 
 mity of distress should ever compel her to have re- 
 course to her hard-hearted relation. But wiien she 
 
PAUL AND VIUGLNIA. 23 
 
 became a nioLlier, Lhe pride of resenLmenL was overcome 
 by tlie 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 letter 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 passions brought with them their own punishment ; 
 that the premature death of her husband was a just visita- 
 tion from Heaven; that she had done well in going to a 
 distant island, rather than dishonour her family by re- 
 maining 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 
 
24 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGLNIA. 
 
 by eulogising herself. To aYoid, she said, the almost in- 
 evitable evils of marriage, 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 counterbalance the 
 
 malignant dispositions of her mind, and the disagreeable 
 qualities of her person. 
 
 After mature deliberation, she added in a postscript, 
 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 per- 
 haps even more to be feared than a declared enemy ; for, 
 in order to justify herself for her harshness, she had 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fa 
 
 cruelly slandered her niece, while she affecled lo 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 situation, and that of her child, 
 he replied in abrupt sentences, — " We will see what can 
 be done — there are so many to relieve — all in good time 
 — why did you displease your aunt? — you have been 
 much to blame." 
 
 Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart 
 torn with grief, and filled with all the bitterness of disap- 
 
26 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 pointment. 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 
 forsakenus? He only is our father. Have we not hitherto 
 been happy? Why then this regret? You have no cou- 
 rage." Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw 
 herself upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, — 
 " My dear friend!" cried she, "my dear friend!" — but 
 her emotion choked her utterance. At this sight Virginia 
 burst into tears, and pressed her mother's and Margaret's 
 hands alternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, his 
 eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasped his hands toge- 
 ther, 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 
 resounded 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 Virginia in her 
 arms, and, embracing them, said, — " You are the cause 
 of my affliction, my children, but you are also my only 
 source of debght ! Yes, my dear children, misfortune has 
 reached me, but only from a distance : here, I am sur- 
 rounded 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. Tran- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 27 
 
 quillity was Ihus restored in this happy family, and all 
 that had passed was but as a storm in the midst of fine 
 weather, which disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere 
 but for a short time, and then passes away. 
 
 The amiable disposition of these children unfolded 
 itself daily. One Sunday, at day-break, their mothers 
 having gone to mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, 
 the children perceived a negro-woman beneath the plan- 
 tains whicli surrounded their habitation. She appeared 
 almost wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment 
 than a piece of coarse cloth thrown around her. She 
 threw herself at the feet of Virginia, wlio was preparing 
 the family breakfast, 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 willi 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." 
 Virginia 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 ap- 
 peased, Virginia said to her, " Poor woman! 1 should hke 
 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 
 
•28 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 negro-woman, " I will follow you where you please." 
 Virginia called her brother, and begged him to accompany 
 her. The slave led the way, by winding and difficult paths 
 through the woods, over mountains, which they climbed 
 
 with difficulty, and across 
 rivers , through which 
 they were obliged to 
 wade. At length, 
 about the middle 
 of the day, they 
 reached the foot 
 of a steep de- 
 scent upon 
 the borders 
 of the Black 
 River. There 
 they percei- 
 ved a well- 
 built house 
 surrounded 
 by extensive 
 plantations , 
 and a num- 
 ber of slaves 
 
 employed in their various labours. 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 
 eye-brows were joined in one. Virginia, holding Paul by 
 the hand, drew near, and with much emotion begged him 
 
AVK I'.MIl.M ,|,: 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 29 
 
 for the love of God, lo 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 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 for- 
 giveness. Virginia made a sign to the slave to approach 
 her master; and instantly sprang away, followed by Paul. 
 They climbed up the steep they had descended; and 
 having gained the summit, seated themselves at the fool 
 of a tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They 
 had left their home fasting, and had walked live leagues 
 since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia, " My dear sister, it 
 is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry : 
 we shall find no dinner here ; let us go down the moun- 
 tain 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 pro- 
 duce 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 hstens 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 
 
30 
 
 PAUL AyD VIRGINIA. 
 
 of water Tailing from a neighbouring rock. They ran 
 thither, and having quenched their thirst at this crystal 
 
 spring, they gathered and 
 
 ate a few cresses which 
 
 grew on the border of the 
 
 stream. Soon afterwards, 
 
 while they were wandering backwards 
 
 and forwards in search of more solid 
 
 nourishment, Virginia perceived, in 
 
 the thickest part of the forest, a young 
 
 palm-tree. The kind of cabbage which is 
 
 found at the top of the palm, enfolded 
 
 within its leaves, is well adapted for food ; 
 
 but although the 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 diffi- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 31 
 
 cully occurred : he had no steel wilh which to strike fire ; 
 and although the whole island is covered with rocks, I do 
 not beheve it is possible to find a single flint. Necessity, 
 however, is fertile in expedients, and the most useful in- 
 ventions have arisen from men placed in the most desti- 
 tute 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 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 
 
32 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 felt his slrength renewed by (heir meal, assured her, 
 that it would not be long before Ihey reached home, and, 
 by the assurance of their safety, tranquillised the minds 
 
 of their parents. 
 
 After dinner Ihey were much 
 embarrassed by the recollec- 
 tion that they had now no 
 guide, and that they were ig- 
 norant of the way. Paul, 
 whose spirit was not sub- 
 dued by difficulties, said 
 to Virginia, — 
 " The sun shines 
 full upon our 
 huts at noon : 
 
 ]V) '7- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 33 
 
 we musl pass, as we did lliis 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 fur- 
 ther progress. This large portion of the island, covered 
 as it is with forests, is even now so little known, that 
 many of its rivers and 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 difficult it is to do good! and yet it is so easy to 
 do wrong. " 
 
 ^^'hcn Paul had crossed the river, he wished to con- 
 tinue the journey carrying his sister; and he flattered 
 himself that he could ascend in that way the mountain of 
 the Three Breasts, which was still at the 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. 
 
 8 
 
34 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 over- 
 takes us in this wood , I will 
 light a fire, and bring down 
 another palm-tree : you shall 
 eat the cabbage, and I will 
 form a covering of 
 the leaves 
 to shelter 
 you." In 
 the mean- 
 time, Vir- 
 ginia being 
 a little rest- 
 ed, she ga- 
 thered 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 
 
lui; PASSAGIl O I' Till': H[\1':i^, 
 
 i-OfiC: POu 1 FDC " '-jiu 'S' 
 l.or^don and Ilcy; YiiJ-v 
 
PAUL AMD VIRGINIA. 33 
 
 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. Feehng 
 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 wandered, without perceiving it, from the 
 beaten path in which they had hitherto walked, and found 
 themselves in a labyrinth of trees, underwood, and rocks, 
 whence there appeared to be no outlet. Paul made Virginia 
 sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, 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 mountain of the Three Breasts : but he 
 could discern nothing around him but the tops of trees, 
 some of which were gilded with the last beams of the setting 
 sun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spread- 
 ing 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 
 
315 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 voice, called out as loud as he was able,- 
 lo the help of Virginia!" 
 But the echoes of the 
 forest alone answered his 
 
 'Come, come 
 
 call, and repeated again and again — "Virginia — Vir- 
 ginia!" 
 
 Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 37 
 
 fatigue and vexation. He loolied around in order to make 
 some arrangement for passing the niglit in that desert; 
 but he could find neitlier fountain nor palm-tree, nor even 
 a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a lire, lie was then 
 impressed, by experience, with the sense of his own 
 weakness, and began to weep. Virginia said to him, — 
 " Do not weep, my dear brother, or I 
 shall be overwhelmed w ith grief. I am 
 the cause of all your sorrow, and of 
 all that our mothers are suffering 
 at this moment. 1 find we 
 ought to do nothing, 
 not even good, with- 
 out consulting our 
 parents. Oh, 
 I have been 
 
 very mi pru- 
 dent !" — 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 tho 
 deer." Soon after, the dog began barking again with in- 
 creased violence. "Surely," said Virginia, " it is Fidele, 
 our own dog : yes, — now I know his bark. Are we then 
 so near home? — at the foot of our own mountain?" A 
 moment after, Fidele was at their feet, barking, howhng. 
 
38 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but 
 had not the power to utter a syllable. When Domingo 
 had recovered himself a httle, — "Oh, my dear children," 
 said he, « how miserable have you made your mothers! 
 How astonished they were, when they returned with me 
 from mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who was 
 at work at a little distance, could not tell us where you 
 were gone. 
 
 " I ran backwards and for wards in the planlation, 
 not knowing where to look for you. Al last I took some 
 of your old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the poor 
 animal, as if he understood me, immediately began to 
 scent your path; and conducted me, wagging his tail all 
 the while, lo the Black River. I there saw a planter, who 
 told me you had brought back a Maroon negi'o-woman, 
 his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your request. 
 I]at what a pardon ! 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, Fidele, still 
 on tlie scent, led me up the steep bank of the Black River, 
 where he again stopped, and barked with all his might. 
 This was on the brink of a spring, near which was a fallen 
 palm-tree, and a fire, still smoking. At last he led me. to 
 this very spot. We are now at the foot of the mountain 
 of tlie Three Breasts, and still four good leagues from 
 home. Come, eat, and recover your strength." Do- 
 mingo then presented them with a cake, some fruit, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 39 
 
 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. 
 
 Virginia sighed at the recollection of 
 
 the poor slave, and at the uneasin(.'ss 
 
 they had given their mothers. Siie 
 
 repeated several times—" Oh, liow 
 
 difficult it is to do good 
 
 While she and Paul were 
 taking refreshment, it being 
 already night, Domingo kin- 
 
 j., found among the rocks a 
 
 died a fire; and havin 
 
 particular kind of twisted wood, called boh dc ronde, 
 
 which burns when quite green, and throws out a 
 
40 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 great blaze, he made a torch of it, which he lighted. 
 But wheQ they prepared to continue their journey, 
 a new difficulty occurred ; Paul and Virginia could 
 no longer walk, their feet being violently swollen and 
 inflamed. Domingo knew not 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." 
 \Miile he was in this perplexity, a 
 troop of Maroon negroes appeared 
 I . vM^K^^ fit ^ short distance from them. The 
 chief of fhe band, approaching Paul 
 and Virginia, said to them, 
 ' Hood little white people, 
 do not be afraid. We 
 saw you pass this morn- 
 ing 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 hanas, and having seated 
 Paul and Virginia on it, carried them upon their shoul- 
 ders. Domingo marched in front with his lighted torch, 
 and they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the whole 
 troop, who overwhelmed them with their benedictions. 
 
PAUL AM) VlHt^IMA. 
 
 II 
 
 t Y^'^'^:'^'^^^',^^^^ 
 
 Virginia, affec- 
 ted by tliis 
 scene, said to Paul, with emo- 
 tion, — " Oh, my dear brother! 
 God never leaves a good ac- 
 tion 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 uui, my children?" Thev 
 
 (i 
 
42 PAUL AND VIRGIXIA. 
 
 answered immediately, and the negroes also, " Yes, yes, it 
 is." A moment after they could distinguish their mothers 
 and Mary coming towards them with lighted sticks in 
 their hands. "Unhappy children," cried Madame de la 
 Tour, "where have you been? What agonies you have 
 made us suffer I" — "We have been," said Virginia, "to 
 the Black River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor 
 Maroon slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this 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 mother's 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 all the 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 happiness 
 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 procured by artifice, 
 and lost by calumny; but were contented 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 
 
PAUL AND VinciMA. 43 
 
 to (he Shaddock Grove, indeed, would somelimes ask the 
 inhal)itants of the plain, who lived in the cottages up 
 there? and was always told, even hy those who did not 
 
 know them, " They are good people." The modest violet 
 thus, concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen ils 
 delightful fragrance around. 
 
 Slander, which, under an appearance of justice, natu- 
 rally inclines the heart to falsehood or to hatred, \\as 
 
44 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 entirely banished from their conversation; for it is im- 
 possible not to hate men if we believe them to be wicked, 
 or to live with the wicked without concealing that hatred 
 under a false pretence of i;ood 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. Soli- 
 tude, far from having blunted these benevolent feelings, 
 had rendered their dispositions even more kindly. Al- 
 though the petty scandals of the day furnished no subjecl 
 of conversation to them, yet the contemplation of nature 
 filled their minds \\ith enthusiastic delight. They adored 
 the bounty of that Providence, ^Yhich, by their instru- 
 mentality, had spread abundance and beauty amid these 
 barren rocks, and had enabled them to enjoy those pure 
 and simple pleasures, which are ever grateful and ever 
 new. 
 
 Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more 
 inteUigent 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 neighbouring 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 fdled with a 
 sweet cream, possessing the fine perfume of the orange 
 flower. These trees, which had already attained to a 
 
PAUL AND VIHGINIA. 
 
 43 
 
 consideral)le size , he 
 planled round their httle enclosure. 
 He had also sown Lhc seeds of many 
 trees which the second year bear flowers 
 or fruit; such as the agathis, encircled 
 with lonj; clusters of white flo^^ers, 
 which hang from it like the crystal pen- 
 dants of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, 
 which Hfts high in air its grey ila\- 
 colourcd branches; the papaw-lrec, 
 the branchless trunlx of which forms a 
 column studded with green melons, sur- 
 mounted by a capital of broad leaves 
 similar to those of the fig-tree. 
 The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, 
 
46 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mango, alligalor pear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, 
 and the narrow-leaved rose-apple, were also planted by 
 him with profusion; and the greater number of these 
 trees already afforded their young cultivator both shade 
 and fruit. His industrious hands diffused the riches of 
 nature over even the most barren parts of the plantation. 
 Several species of aloes, the Indian fig, adorned with 
 yellow flowers spotted with red, and the thorny torch- 
 thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and 
 seemed to aim at reaching the long lianas, which, laden 
 with blue or scarlet flowers, hung scattered over the 
 steepest parts of the mountain. 
 
 I loved to trace the ingenuity he had 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 vene- 
 rable and lofty groves which border the circumference. 
 Thus this extensive enclosure 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 arrang- 
 ing 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 
 
PAUL A.NU VIUGIMA. 
 
 47 
 
 which fell from the summits of the rocks formed in some 
 parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in others were 
 spread into broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set in 
 verdure, the flowering trees, the overhanging rocks, and 
 the azure heavens. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of (he 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 rug- 
 ged spots, and had blended, in 
 harmonious union, level walks 
 with the inequalities of the soil, and trees which grow 
 wild with the cultivated varieties. 
 
 With that immense quantity of large pebbles which 
 now block up these paths, and which are scattered over 
 most 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 Barbadoes flower- 
 fence, and other shrubs, which love to climb the rocks. 
 
 In a short time the dark and shapeless heaps of stones 
 he had constructed were covered with verdure, or with 
 
48 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tlie glowing tints of the most beautiful (lowers. Hollow 
 recesses on the borders of the streams , shaded by 
 the overhanging boughs of aged trees, formed rural 
 grottoes, impervious to the rays of the sun, in which )0u 
 might enjoy a refreshing coolness during the mid-day 
 heats. One path led to a clump of forest 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 or- 
 chard : 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 enclosure, and of the distant ocean, where, occa- 
 sionally, we could discern the distant sail, arriving from 
 Europe, or bound thither. 
 
 On this rock the two faraibes 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 been speaking. 
 
PAUL AND VlllGINIA. 
 
 4'J 
 
 whence they could discern my approach at a considerable 
 distance, was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul 
 and Virginia had amused themsehes by plant- 
 ing a bamboo on 
 thatspot;and 
 I li^ 7;\ w h e n e V e 1' 
 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 neighbouring 
 mountain on the sight of a vessel at sea. 
 The idea struck me of engraving an in- 
 scription on the stalk of this 
 reed ; for 1 never, in the 
 course of my travels, expe- 
 rienced anything like the plea- 
 sure 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 oilier men, 
 on that \ery spot, had felt, and thought, and suffered 
 like himself. 
 
 If the inscription belongs to an ancient nation, which 
 
 7 
 
50 PAUL AxND VIRGINIA. 
 
 no longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, 
 and strengthens the consciousness of its immortality, by 
 demonstrating that a thought has survived the ruins of 
 an empire. 
 
 I inscribed then, on the htlle staff of Paul and Virgi- 
 nia's flag, the following lines of Horace : — 
 
 fratres Helenae, lucida sidera, 
 
 Ventorumque regat pater, 
 Obslrictis aliis, prffiter lapiga. 
 
 "May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and 
 
 the Father of the winds, guide you; and may 
 
 you feel only the breath of the zephyr." 
 
 There was a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul 
 was accustomed to sit to 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 cottage, 
 where the families so frequently met, I placed this line : — 
 
 At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 
 
 " Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that knows 
 not deceit." 
 
 But Virginia did not approve of my Latin : she said, 
 that what I had placed at the foot of her flagstaff was too 
 long and learned. 
 
PAUL AND VIUGINIA. Kl 
 
 " I should have liked better," added she, "to have 
 seen inscribed, ever agitated, yet constant." — "Such 
 a motlo," 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 in- 
 different. 
 
 A border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple trees, 
 planted round a green-sward where Paul and Virginia 
 sometimes danced, received the name of Concord. An 
 old tree, beneath the shade of which Madame de la 
 Tour and Margaret used to recount their misfortunes, 
 was called The Burial-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 FouUepointe, 
 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 cala- 
 bash-tree. 
 
 Thus, by cultivating the productions of their respec- 
 tive 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 completely overthrown — which now, 
 like the desolated plains of Greece, present nothing but 
 masses of ruin and affecting remembrances, all but called 
 
PAUL AXD VIRGIMA. 
 
 into life by the many charming appellations thus bestowed 
 upon them ! 
 
 But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure 
 was that called Virginia's Resting-place. At the foot of 
 
 the rock which 
 bore the name of 
 The Discovery of 
 Friendship is a 
 small crevice, 
 whence issues a 
 fountain , forming , 
 near its source , a 
 little spot of marshy soil 
 in the middle of a field 
 of rich grass. 
 
 At the time of Paul's 
 birth I had made Marga- 
 ret a present of an In- 
 dian cocoa which had 
 been given me, and which 
 she planted on the bor- 
 der 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 
 
 i-L 
 
A n-:\i)ix(. 1 !iv ~ii K 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. o3 
 
 young persons, not exactly equal; but they rose, at 
 the end of twelve years, above the roofs of the cottages. 
 Already their tender stalks were interwoven, and clusters 
 of young cocoas hung from them over the basin of the 
 fountain. With the exception of these two trees, this 
 nook of the rock was left as it had been decorated by 
 nature. 
 
 On its embrowned and moist sides broad plants 
 of maiden-hair glistened with their green and dark stars; 
 and tufts of wave-leaved hart's-tongue, suspended like 
 long 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 colour of blood, and more resplendent than coral. 
 Near them, the herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, 
 and the sweet basil, which has the odour of the clove, 
 exhaled the most delicious perfumes. From the precipi- 
 tous side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like 
 floating draperies, forming magnificent canopies of ver- 
 dure 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 sea-shore; the 
 frigate-bird poised high in air; and the white bird of the 
 tropic, which abandons, with the star of day, the solitudes 
 of the Indian Ocean. Virginia took pleasure in resting 
 herself upon Ihe border of this fountain, decorated with 
 wild and sublime magnificence. She often went thither 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 to wash the linen of the family beneath the shade of the 
 two cocoa-trees, and thither too she sometimes led her 
 goats to graze. While she was making cheeses of their 
 milk, she loved to see them browse on the maiden-hair 
 fern which clothed the steep sides of the rock, and hung 
 
 suspended by one of its 
 cornices, as on 
 a pedestal. 
 Paul, observ- 
 ing that Vir- 
 ginia was fond 
 of this spot, 
 brought thi - 
 ther, from the 
 neighbouring 
 forest, a great 
 variety of 
 birds' nests, 
 lie old birds , following their young, soon 
 established themselves in this new colony. 
 Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst 
 them grains of rice, millet, and miaze. As soon as she 
 appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, 
 whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with its flame-coloured 
 plumage, forsook their bushes; the parroquet, green 
 as an emerald, descended from the neighbouring 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 conso- 
 lations 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 
 baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine- 
 apples, furnished a wholesome repast, the most agreeable 
 to the eye, as well as delicious to the taste, that can pos- 
 sibly be imagined. 
 
 Like the repast, the conversation was mild, and free 
 from everything having a tendency to do harm. Paul 
 often talked of the labours of the day and of the morrow. 
 
56 
 
 PALL Ai\D VIRGINIA. 
 
 Hewas continually planning something for the accommoda- 
 tion of their little society. Here he discovered that the 
 paths were rugged,there that the seats were uncomfortable: 
 sometimes the young arbours 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 
 th em- 
 selves in 
 weaving 
 mats of 
 grass, 
 and baskets 
 of bamboo. Rakes, 
 spades and hatchets 
 were ranged along the 
 walls in the most per- 
 fect order; and near these 
 instruments of agriculture 
 were heaped its products — 
 bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantains. 
 Some degree of luxury usually accompanies abundance ; 
 and Virginia was taught by her mother and Margaret to 
 prepare sherbet and cordials from the juice of the sugar- 
 cane, the lemon, and the citron. 
 
 When night came, they all supped together by the hght 
 of a lamp ; after which Madame de la Tour or JMargaret 
 related some story of travellers benighted in those woods 
 of Europe that are still infested by banditti ; or told a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 57 
 
 dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the 
 tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. To these 
 recitals the children listened 
 with eager atten- 
 tion, and earnestly 
 hoped that Heaven 
 would one day grant 
 them the joy of per- 
 
 forming the rites of hospitality 
 
 towards such unfortunate persons. 
 
 ~ When the time for repose arrived, the two 
 
 famihes separated and retired for the night, eager to meet 
 
 again the following morning. Sometimes they were 
 
58 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 feehng 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 audi- 
 tors reasoned but little upon these sacred volumes, for 
 their theology centred in a feehng of devotion towards the 
 Supreme Being, like that of nature ; and their morality 
 was an active principle, like that of the Gospel. These 
 families had no particular days devoted to pleasure, and 
 others to sadness. 
 
 Every day was to them a holiday, and all that sur- 
 rounded them one holy temple, in which they ever 
 adored the Infinite Intelligence, the Almighty God, the 
 friend of human kind. A feeling of confidence in His 
 supreme power filled their minds with consolation 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 deve- 
 loped in their own and their children's bosoms the 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 labouring under dejec- 
 tion , the rest assembled around, and endeavoured to banish 
 
PAUL AMD VlRGhMA. 
 
 39 
 
 her painful thoughts by amusing the mind rather than by 
 gra-ve arguments against them. Each performed this kind 
 office in their own appropriate manner : Margaret, by her 
 gaiety ; 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 
 succour, and to weep with those that 
 
 wept. Thus do weak plants interweave themselves 
 with each other, in order to withstand the fury of the 
 tempest. 
 
 During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the 
 church of the Shaddock Grove, the steeple of which you 
 see yonder upon the plain. Many wealthy members of 
 the congregation, who came to church in palanquins, 
 sought the acquaintance of these united families, and 
 
60 
 
 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 invited them to parties of pleasure. But they always 
 repelled these overtures with respectful politeness, as they 
 were persuaded that the 
 rich and power- "A V~~>>-r/ 
 
 ful seek the 
 society of 
 persons in an 
 
 inferior station only for the 
 sake of surrounding themselves 
 with flatterers, and that every flat- 
 terer 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 acquaintance with the lower class, 
 who are ordinarily jealous, calumnia- 
 ting, and gross. They thus acquired, 
 with some, the character of being 
 timid, and \\ith others, of pride : but 
 their reserve was accompanied with so 
 much obliging politeness, above all to- 
 wards the unfortunate and the unhappy, 
 that they insensibly acquired the respect 
 of the rich and the confidence of the poor. 
 
 After service, some kind office was 
 often required at their hands by their 
 poor neighbours. 
 
 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 61 
 
 
 took wilh them a few remedies for the ordinary diseases 
 
 of tlie country, which they administered in that soothing 
 
 manner which stamps a value upon the smallest favours. 
 
 , Above all, they met 
 
 with singular success 
 in administering to 
 the disorders of the 
 mind, so intolerable 
 in solitude, and under 
 the infirmities of a 
 weakened frame. Ma- 
 dame de la Tour 
 
 ^'"■^^fe#i %?1^- V'-^ 
 
 spoke with such sublime confidence of the ' 
 Divinity, that the sick, while listening to her, almost be- 
 lieved Him present. 
 
 Virginia often returned home with her eyes full of 
 tears, and her heart overflowing with delight, at having 
 
62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 had an opportunity of doing good; for to her generally 
 was confided the task of preparing and administering the 
 medicines, — a task \Yhich she fulfilled with angelic sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 After these visits of charity, they sometimes extended 
 their walk hy 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 occasions 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 sea-shore, 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 abun- 
 dant 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 enor- 
 mous 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 bil- 
 lows; 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 
 
 Other amusements were not wanting on these festive 
 occasions. Our repasts were generally followed by the 
 songs and dances of the two young people. Virginia sang 
 the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of those who 
 were impelled by avarice to cross the raging ocean, rather 
 than cultivate the earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. 
 Sometimes she performed a pantomime with Paul, after the 
 manner of the negroes. 
 
 The first language of man is pantomime : it is known 
 to all nations, and is so natural and expressive, that the 
 children of the European inhabitants catch it with 
 facility from the negroes. Virginia, recaUing, from 
 among the histories which her mother had read to her, 
 those which had affected her most, represented the prin- 
 cipal events in them with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes 
 at the sound of Domingo's tamtam she appeared upon 
 the greensward, bearing a pitcher upon her head, 
 and advanced with a timid step towards the source of a 
 neighbouring 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 succour, beat away the shepherds, filled Vir- 
 ginia's pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound her 
 brows at the same time with a wreath of the red flowers 
 of the Madagascar pariwinkle, 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, 
 
64 PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 who, after so prolonged an absence, found herself as 
 unknown as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary per- 
 sonated 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 per- 
 formed 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 N\ith plenty; 
 and, leading her towards us as before the elders of the 
 city, declared his purpose to take her in marriage. At 
 this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the desolate 
 situation in which she had been left by her relations, her 
 widowhood, and the kind reception she had met with from 
 Margaret, succeeded now by the soothing hope of a happy 
 union between their children, could not forbear weeping ; 
 and these mixed recollections of good and evil caused us 
 all to 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 transported 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 
 
f'-Mti».<. Jh'-'"^! >'''^^W Mil' 
 
 !' \l'] AXl) \ IhtCilX lA I I VXCI X( 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 6b 
 
 shadows of the forest in long lines of light, producing the 
 most magnificent effect. Sometimes its broad disk ap- 
 peared at the end of an avenue, lighting it up with insuffer- 
 
 able 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 
 
60 PALL AND VlRr.LNIA. 
 
 leafy shades to pass the night, surprised to seethe radiance 
 of a second morning, hailed the star of day all together 
 with innumerable carols. 
 
 Night often overtook us during these rural entertain- 
 ments ; but the purity of the air, and the warmth 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 commerce, 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 inhabitants. 
 
 There were, however, some days in the year celebrated 
 by Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar manner : these 
 were the birthdays of their mothers. Virginia never failed 
 the day before to prepare some wheaten cakes, which she 
 distributed among a few poor white families, born 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 situation 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 67 
 
 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 dela Tour's. Accord- 
 ingly, mothers of famihes, with two 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 refresh- 
 ments, the excellence of which she endeavoured to heighten 
 by relating 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 pre- 
 cept, — concealing the benefactor, and revealing only the 
 benefit. 
 
 You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy 
 with prejudices at variance with happiness, cannot imagine 
 
68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 all the instruction and pleasure to be derived from 
 nature. Your souls, confined to a small sphere of in- 
 telligence, soon reach the limit of its artificial enjoyments; 
 but nature and the heart are inexhaustible. Paul and 
 Virginia had neither clock, nor almanack, nor books of 
 chronology, history, or philosophy. The periods of their 
 lives were regulated by those of the operations of nature, 
 and their famihar 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 Virginia, " 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 neighbourhood. "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 histo- 
 rical epochs than those of the lives of their mothers, no 
 other chronology than that of their orchards, and no 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 
 
 olher 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 necessities and 
 their ignorance increased their happiness. No day passed 
 
 in which they were not of some service to one another, or 
 in which they did not 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 
 
70 PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 sister, ^'irginia 
 was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul, like 
 Adam, united the stature of manhood with the simplicity 
 of a child. 
 
 Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a thousand 
 times told me, he used to say to her, on his return from 
 labour, — "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 rose-bud. 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 I lose sight of you through the trees, I have no 
 need to see you in order to find you again. Something 
 of you, 1 know not how, remains for me in the air through 
 which you have passed, — on the grass whereon you have 
 been seated. 
 
 " \Micn I come near you, you dehght 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 ttie tip of my finger, my whole frame trembles with 
 pleasure. Do you remember the dav when we crossed 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 71 
 
 over the great stones of the river of the Three Breasts? 1 
 was very tired before we reached the bank : but as soon 
 as I had taken you in my arms, I seemed to have wings 
 like a bird. Tell me by what charm you have thus en- 
 chanted me? Is it by your wisdom? — Our mothers have 
 more than either of us. Is it by your caresses? — They 
 embrace me much oftener than you. I think it must be 
 by your goodness. I shall never forget how you walked 
 barefooted to the Black River, to ask pardon for the poor 
 runaway slave. Here, my beloved, take this flowering 
 branch of a lemon-tree, which 1 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, T feel it more sensibly than when I am caressed 
 myself. You ask me what makes you love me. Why, 
 all creatures that are brought up 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 
 vou play on your flute on the top of the mountain, I 
 repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. You 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 are dear to me more especially since the day when you 
 wanted to tight the master of the slave for me. Since 
 that time how often have I said to myself, ' Ah, my 
 
 brother has a good heart; but 
 
 for him I should have died of 
 
 terror.' I pray to God every day 
 
 for my mother and for yours ; for 
 
 you, and for our poor servants : 
 
 but when I pronounce your name, 
 
 my devotion seems to increase; — 
 
 I ask so earnestly of God 
 
 that no harm may befall 
 
 you! ^^ hy 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 
 
 eves lost their lustre, her cheek its freshness, and her 
 
 J^Wfe: 
 
PALL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 73 
 
 frame was overpowered with a universal languor. Sere- 
 nity no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played 
 upon her lips. She would become all at once gay with- 
 out cause for joy, and 
 melancholy without 
 any subject for grief. 
 She fled her inno- 
 cent amusements , 
 her gentle toils, and 
 the society 
 of her be- 
 
 loved family ; 
 wandermg about 
 the most unfre- 
 quented parts of the plantations, and seeking everywhere 
 the rest which she could nowhere find. 
 
 Sometimes, at the sight of Paul, she advanced 
 
 10 
 
74 PALL AND VIHGLMA. 
 
 sportively to meet him ; but, when about to accost him, 
 was overcome by a sudden confusion ; her pale cheeks 
 were covered with blushes, and her eyes no longer dared 
 to meet those of her brother. Paul said to her, — "The 
 rocks are covered with verdure, our birds begin to sing 
 when you approach, everything around you is gay, and 
 you only are unhappy." He then endeavoured to soothe 
 her by his embraces; but she turned away her head, and 
 fled, trembhng, towards her mother. The caresses of 
 her brother excited too much emotion in her agitated 
 heart, and she sought in the arms of her mother, refuge 
 from herself. Paul, unused to the secret windings of the 
 female heart, vexed himself in vain in endeavouring to 
 comprehend the meaning of these new and strange ca- 
 prices. Misfortunes seldom come alone, and a serious 
 calamity now impended over these families. 
 
 One of those summers which sometimes desolate the 
 countries situated between the tropics, now began to 
 spread its ravages over this island It was near the end 
 of December, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over the 
 Mauritius, during the space of three weeks, its vertical 
 fires. 
 
 The south-east wind, which prevails throughout 
 almost the whole year, no longer blew. Vast columns of 
 dust arose from the highways, and hung suspended in the 
 air ; the ground was everywhere broken into clefts ; the 
 grass was burnt up ; hot exhalations issued from the sides 
 of the mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, 
 became dry. No refreshing cloud ever arose from the 
 sea : fiery vapours only, during the day, ascended from 
 
A"ii-;r-,iMA i':s(: APr:G ia-joai l-'\r.i. 
 
PAUF. A.ND VIRGINIA. 7o 
 
 the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the reflection of 
 avast conflagration. 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 melancholy lowings : even 
 the Caffre by whom they were led threw himself upon the 
 earth, in search of some cooling moisture : but his hopes 
 were vain ; the scorching sun had penetrated the whole 
 soil, and Ihe stifling atmosphere everywhere resounded 
 with the 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 parti- 
 cular, 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 them- 
 selves by bathing her with Paul in this very spot ; that he 
 afterwards, reserving this bath for her sole use, had hol- 
 lowed out its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and sown 
 aromatic herbs around ils borders. She sawin the water, 
 upon her naked arras and bosom, the reflection of the two 
 
76 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 odour 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 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. 
 
 ^ladame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the 
 source other 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 meantime raised vast masses 
 of vapour 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and the valleys : the rains fell from the skies in cataracts ; 
 
 foaming torrents rushed down the sides of this mountain; 
 
 the bottom of the 
 valley became a 
 sea, and the 
 elevated plat- 
 form 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 roaring, and 
 
78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 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 ano- 
 ther, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest ; here support- 
 ing 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 ordinary 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 
 liesting-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 vapours 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 com- 
 pletely torn to pieces by deep water-courses, the roots of 
 most of the fruit trees were laid bare, and vast heaps of 
 sand covered the borders of the meadows, and had choked 
 up Virginia's bath. The two cocoa-trees, however, were 
 
PAUL AND VIHGIMA. 7!J 
 
 still erect, and still retained their freshness : hut they were 
 no longer surrounded hy turf, or arbours, or birds, except 
 a few amadavid birds, which, upon the points of the 
 neighbouring 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." — 
 "^Vhy," answered Paul, "cannoti 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 con- 
 templating 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 
 
80 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 friend- 
 ship, — this un- 
 hoped-for return 
 of familiarity and 
 tenderness, Paul at- 
 tempted to embrace 
 her, but, light as a 
 bird, she escaped 
 him, and fled away, 
 leaving him asto- 
 nished, and unable 
 to account for con- 
 duct 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 understands the real nature of his feeUngs, yet 
 great care and watchfulness will be necessary. Under 
 such circumstances it will be as well not to leave them too 
 much together." Madame de la Tour replied, — "They 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 81 
 
 are too young and Loo poor. What grief would it occa- 
 sion us to see Virginia bring into the world unfortunate 
 children whom she would not perhaps have sufficient 
 strength to rear! Your negro, Domingo, is almost too 
 old to labour; 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 labour : 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 
 purchasing some slaves ; and at his return we could unite 
 him to Virginia; for I am persuaded no one on earth 
 would render her so happy as your son. We will consult 
 our neighbour 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 favourable time of the year, the voyage out is 
 seldom longer than six weeks ; and the same time may be 
 allowed for the return home, ^^'e will furnish Paul with 
 a little venture from my neighbourhood, 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 
 
 n 
 
82 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 useless here , to good advantage in ttie Indies. 
 I took upon myself to obtain permission from Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; and I deter- 
 mined 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 family for this precarious pur- 
 suit of Fortune? Is there any commerce in the world 
 more advantageous than the culture of the ground, which 
 vields sometimes fifty or a hundred fold? If we wish to 
 engage in commerce, can we not do so by carrying our 
 superfluities to the town, without my wandering to the 
 Indies? Our mothers tell me that Domingo is old and 
 feeble; but I am voung, and gather strength every day. 
 If any accident should happen during my absence, above 
 all to Virginia, who already suffers — Oh, no, no ! — I 
 cannot resolve to leave them." 
 
 So decided an answer threw me into great perplexity, 
 for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from me the 
 cause of Virginia's illness and want of 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 compassion. When she wrote, 
 she was recovering from a dangerous illness, which had, 
 however, left her incurably languid and weak. Slie de- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 83 
 
 sired her niece to return to France ; or, if her health 
 forbade her to undertake so long a voyage, she begged 
 her to send Virginia, on 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 con- 
 cluded by enjoining strict obedience to her will, in grati- 
 tude, 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, motionless 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 deranged, my past 
 misfortunes are the cause. My heart has been deeply 
 wounded by the cruelty of my relations, and by the loss 
 of my beloved husband. But I have since found more 
 consolation and more real happiness with you, in these 
 humble huts, than all the 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 labour for you, dear mamma; 
 and you shall never feel any want with us." But of the 
 whole society, the person who displayed the least trans- 
 
84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 port, and who probably felt the most, was Virginia; and, 
 during the remainder of the day, the gentle gaiety 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 break- 
 fast, Domingo came to inform them that a gentleman 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 break- 
 fast. 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 plantain-tree supplied the want of table-linen; and 
 calabash shells, split in two, served for cups. The 
 Governor exhibited, at first, some astonishment at the 
 homeliness of the 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, Madam," he added, "a 
 woman of quality, and immensely rich, who expects that 
 you will hasten to see her, and who means to bestow 
 upon you her whole fortune." Madame de la Tour replied, 
 that the state of her health would not permit her to un- 
 dertake 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 inheritance. 
 I will not conceal from you, that your aunt has made 
 
PAUL AND VIRGLNIA. 
 
 8S 
 
 use of her influence to secure your daughter being 
 sent to her; and that I have received official letters, 
 in which I am ordered to exerl my authority, if neces- 
 sary, to that effect. But 
 as I only wish to employ 
 my power for the purpose of 
 rendering the inhabitants 
 i :£sMliS^ '-WFEW T^ ^^ ^^'^ country happy , I 
 
 /^''^o^'i.v\.':^fK 
 
 expect from your good sense the 
 
 voluntary sacrifice of a few years, upon which your daugh- 
 ter's establisiiment in the world, and Ihe welfare of your 
 whole life, depend. Wherefore do we come to these 
 islands? Is it not to acquire a fortune? And will it not 
 
86 PAIL AND VIRGIlNIA. 
 
 be more agreeable to return, and find it in yuur 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 Governor, " My mother did apply to you, sir, 
 and you received her ill." — "Have you another child, 
 madam?" said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame 
 de la Tour. "No, sir," she repHed; "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 Governor 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 Avhich they would wish to give to 
 modest merit." 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of Madame 
 de la Tour, placed himself next to her at table, and break- 
 fasted, 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 coun- 
 tenances and hearts of gold." Paul, enchanted with the 
 
PAUL ANU VIRGINIA. 87 
 
 affability of the Governor, said to him, — "I wish to be 
 your friend; for you are a good man." Monsieur de hi 
 Bourdonnais received with pleasure this insular comph- 
 ment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured him tliat 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 re- 
 nouncing an immense fortune 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." 
 
 Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportu- 
 nity of separating Paul and Virginia for a short time, and 
 provide, by this means, for their mutual fehcity at a 
 future period. She took her daughter aside, and said to 
 her, — "My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul 
 is still very young; Margaret is advanced in years, and I 
 am already infirm. If I should die, what would become 
 of you, without fortune, in the midst of these deserts? 
 
88 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 You would then be left alone, -without any person who 
 could afford you much assistance, and would be obliged 
 to labour without ceasing, as a hired servant, in order to 
 support your wretched existence. This idea overcomes 
 me with sorrow." Virginia answered, — "God has ap- 
 pointed us to labour, and to bless Him every day. Up to 
 this time He has never forsaken us, and He never will for- 
 sake us in time to come. His providence 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 sor- 
 rows of her attachment escape as through a newly-opened 
 barrier, and the sweet outpourings of unrestrained con- 
 fidence succeed to her former mystery and reserve. Vir- 
 ginia, deeply affected 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 considera- 
 tion led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 89 
 
 for the present, and wilhout apprehension for the future. 
 Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this confidential 
 conversation had produced an effect altogether different 
 from that which she expected, said, 
 —"My dear child, I do not 
 wish to constrain you : 
 think over it at leisure, 
 but conceal your affec- 
 tion 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 mis- 
 
 12 
 
ttO PALL ANU VIHGINIA. 
 
 sionary 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 exclaimed as he entered, 
 " God be praised! you are now rich. You can now attend 
 to the kind suggestions of your benevolent hearts, and do 
 good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bour- 
 donnais 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. ^Ve must obey 
 the direction of Providence ; and we must also obey our 
 aged relations, even when they are unjust. A sacrifice is 
 required of you; but it is the will of God. Our Lord 
 devoted Himself for you ; and you, in imitation of His 
 example, must give up something for the welfare of your 
 family. Your voyage to France will end happily. You 
 will surely consent to go, my dear young lady." 
 
 Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembhng, — 
 " If it is the command of God, I will not presume 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 Governor 
 of the success of his mission. In the meantime 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 illusions of a splendid 
 
\ 1)1; I- - -■ I I) 
 
PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 9i 
 
 fortune? — or from my simple reasoning, when in compe- 
 tition 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 con- 
 fessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the advan- 
 tages she expected for her son from the possession ot 
 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 con- 
 versations which Virginia had been holding with her 
 mother, he abandoned himself to melancholy. ' 'They are 
 plotting something against me, "cried he, "for they conceal 
 everything from me." 
 
 A report having in the meantime been spread in the 
 island that fortune had visited these rocks, merchants of 
 every description were seen climbing their steep ascent. 
 Now, for the first time, were seen displayed in these humble 
 huts the richest stuffs of India; the fine dimity of Gonde- 
 lore; the handkerchiefs ofPellicate and Masulipatan ; the 
 plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beau- 
 tifully transparent ; the delicately white cottons of Sural, 
 and linens of all colours. They also brought with them 
 the gorgeous silks of China; satin damasks, 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 purchase 
 
92 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 he useful or agreeable to her mother, or to Margaret 
 and her son. "This," said she, "will be wanted for fur- 
 nishing the cottage, and that will be very useful to Mary 
 and Domingo." In short, the bag of piastres was almost 
 emptied before she even began to consider her own wants ; 
 and she was obhged to receive back for her own use a 
 share of the presents which she had distributed among the 
 family circle. 
 
 Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of these gifts 
 of fortune, which he felt were a presage of Virginia's 
 departure, came a few days after to my dwelling. With 
 an air of deep despondency he said to me, — ' ' My sister is 
 going away ; she is already making preparations for her 
 voyage. I conjure you to come and exert your influence 
 over her mother and mine in order to detain her here." 
 I could not refuse the young man's solicitations, although 
 well convinced that my representations would be un- 
 avaihng. 
 
 Virginia had ever appeared tome charming when clad 
 in the coarse cloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief tied 
 round her head : you may therefore imagine how much her 
 beauty was increased when she was attired in the grace- 
 ful and elegant costume worn by the ladies of this coun- 
 try ! She had on a white muslin dress, lined with pink 
 taffeta. Her somewhat tall and slender figure was shown 
 to advantage in her new attire, and the simple arrange- 
 ment of her hair accorded admirably with the form of her 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 93 
 
 
 head. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an expression 
 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 emotion. 
 The contrast between her pensive 
 look and her gay habiliments 
 rendered her more interesting 
 than ever, nor was it possible to 
 see or hear 
 her 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 cherisii vain hopes, 
 
94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, 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 consequence of my fault is, that 
 you are deprived of the protection of a father's family, and 
 by my flight from home you have also lost that of your 
 mother's. Unfortunate child ! you have no relation in the 
 world but me!" — and she shed a flood of tears. Paul, 
 pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, "Oh, my dear 
 mother! since I have no relation in the world but you, I 
 will love you all the more. But what a secret have you 
 just disclosed to me! I now see the reason why Made- 
 moiselle de la Tour has estranged herself so much from 
 me for the last two months, and why she has determined 
 to go to France. Ah ! I perceive too well that she despises 
 me!" 
 
 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, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMIA. 93 
 
 kept a profound silence. It was one of those delicious 
 nights which are so common between the tropics, and to 
 the beauty of which no pencil can do justice. The moon 
 appeared in the midst of the firmament, surrounded by a 
 curtain of clouds, which was gradually unfolded by her 
 beams. Her light insensibly spread itself over the moun- 
 tains 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 brightness of the night and the serenity of the 
 atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard in the grass. 
 The stars sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs 
 were reflected, in trembhng sparkles, from the tranquil 
 bosom of the ocean. Virginia's eyes wandered distract- 
 edly over its vast and gloomy horizon, distinguishable from 
 the shore of the island only by the red fires in the fishing- 
 boats. She perceived at the entrance of the harbour 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 conver- 
 sation, 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 
 
96 
 
 PAUL AiNDj VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 a distant 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 
 
 ifessor, too, 
 me it 
 
 was the will of God that I should go, and that life was a 
 scene of trials ! — and oh! this is indeed a severe one." 
 
 "What! " exclaimed Paul, "you could find so many 
 reasons for going, and not one for remaining here! Ah! 
 there is one reason for your departure that you have not 
 mentioned. Riches have great attractions. You will 
 soon find in the new world to which you are going, 
 
PAUL AMD VIRGINIA. 
 
 H7 
 
 another, to whom you will give the name of brother, 
 which you bestow on me no more. You will choose that 
 brother from amongst persons who are AYorthy 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 
 
 13 
 
98 PAUL AND VlUGIiMA. 
 
 affection? What shall I say to comfort them when I see 
 them weeping for your absence? Cruel Virginia! 1 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 labour, 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 
 fortune and of grandeur, I will wait upon you as your 
 slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will find me in 
 those palaces where I shall see you receiving the homage 
 and adoration of all, rich and noble enough to make you 
 the greatest of all sacrifices, by dying at your feet." 
 
 The violence of his emotions stopped his utterance, 
 and we then heard Virginia, who, in a voice broken by 
 sobs, uttered these words, — " It is for you that I go, — for 
 you, whom I see tired to death every day by the labour 
 of sustaining two helpless famihes. 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 99 
 
 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, — 1 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, hold- 
 ing 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 Madame de la Tour said to 
 him, — " My son, if you go, what will become of us?" 
 
 He, trembhng, repeated after her the words, — "My 
 son! — my son! You my mother! " cried he; " you, who 
 would separate the brother from the sister! We have 
 both been nourished at your bosom ; we have both been 
 reared upon your knees ; we have learnt of you to love 
 one another; we have said so a thousand times ;and now 
 you would separate her from me! — you would send her to 
 Europe, that inhospitable 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! 
 I know no other. We have had but one roof, — one cradle, 
 — and we will have but one grave! If she goes, I will 
 follow her. The Governor will prevent me! Will he 
 prevent me from flinging myself into the sea? — 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 
 
100 
 
 PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 
 you. Inhuman mother ! — 
 
 woman without compassion '. 
 
 — may the ocean, to which 
 
 you trust her, restore her to 
 
 you no more ! May the waves , 
 
 rolling back our bodies amid the 
 
 shingles of this beach, give you, in the loss of your two 
 
 children, an eternal subject of remorse!" 
 
 At these words I seized him in my arms, for despair 
 had deprived him of reason. His eyes sparkled with fire ; 
 the perspiration fell in great drops from his face; his 
 knees trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently against 
 his burning bosom. 
 
 Virginia, alarmed, said to him, — ''Oh, my dear Paul, 
 I call to witness the pleasures of our early age, your griefs 
 and my own, and everything that can for ever bind two 
 unfortunate beings to each other, that if I remain at home, 
 1 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 infancy, who dispose of my life, and 
 who see my tears. I swear by that Heaven which hears 
 me, by the sea which I am going to pass, by the air I 
 breathe, and which 1 never sulhed by a falsehood." 
 
 As the sun softens and precipitates an icy rock from 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 101 
 
 the summit of one of the Apennines, so the impetuous pas- 
 sions of the young man were subdued by the voice of her 
 he loved. He bent his head, and a torrent of tears fell 
 from his eyes. His mother, 
 mingling her tears with his, 
 held him in her arms, but 
 
 was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, half distracted, 
 said to me, — "I can bear this no longer. My heart is 
 quite broken. This unfortunate voyage shall not take 
 
102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 remaia 
 here. To-morrow we will talk to the Governor about 
 it : leave your family to take some rest, and come and 
 pass the night with me. It is late; it is midnight; the 
 Southern Cross is just above the horizon." 
 
 He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; and, 
 after anight 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 wc 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 interesting. 
 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 he per- 
 ceived her, he called to her from a distance, — " Where is 
 Virginia?" Mary turned her head towards her young 
 master, and began to weep. Paul, distracted, retracing 
 his steps, ran to the harbour. He was there informed 
 that Virginia had embarked at break of day, and that (he 
 vessel had immediately set sail, and was now out of sight. 
 
PAUL AiND VIRGINIA. 103 
 
 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 hke a forest in the air, surrounded by tremendous 
 precipices. The clouds, which are constantly attracted 
 round the summit of The Thumb, supply innumerable 
 rivulets, which fall to so great a depth in the valley situated 
 on the other side of the mountain, that from this elevated 
 point the sound of their cataracts cannot be heard . From 
 that spot you can discern a considerable part of the island, 
 diversified by precipices and mountain peaks, and, 
 amongst others, Peter-Booth and the Three Breasts, with 
 their valleys full of woods. You also command an exten- 
 sive view of the ocean, and can even perceive the Isle of 
 Bourbon, forty leagues to the westward. From the sum- 
 mit of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul caught sight of 
 the vessel which was bearing away Virginia, and which 
 now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a black spot in 
 the midst of the ocean. He remained a great part of the 
 day 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, for ever beaten by the winds, which never 
 
J04 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage aad gum trees, 
 and the hoarse and moaning murmurs of which, similar 
 to the distant sound of organs, inspire a profound melan- 
 choly. On this spot I found him, his head reclined on 
 the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. 1 had fol- 
 lowed him from the earliest dawn, and, after much impor- 
 tunity, 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 dc la 
 Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having deceived 
 him. She told us that a favourable wind having sprung 
 up at three o'clock in the morning, 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 A'irginia's objec- 
 tions, 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 fare- 
 well, I should now be more calm. I would have said to 
 her, — 'Virginia, if, during the time we have lived toge- 
 ther, one word may have escaped me which has offended 
 you, before you leave me for ever, tell me that you forgive 
 me.' I would have said to her, — 'Since I am destined to 
 see you no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, farewell ! Live 
 far from me, contented and happy!' " When he saw that 
 his mother and Madame de la Tour were weeping, — "You 
 must now," said he, "seek some other hand to wipe away 
 your tears;" and then, rushing out of the house, and 
 groaning aloud, he wandered up and down the plantation. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 105 
 
 He hovered in particular about all those spots which had 
 once been most endeared to Virginia. He said to the goats 
 
 and their little ones, which fol- 
 lowed 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 Vir- 
 ginia's Resting-place, and, as 
 the birds flew around him, 
 exclaimed, "Poor birds! you 
 will fly no more to meet her 
 
 who cherished you!" — and 
 
 observing Fidele running 
 
 backwards and forwards in search 
 
 of her, he heaved a deep sigh, and 
 
 cried, — " Ah! you will never find her again." 
 
 At length 
 
106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 over- 
 flowed with anguish, and he wept bitterly. 
 
 \\'e continually watched his movements, apprehensive 
 of some fatal consequence from the violent agitation of his 
 mind. His mother and Madame de la Tour conjured him, 
 in the most tender manner, not to increase their affliction 
 by his despair. At length the latter soothed his mind 
 by lavishing upon him epithets calculated to awaken his 
 hopes, — calling him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, 
 whom she destined for her daughter. She persuaded him 
 to return home, and to take some food. He seated himself 
 next to the place which used to be occupied by the compa- 
 nion of his childhood ; and, as if she had stifl 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 nose- 
 gays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from which she used 
 to drink ; and after kissing a thousand times these relics 
 of his beloved, to him the most precious treasures which 
 the world 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 labour, he began, with the assistance 
 
Paul ox tiiI': i;0':k 
 
 c-fopc"^ POifTLTiDO^; Ai!;:' ::.o:[;- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 107 
 
 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 
 
108 PAUL AND VIRGLMA. 
 
 of history, that he might linow something of the manners 
 of the society in which she would be placed. The power- 
 ful sentiment of love, which directed his present studies, 
 had already instructed him in agriculture, and in the art 
 of laying out grounds with advantage and beauty. It must 
 be admitted, that to the fond dreams of this restless and 
 ardent passion mankind are indebted for most of the arts 
 and sciences, while its disappointments have given birth 
 to philosophy, which teaches us to bear up under misfor- 
 tune. Love, thus the general link of all beings, becomes 
 the great spring of society, by inciting us to knowledge 
 as well as to pleasure. 
 
 Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geogra- 
 phy, which, instead of describing the natural history 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 which he could not 
 discover; wars without either motive or reason; unin- 
 teresting 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 
 private 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 those parts 
 which affected him most sensibly; but sometimes, touched 
 by the most tender remembrances, his emotion would 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 d09 
 
 choke his utterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. 
 He fancied he had found in Virginia the dignity and wis- 
 dom of Antiope, united to the misfortunes and the ten- 
 derness of Eucharis. With very different sensations he 
 perused our fashionable novels, filled with Hcentious 
 morals and maxims. And when he was informed that 
 these works drew a tolerably faithful picture of European 
 
 society, he trembled, and not 
 ^^ithout some appearance 
 of reason, lest Virgi- 
 nia should become 
 corrupted by it, and 
 forget him. 
 
 More than 
 a year and a 
 half, indeed, 
 passed away 
 before Ma- 
 dame de la 
 Tour received any tidings of her aunt or her daughter. 
 During that period she only accidentally heard that Vir- 
 ginia had safely arrived in France. At length, however, a 
 vessel which stopped here in its way to the Indies brought 
 a packet to Madame de la Tour, and a letter written by 
 Virginia's own hand. Although this amiable and consi- 
 derate girl had written in a guarded manner, that she 
 might not wound her mother's feelings, it appeared evi- 
 dent enough that she was unhappy. The letter painted 
 so naturally her situation and her character, that I have 
 retained it almost word for word. 
 

 " / have already sent you several letters, 
 written by my own hand, but having received 
 no answer , I am afraid Ihey have not reached 
 you. I have better hopes for this, from the 
 means I have now gained of sending you tid- 
 ings of myself, and of hearing from you. 
 
 " I have shed many tears since our sepa 
 t ation. I who never used to weep, but for the 
 misfortunes of others'. My aunt was much 
 astonished, when, havinr/, upon my am it 
 inquired what accomplishments I possessed I 
 1 jid her that I could neither read nor w ite 
 bhe asked me what then I had learnt, since 
 I came into the irorld; and when I answeied 
 thai 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 
 
m 
 
 SSfe 
 
 fi 
 
 n.i 
 
 h 
 
 a servant. The next day she placed me as a 
 ^ i//^ ' hoarder in a great abbey near Paris, where 
 I have masters of all kinds, who teach me, 
 among other things, history, geography, gram- 
 mar, mathematics, and riding on horseback. 
 But I have so little capacity for all the.se 
 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 
 wailing vmmen 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 
 suffei ings 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. Seeinr/ 
 myself in so splendid a situation, I implored 
 hei to let me send you something to assist 
 you But how shall I repeat her answer! 
 
 
 
 \mi 
 
 W-^ 
 
 liE 
 
f^M 
 
 
 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 endeavoured, upon my arrival, to send you 
 tidings of myself by another hand; but, find- 
 ing no person here in whom I could place con- 
 fidence, I applied night and day to learn to 
 read and write; and Heaven, who saw my 
 motive for learning, no doubt assisted my 
 endeavours, for I succeeded in both in a short 
 time. I enti~usted 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 hoarder, who is my friend. I 
 send you her direction, by means of which 1 
 shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid 
 my holding any correspondence whatever with 
 any one, 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 
 
 T 
 
 m 
 
 up^f^ 
 
 ]\L '^.Sz 
 
-^ 
 
 ,fe,J;, 
 
 pleased with me. I am sure I am not at all so 
 ivith him, nor should I, ercH if it were possible 
 fur me to be pleased with any one at present. 
 ■■ / live in all the splendour of affluence, 
 and luiL-e not a sous at my disposal. They 
 say I might make an improper use of money. 
 Ereii my clothes belong to my femmes de 
 chambre, irho quarrel about them before I have 
 left them off. In the midst of riches, 1 am 
 poorer llian when I lived with you; for I have 
 nothing to give uu-ay. 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 
 h'ippily you had taught me the use. I send 
 several pairs of stoc/iings of my own )na/ inr/ 
 for you and my maiiunn Margaret, a cap fo) 
 Domingo, and one of my red handkerchiefs 
 for Mary. I also send with this packet some 
 kernels, and seeds of various Icinds of fi uits 
 lohich I gathered in the abtjey park during mi/ 
 hours of recreation. I liitre also sent a fi i 
 seedsof violets, daisies, buttercups, poppies m I 
 scabious, v/iich I picked up in the fields. There 
 
are much more beautiful flowers in the mea- 
 dows of this country than in ours, but nobody 
 cares for them. I am sure that you and my 
 mamma Margaret will be better pleased with 
 this bag of seeds, than you loere icith the bag 
 of piastres, which was the cause of our separa- 
 tion 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 endeavour 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 femmes 
 de chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for 
 they belong more to her than to me, told me 
 the other day, when I wished to turn the 
 conversation upon the objects most dear to 
 
 
 
 
 }1 
 
'^-..-.ssSiiai,, } 
 
 jjff" 
 
 ^ 
 
 me ■ ' Remember, mademoiselle, t/iat you are 
 (I Frcneli woman, and must forget that land 
 
 'f sarcif/es. ' Ah! sooner will I forget myself, 
 than forget the spot on which I was born and 
 v)here you dwell! li 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 
 
 enderness for you which I shall bear with me 
 to the grave. I am, 
 
 " Ml/ dearest and beloved Mother, 
 
 " Your affectionate and dutiful Daughter, 
 
 " V I R G I N I E D K LA T U R. 
 
 ■' / recommend to your goodness Mary and 
 Domingo, who took so much care of my in- 
 fancy : caress Fidele for me, who found me in 
 the wood. " 
 
116 PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 may be, she never fails to leave her dearest senti- 
 ments 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 instructions upon 
 the natural characters of these flowers, and the spots 
 most proper for their cultivation. "The violet," she said, 
 "produces a little flower of a dark purple colour, 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 sca- 
 bious," she added, " produces a beautiful flower of a pale 
 blue, and a black ground spotted with white. You might 
 fancy it was in mourning; and for this reason it is 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 liad 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 en- 
 twined together, and knew that the beautiful hair which 
 formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia. 
 
 The whole family Hstened with tears to the reading of 
 the letter of this amiable and virtuous girl. Her mother 
 
PAIL AXD VIRGTMA. 
 
 n- 
 
 
 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 de- 
 [tarture, 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 m a .■«i>^ 
 
 manner agreeable to her St,^-^ 
 taste, and mingle toge- 
 ther in it the plants of 
 Europe with those 
 of Africa, as she 
 had blended their 
 initials to- 
 gether in 
 her work . 
 He sent her 
 some fruit 
 from the co- 
 coa-trees of 
 the fountain, 
 
 now arrived at maturity; teUing 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, and above all, with his 
 own, since he could never hereafter taste happiness away 
 from her. 
 
 Paul sowed with a careful hand the European seeds, 
 particularly the violet and scabious, the flowers of which 
 
H8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 cUmate of this part of the world is unfavourable to 
 their growth, for a very small number of them even came 
 up, and not one arrived at full perfection. 
 
 In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to embitter 
 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 inteUigence 
 in their passage; but some of the inhabitants of the island, 
 with mahgnant pity, affecting to bewail the event, he was 
 soon led to attach some degree of belief to this cruel in- 
 telligence. 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 Virginia was corrupted, and had for- 
 gotten its former engagements. Thus his new acquire- 
 ments had already only served to render him more mise- 
 rable ; and his apprehensions were much increased by the 
 circumstance, that though several ships touched here 
 from Europe within the six months immediately following 
 
PAUL AND VIRGliMA. H9 
 
 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 
 cvperience 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, tiie state of life which appears 
 the least wretched is doubtless that of solitude. Every 
 man who has much cause of complaint against his fellow- 
 creatures seeks to be alone. It is also remarkable that all 
 those nations which have been brought to wretchedness 
 by their opinions, their manners, or their forms of govern- 
 ment, have produced numerous classes of citizens alto- 
 gether 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 intercourse, brings them in some degree 
 back to the unsophisticated 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 tumultuous 
 and contradictory opinions, by which the members of an 
 
120 
 
 PAUL A.ND VIHGiMA. 
 
 ambitious and miserable circle seek to raise themselves 
 above each other. But in solitude the soul lays aside the 
 morbid illusions which troubled her, and resumes the pure 
 consciousness of herself, of nature, and of its Author, as 
 the muddy water of a torrent which has ravaged the plains, 
 coming to rest, and diffusing itself over some low grounds 
 out of its course, deposits there the slime it has taken up, 
 
 and, resuming its wonted transpa- 
 rency, 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 
 In brief, I consider solitude so 
 necessary to happiness, even in the world itself, that it 
 appears to me impossible to derive lasting 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 labours 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 
 
 Bramins 
 
 India. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 121 
 
 on which we live, — feet for the soil, lungs for the air, 
 eyes for the hght, without tlie power of changing the use 
 of any of these faculties, — He has reserved for Himself, 
 as the Author of hfe, that which is its chief organ, the 
 
 heart. I thus pass 
 ^Mg===;^^--^S^^^.:5=^--==L my days far from 
 
 mankind, whom 
 I wished 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 chmate 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 o^^n 
 hands, a river which glides before my door, suffice for 
 
 16 
 
122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 my N\ants 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 1 
 have abandoned, still contribute something to my happi- 
 ness. They lay before me pictures of those passions 
 which render its inhabitants so miserable; and in the 
 comparison I am thus led to make between their lot and 
 my own, I feel a kind of negative enjoyment. Like a man 
 saved from shipwreck and thrown upon a rock, I contem- 
 plate, 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 aver- 
 sion : I only pity them. If I sometimes fall in with an 
 unfortunate being, I try to help him by my counsels, as 
 a passer-by on the brink of a torrent extends his hand 
 to save a wretch from drowning. But I have hardly ever 
 found 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 himself. Among the many 
 children of misfortune whom I have endeavoured to lead 
 back to the enjoyments of nature, I have not found one 
 but was intoxicated with his own miseries. They have 
 Hstened 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 123 
 
 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 
 endeavoured to draw me into their vortex . But if I 
 communicate with all, 1 lay myself open to none. It is 
 often sufficient for me to serve as a lesson to myself. In 
 my present tranquillity, I pass in review the agitating 
 pursuits of my past life, to which I formerly attached so 
 much value, — patronage, fortune, reputation, pleasure, 
 and the opinions which are ever at strife over all the earth . 
 I compare 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 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, 
 situated 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 hois de pomme, with olive and cinnamon-wood 
 
124 
 
 V-.* 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 trees; while in some 
 parts the cabbage-palm 
 trees raise their naked 
 stems more than a huadred 
 feet high, their summits 
 crowned with a cluster ot 
 leaves, and towering above 
 the woods like one forest 
 piled upon another. Lia- 
 nas, of various fohage, 
 intertwining themselves 
 among the trees , form , 
 here, arcades of fohage, 
 there , long canopies of 
 verdure. Most of these trees shed aromatic odours so 
 powerful, that the garments of a traveller, who has passed 
 through the forest, often retain for hours the most deli- 
 cious fragrance. 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 inexphcable instinct, from un- 
 known regions on the otlier side of immense oceans, to 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 12o 
 
 feed upon the grain and other vegetable productions of the 
 island; and the brilliancy of their plumage forms a striking 
 contrast to the more sombre tints of Ihe fohage, embrowned 
 by the sun. Among Lhese are various kinds of parro- 
 quets, and the blue pigeon, called here the pigeon of 
 Holland. Monkeys, the domestic inhalntants of our 
 forests, sport upon the dark branches of the trees, from 
 which they are easily distinguished by their grey and 
 greenish skin, and their black visages. Some hang, sus- 
 pended by the tail, and swing themselves in air; others 
 leap from branch to branch, bearing their young in their 
 arms. The murderous gun has never affrighted these 
 peaceful children of nature. You hearnothingbutsounds 
 of joy, — the warblings and unknown notes of birds from 
 the countries of the south, repeated from a distance by the 
 echoes of the forest. The river, which pours, in foaming 
 eddies, over a bed of rocks, through the midst of the 
 woods, reflects here and there upon its limpid waters their 
 venerable masses of verdure and of shade, along with the 
 sports of their happy inhabitants. About a thousand 
 paces from thence it forms several cascades, clear as 
 crystal in their fall, but broken at the bottom into frothy 
 surges. Innumerable confused sounds issue from these 
 watery tumults, which, borne by the winds across the 
 forest, now sink in distance, now all at once swell out, 
 booming on the ear like the bells of a cathedral. The 
 air, kept ever in motion by the running water, preserves 
 upon the banks of the river, amid all the summer heats, 
 a freshness and verdure rarely found in this island, even 
 on the summits of the mountains. 
 
126 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 sufficiently near 
 for the enjoyment of seeing it, of feeling its coolness and 
 hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst the heats 
 of summer, Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia, Paul, 
 and myself, sometimes repaired, to dine beneath the 
 shadow of this rock. 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 Vir- 
 ginia'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 fruil. 
 Paul, wandering accidentally to the spot, was struck with 
 delight at seeing this lofty tree, which had been planted 
 by his beloved; but the emotion was transient, and in- 
 stantly 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 Hfe; they decline insensibly with ourselves : 
 but it is those we behold again, after having for some 
 years lost sight of them, that most powerfully impress us 
 
•ALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 127 
 
 with a feeling 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 o^n 
 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 
 '^, ,y "' remembrance of Virgi- 
 
 nia's prolonged ab- 
 sence. At other times, 
 contemplating it as a 
 monument of her be- 
 nevolence, he kissed 
 
 
128 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 its trunk, and apostrophised it in terms of the most 
 passionate regret . 
 Indeed , I have ..^^^a, 
 
 myself gazed upon -^^i^f'' : 
 it with more emo- '^a; i^^^^: v:^ 
 tion and more 
 veneration 
 than upon 
 the trium - 
 phal arches 
 of Rome. May 
 nature, which 
 
 every day destroys the monu- 
 ments of kingly ambition, mul- 
 tiply in our forests those which 
 testify the beneficence of a poor 
 young girl! 
 
 At the foot of this papaw-tree 
 I was always sure to meet with 
 Paul when he came into our 
 neighbourhood. One day I found 
 him there absorbed in melan- 
 choly, and a conversation took 
 place between us , which I will 
 relate to you, if I do not weary 
 you too much by my long digres- 
 sions : 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 
 
PAUL AAD VIRGINIA. 
 
 129 
 
 young man. You will easily distinguish the speakers 
 from the character of his questions and of my answers. 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has 
 now been gone two years and 
 eight months , and 
 heard no tidings 
 eight months and 
 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 ; ,- 
 1 will make fw.^/ ^ 
 my for- 
 tune ; and 
 then Ma- 
 demoiselle de la Tour's aunt will 
 bestow her niece upon me when I shall have become a 
 great lord." 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 "But, my dear friend, have not you told me that you 
 are not of noble birth? " 
 
 -m 
 
 \i 
 
130 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 ".My mother has told me so; but, as for myself, 1 
 know not what noble birth means. I never perceived that 
 1 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 labour 
 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 honours ; and you have cited to me 
 many instances of celebrated men, who, born in a mean 
 condition, had conferred honour upon their country. It 
 was your wish, then, by concealing the truth, to stimulate 
 my ardour? " 
 
 THE OLD ilAN. 
 
 "Never, my son, would I lower it. 1 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 employ- 
 ment is now become as it were the patrimony of a small 
 number of families, or is divided among pubhc bodies. 
 The king is a sun, and the nobles and great corporate 
 
PAl L A>n VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 bodies surround him like so many clouds : it is almost 
 impossible for any of his rays to reach you. Formerly, 
 under less exclusive administrations, such phenomena 
 have been seen. Then talents and merit showed them- 
 selves everywhere, as newly cleared lands are always load- 
 ed with abundance. But great kings, ^^ho can really 
 form a just estimate of men, and choose them with judg- 
 ment, are rare. The ordinary race of monarchs allow 
 themselves to be guided by the nobles and people who 
 surround them." 
 
 PAL'L. 
 
 " But perhaps I shall find one of these nobles to pro- 
 tect me." 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " To gain the protection of the great, you must lend 
 yourself to their ambition, and administer to their plea- 
 sures. You would never succeed ; for, in addition to 
 your obscure birth, you have too much integrity." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 "But I will perform such courageous actions, I will 
 be so faithful to my word, so exact in the performance 
 of my duties, so zealous and so constant in my friend- 
 ships, that I will render myself worthy to be adopted 
 by some one of them. In the ancient histories you have 
 made me read, I have seen many examples of such 
 adoptions." 
 
132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " Oh, my young friend! amongthe Greeks andRomans, 
 even in their decline, the nobles had some respect for 
 virtue : but out of all the immense number of men, sprung 
 from the mass of the people, in France, who have signa- 
 lised themselves in every possible manner, I do not re- 
 collect a single instance of one being adopted by any great 
 family. If it were not for our kings, virtue, in our coun- 
 try, would be eternally condemned as plebeian. As I said 
 before, the monarch sometimes, when he perceives it, 
 renders to it due honour ; but in the present day, the 
 distinctions which should be bestowed on merit are gene- 
 rally 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 beloved 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 disbke. Besides, public bodies have 
 
PAUL AM) VIRGINIA. 
 
 133 
 
 never taken much interest in Lhe discovery of trutli. All 
 opinions are nearly alike to ambitious men, provided only 
 that they themselves can gain their ends." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 "How unfortunate 1 am! Everything; bars my pro- 
 gress. I am condemned to pass my life in 
 ignoble toil, far from Virginia 
 As he said this, he sighed deeply. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " Let God be your patron, and 
 mankind the pubhc body you 
 would serve. Be constantly at- 
 tached to them both. 
 Families, corporations, 
 nations and kings, have, 
 all of them, their preju- 
 dices and their pas- 
 sions ; it is often 
 necessary to serve / 
 them by the prac 
 tice of vice : 
 Godandman- 
 kind at large 
 require only 
 the exercise 
 of the virtues. 
 
 " But why do you wish to be distinguished from other 
 men? It is hardly a natural sentiment, for, if all men 
 
 i: \ 
 
iU PAIL A.ND VIRGl.MA. 
 
 possessed it, every one would be at constant strife with his 
 neighbour. Be satisfied with fulfilling your duty in the 
 station in which Providence has placed you : be grateful 
 for your lot, which permits you to enjoy the blessing of a 
 quiet conscience, and which does not compel you, like the 
 great, to let your happiness rest on the opinion of the 
 little, or, like the little, to cringe to the great, in order to 
 obtain the means of existence. You are now placed in a 
 country and a condition in which you are not reduced to 
 deceive or 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, indul- 
 gent 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 con- 
 science, and friends : kings themselves, whose favour yon 
 desire, are not so happy." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " Ah ! I want only to have Virginia with me : without 
 her I have nothing, — with her, I should possess all my 
 desire. She alone is to me birth, glory, and fortune. 
 But, 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 will 
 become a man of science : I will render my knowledge 
 useful to the service of my country, without injuring any 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. i'io 
 
 one, or owning dependence on any one. I will become 
 celebrated, and my glory shall be acliieved only b\ 
 myself." 
 
 THE OLD M.VN. 
 
 " 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 sensibihty, which often 
 produces inward unhappiness, and which exposes us 
 without to the malice and persecutions of our contempo- 
 raries. 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-lree, has 
 made a more useful and more grateful present to the 
 inhabitants of these forests than if she had given them a 
 whole hbrary." So saying, he threw his arms round the 
 tree, and kissed it with transport. 
 
136 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 "The best of books, — that which preaches nothing 
 but equahty, brotherly love, charity, and peace, — the 
 Gospel, has served as a pretext, during many centuries, 
 for Europeans to let loose all their fury. 
 How many tyrannies, both public and pri- 
 vate, are still practised 
 in its name on the face 
 of the earth ! After 
 this, who will dare to 
 flatter himself that 
 anything he can write 
 will be of service to his 
 fellow - men ? Remember 
 the fate of most of the philo- 
 sophers who have preached 
 to them wisdom. Homer, 
 who clothed it in such noble 
 verse, asked for alms all his 
 life. Socrates, whose con- 
 versation and example gave 
 such admirable lessons to 
 the Athenians, was sen- 
 tenced by them to be poisoned. His sublime disciple, 
 Plato, was delivered over to slavery by the order of the 
 verv prince who protected him; and, before them, Pytha- 
 goras, whose humanity extended even to animals, was 
 burned alive by the Crotoniates. What do I say? — 
 many even of these illustrious names have descended to 
 
PAUL A.\U VIHGINIA. i'-il 
 
 US disfigured by some traits of satire by which they be- 
 came characterised, human ingratitude taking pleasure 
 in thus recognising them ; and if, in the crowd, the glory 
 of some names is come down to us without spot or blem- 
 ish, 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 glor) 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 trou- 
 ble themselves about such glory as this. Little do they 
 care for literary men, whose knowledge brings them nei- 
 ther honours, 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 distinction, 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 ma- 
 gistracy, or the administration : now, they are considered 
 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 con- 
 soling the unhappy, of enhghtening nations, and of telling 
 the truth even to kings. This is, unquestionably, the 
 
 18 
 
138 PAUL AND VllililMA. 
 
 most august commission witli wliicli Heaven can honour 
 a mortal upon this earth. Where is the author who 
 would not be consoled for the injustice or contempt of 
 those who are the dispensers of the ordinary gifts of for- 
 tune, when he reflects that his work may pass from age 
 to age, from nation to nation, opposing a barrier to error 
 and to tyranny ; and that, from amidst the obscurity in 
 which he has lived, there will shine forth a glory whicli 
 will efface that of the common herd of monarchs, the 
 monuments of whose deeds perish in oblivion, notwith- 
 standing the flatterers who erect and magnify them?" 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 "Ah! I am only covetous of glory to bestow it on 
 ^'irginia, 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 MAX. 
 
 " Who would live, my son, if the future were revealed 
 to him? — when a single anticipated misfortune 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 of reflection to foresee our necessities, 
 gave us also those very necessities to set limits to its 
 exercise." 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " Vou tell me that Nvith money people in Europe 
 acquire dignities and honours. I will go, then, to enrich 
 myself in Bengal, and afterwards proceed to Paris, and 
 marry Virginia. T 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 MAM. 
 
 " 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 rela- 
 tion." 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " Therich care little for those, from whom no honour 
 is reflected upon themselves in the world. Many of them 
 have relations much more to be pitied than Madame dela 
 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 
 
14(1 PAUL A.\D VlUGl.MA. 
 
 back here. What need has she of a rich relation? She 
 was so happy in these huts ; she looked so beautiful and 
 so well dressed with a red handkerchief 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, sur- 
 rounded 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 trans- 
 port of joy. 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " But do you think that the women of Europe are false, 
 as they are represented in the comedies and books whicli 
 you have lent me?" 
 
 THE OLD J1A.\. 
 
 ' ' Women are false in those countnes where men are 
 tyrants. Violence always engenders a disposition to de- 
 ceive." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " In what way can men tyrannise over women? " 
 
PAUL AND VIRCl.MA. 
 
 ii\ 
 
 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 hus- 
 band." 
 
 PALL. 
 
 "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 ot 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 themselves are deceivers; and afterwards, 
 they are deceived in their turn. This is one of the 
 re-actions of that eternal justice by which the world is 
 governed : an excess on one side is sure to be balanced 
 bvone on the other. Thus, the greater part of European 
 
142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 pass their lives in this twofold irregularity, which increases 
 everywhere, in the same proportion that wealth is accu- 
 mulated in the hands of a few individuals. Society is like 
 a garden, where shrubs cannot grow if they are oversha- 
 dowed 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? 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " In order to 
 
 pass through life 
 
 in abundance , 
 
 without being 
 
 '"y^S^^ obliged to work." 
 
 ■-M.t^----!^'^^- 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 ' ' But why not work ? I am sure I work hard enough . " 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " In Europe, working with your hands is considered a 
 degradation : it is compared to the labour performed by 
 a machine. The occupation of cultivating the earth is the 
 most despised of all. Even an artisan is held in more 
 estimation than a peasant." 
 
PAUL AND VlR(;i.MA. J43 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 " WliiiL! do )0\i mean to say that the art which fur- 
 nishes food for mankind is despised in Europe? I hardly 
 understand you." 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 " Oh ! it is impossible for a person educated according 
 to nature to form an idea of the depraved state of society. 
 It is easy to form a precise notion of order, but not of dis- 
 order. Beauty, virtue, liappiness, have all their defined 
 proportions: deformity, vice, and misery have none." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 ' ' The rich then are always very happy ! They meet 
 with no obstacles to the fulfilment of their wishes, and they 
 can lavish happiness on those whom they love." 
 
 THE OLD MAX. 
 
 " 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 yourself experienced 
 how much the pleasure of repose is increased by fatigue ; 
 that of eating, by hunger; or that of drinking, by thirst? 
 The pleasure also of loving and being beloved is only to 
 be acquired by innumerable privations and sacrifices. 
 Wealth, by anticipating all their necessities, deprives its 
 possessors of all these pleasures. To this ennui, conse- 
 quent upon satiety, may also be added the pride which 
 springs from their opulence, and which is wounded by the 
 
114 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 
 wilderness 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 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 
 labour, it need hardly be defined. Virtue consists in 
 endeavouring to do all the good we can to others, with an 
 ultimate intentioa of pleasing God alone." 
 
 PAUL. 
 
 "Oh! how virtuous, then, is Virginia! Virtue led 
 her to seek for riches, that she might practise benevo- 
 
PAUL AMD VIRGIMA. Uj 
 
 lence. Mrtue induced her lo quit this island, and virtue 
 will bring her hack to it." 
 
 The idea of her speedy return tiring the imagination 
 of this young man, all his anxieties suddenly vanished. 
 Virginia, he was persuaded, had not written, because she 
 would soon arrive. It took so little time to come from 
 Europe with a fair ^Yind! Then he enumerated the ves- 
 sels which had made this passage of four thousand five 
 hundred leagues in less than three months; and perhaps 
 the vessel in which Virginia had embarked might not be 
 more than two. Shipbuilders were now so ingenious, 
 and sailors w ere so expert ! He then talked to me of the 
 arrangements he intended to make for her reception, of 
 the new house he would build for her, and of the plea- 
 sures 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 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 oppo- 
 site extremes. Paul returned the next day to my dwell- 
 ing, 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 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 PAUL AND VIUGIMA. 
 
 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, vir- 
 tue is treated but as a 
 subject of romance. 
 If Virginia had 
 been virtuous , 
 she would never 
 have forsaken 
 her mother and 
 me. I do no- 
 thingbutthinkof 
 her, and she has 
 forgotten me. 
 1 am wretched, 
 and she is diver- 
 ting herself. 
 The thought 
 distracts me : I 
 cannot bear myself! 
 ^^'ould 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 support, without witness and without 
 
PAUI. A.ND VlKlil.N'IA. 147 
 
 applause, the vexations of life : this virtue is patience. 
 Relying for 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! Every- 
 thing overwhelms me and drives me to despair."— ' ' Equal, 
 constant, and invariable virtue," I replied, " belongs not 
 to man. In the midst of the many passions which agitate 
 us, our reason is disordered and 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 governed, and 
 which man, inspired by a celestial intelligence, has drawn 
 down to earth. Like the rays of the sun, it enlightens us, 
 it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly flame, and 
 seems, in some sort like the element of 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-honoured images it ever brings before our 
 eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven, who has de- 
 scended upon earth to soften and to charm away all the 
 evils of the human race. The greatest writers have ever7 
 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 
 
148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 consoled an infinite number of men more unhappy than 
 yourself : Xenophon, banished from his country after 
 having saved to her ten thousand of her sons ; Scipio Afri- 
 canus, wearied to death by the calumnies of the Romans; 
 Lucullus, tormented by their cabals; and Catinat, by the 
 ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with their never- 
 failing ingenuity, assigned to each of the Muses a portion 
 of the great circle of human intelligence for her especial 
 superintendence; we ought, in the same manner, to give 
 up to them the regulation of our passions, to bring them 
 under proper restraint. Literature, in this imaginative 
 guise, would thus 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 misfortune, and 
 who stretch out a friendly hand towards us, and invite us 
 to join their society, when we are abandoned by every- 
 thing 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 1, "there is no friend so agree- 
 able as a mistress by whom we are beloved. There is, 
 moreover, in woman a liveUness and gaiety which power- 
 fully tend to dissipate the melancholy feelings of man : her 
 presence drives away the dark phantoms of imagination 
 produced by over-refiection. Upon her countenance sit 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 149 
 
 soft attraction and tender confidence. \\'liat joy is not 
 heightened when it is shared by her? Wiiat brow is not 
 unbent by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? 
 Virginia will return with more philosophy than you, and 
 will be quite surprised to find the garden so unfinished ; 
 —she who could think of its embeUishments in spite of 
 all the persecutions of her aunt, and 
 when far from her mother and 
 from you." 
 
 of 
 
 peedy 
 
 return reanimated the drooping spirits of her lover, 
 and he resumed his rural occupations, happy amidst 
 his toils, in the reflection that they would soon find a 
 termination so dear to the wishes of his heart. 
 
 One morning, at break of day (it was the 24th Decem- 
 ber, 1744), Paul when he arose perceived a white flag 
 hoisted upon the Mountain of Discovery. This flag he 
 knew to ])e the signal of a vessel descried at sea. He in- 
 
130 PAL L AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 stantly 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, according to custom, to board 
 the ship. The pilot did not return till the evening, 
 when he brought the Governor 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 Madame de la Tour, in the 
 handwriting of Virginia. Paul seized upon the letter, 
 kissed it witli transport, and, placing it in his bosom, flew 
 to the plantation. No sooner did he perceive from a dis- 
 tance 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 Madame de la 
 Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia informed her 
 mother that she had experienced much ill-usage from her 
 aunt, wlio, after having in vain urged her to a marriage 
 against her inclination, had disinherited 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 endeavoured to soften her aunt, by repre- 
 senting 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 151 
 
 the joy of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, 
 and would liave gratified her ardent desire at once by 
 landing in the pilot's boat, if the captain had allowed her; 
 but that he had objected, on account of the distance, and 
 of a heavy swell , which , notwithstanding 
 the calm, reigned in the open sea. 
 
 As soon as the letter was finished , 
 Ihe 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 neighbour of Vir- 
 ginia's arrival." Domingo im- 
 mediately Hghted a 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 ex- 
 tinguish my lamp and retire to 
 rest, when I perceived through 
 the palisades round my cottage 
 a light in the woods. Soon af- 
 ter, I heard the voice of Paul 
 
 caUing 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 off. 
 
PAUL AxND VIRGIMA. 
 
 As wc were passing through the woods of the Sloping 
 Mountain, and were already on the road which leads from 
 the Shaddock Grove to the port, I heard some one walking 
 
 behind us. It proved to 
 
 be a negro, 
 
 and he >\db ad^ancmg \Mth 
 
 hasty steps. When he had reached us, 
 
 I asked him whence he came, and whither he 
 
 was going with such expedition. He answered, 
 
 — ' ' I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust ; 
 
 and am sent to the port, to inform the Governor that a 
 
 ship from France has anchored under the Isle of Amber. 
 
PAUL A.\D VIRGINIA. 153 
 
 She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very rough." 
 Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey 
 Nvitliout any further delay. 
 
 [ 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 per- 
 ceptible 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 ominous 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 abouthalf anhourthe 
 firing ceased, and I found the silence still more appalling 
 than the dismal sounds which had preceded it. 
 
 We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring 
 to communicate to each other our mutual apprehensions. 
 At midnight, by great exertion, we arrived at the sea- 
 shore, in that part of the island called Golden Dust. The 
 billows were breaking against the beach with a horrible 
 noise, covering the rocks and the strand with foam of a 
 dazzling whiteness, blended with sparks of fire. By these 
 
 20 
 
154 
 
 PAUL AND VIR<;iMA. 
 
 phosphoric gleams we distinguished, notwithstanding the 
 darkness, a number of fishing canoes, drawn up high 
 
 upon the beach. 
 '^;';i^. At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from 
 
 us, we saw a fire, round which a party of the 
 inhabitants was assembled. We repaired 
 
 \?^.JI/ thither, in order to rest ourselves till the 
 morning, ^^'hile we were seated near 
 this fire, one of the standers-by re- 
 lated, that late in the afternoon 
 he had seen avessel 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. lao 
 
 was SO high that it was impossible lo 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, Nvhich 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 Endeavour, 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. An- 
 other 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 harbour. " 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 cer- 
 tain, he said, that he had seen the vessel at anchor be- 
 yond the Isle of Amber ; so that, if the wind arose in the 
 morning, she could either put to sea or gain the harbour. 
 Other inhabitants gave different opinions upon this 
 subject, which they continued to discuss in the usual 
 desultory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul and I 
 observed a profound silence. We remained on this spot 
 till break of day, but the weather was too hazy to admit 
 of our distinguishing any object at sea, everything being 
 covered with fog. All we could descry to seaward was a 
 dark cloud, which they told us was the Isle of Amber, at 
 
156 
 
 PAUL A.XD VIRGINIA. 
 
 the distance of a quarter of a league from the coast. On 
 this gloomy day we could only discern the poinl 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 ap- 
 
 proach of the Governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, who 
 soon after arrived on horseback, at the head of a detach- 
 ment 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 I :n 
 
 This was no sooner done, than we perceived^a glimmering 
 light upon the water, which was instantly followed by the 
 report of a cannon. We judged that the ship was at no 
 
 great distance, andidlran 
 towards thatpart whence 
 ^^ the light and sound 
 proceeded, ^\'enow 
 ^ discerned through 
 the fog the hull 
 J; and yards of 
 
 a large vessel. We were so near to her that, notyith- 
 standing 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 exube- 
 
log PAUL AM) VIRGINIA. 
 
 rant joy; — as though they wished to call their prince to 
 their aid, or to testify to him that they are prepared to 
 lay down their lives in his service. 
 
 As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that we were 
 near enough to render her assistance, she continued to 
 fire guns regularly at intervals of three minutes. Mon- 
 sieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be lighted at 
 certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all the 
 inhabitants of the neighbourhood 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 Governor, "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- 
 coloured hue. The air resounded with the cries of tropic- 
 birds, petrels, frigate-birds, and innumerable other sea- 
 fowl which, notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmo- 
 sphere, were seen coming from every point of the horizon 
 to seek for shelter in the island. 
 
PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 Towards nine in the morning we lieard in the direc- 
 tion of the ocean the most terrific noise, hke the sound of 
 thunder mingled with that of torrents rushing down 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 topmasts 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. 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 hfted to such 
 a degree as to show her keel; and at the same moment 
 her stern, plunging into the water, disappeared altogether 
 from our sight, as if it were swallowed up by the surges. 
 In this position, driven by the winds and waves towards 
 the shore, it was equally impossible for her to return by 
 the passage through which she had made her way; or, 
 by cutting her cables, to strand herself upon the beach, 
 from which she was separated by sandbanks and reefs of 
 rocks . Every billow which broke upon the coast advanced 
 roaring to the bottom of the bay, throwing up heaps of 
 shingle to the distance of fifty feet upon the land; then, 
 rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled 
 immense stones, with a hoarse and dismal noise. The 
 
I en 
 
 PAUL AM) VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, 
 tuU of yawning pits of black and deep billows. Heaps of 
 this foam, more than six feet high, were piled up at the 
 
 bottom of the bay; and the winds which swept its surface 
 carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, scattering it 
 upon the land to the distance of half a league. These 
 innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally even to the 
 very foot of the mountains, looked hke snow issuing from 
 the bosom of the ocean. The appearance of the horizon 
 portended a lasting tempest : the sky and the water seemed 
 
PAUL Ai\D VIRG1>JIA. 
 
 161 
 
 blended together. Tiiick masses of clouds, of a frightful 
 form, swept across the zenith with the swiftness of birds, 
 while others appeared motionless us rocks. Not a single 
 
 spot of blue sky could 
 
 ijj '^^,-^f^?^^ ^''^ILi*%wi&|^^^^;? , l>e discerned in the 
 
 
 ■■'■It ii'^'iur />.„/^^.'5»vr'' - 
 
 whole firma- 
 ment; and a pale yel- 
 low 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 hap- 
 pened 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 
 
 21 
 
162 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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, Do- 
 mingo 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 
 ho had hopes of reaching the vessel, which the sea, by the 
 reflux of its waves, had left almost dry, so that you could 
 have walked round it on foot; but suddenly the billows, 
 returning with fresh fury, shrouded it beneath mountains 
 of water, which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The 
 breakers at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul 
 far upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom 
 wounded, and himself half dead. The moment he had 
 recovered the use of his senses, he arose, and returned 
 with new ardour towards the vessel, the parts of which 
 now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the bil- 
 lows. The crew then, despairing of their safety, threw 
 themselves in crowds into the sea upon yards, planks, 
 hencoops, tables, and barrels. At this momentwe 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, fdled 
 
t , ■ ■ ; — " --^^ 7. 
 
 
 \'l!-;r,i\iA DV Ho.\i;i> THl': SIIIH 
 
PAUL AND MKGLNIA. 
 
 163 
 
 US willi unutLerable despair. As for Virginia, \Nith a 
 firm and dignified mien, she waved her hand, as if bid- 
 ding 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 clolhes ; but she repulsed 
 him with modesty, and turned away her head. Then 
 were heard redoubled cries from the spectators, "Save 
 
164 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 her! — save her! — do not leave her!" Bui 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. 
 
 Oh, day of horror! Alas! everything was swallowed 
 up by the relentless ijillows. The surge threw some of 
 the spectators, whom an impulse of humanity had prompt- 
 ed to advance towards Virginia, l"ar upon the beach, and 
 also the sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This 
 man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeling 
 on the sand, exclaimed, — "Oh my God! Thou hast saved 
 my life, but I would have given it wilhngly for that excel- 
 lent young lady, who persevered in not undressing herself 
 as I had done." 
 
 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 Virginia. But the wind 
 having suddenly changed, as it frequently happens during 
 hurricanes, our search was in vain; and we had the grief 
 of thinking that we should not be able to bestow on Ibis 
 sweet and unfortunate girl the last sad duties. We retired 
 
pal: I, AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 165 
 
 from Ihe spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds 
 wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had 
 perished in the wreck. Some of the spectators soemed 
 tempted, from the fatal destiny of this vir- 
 tuous girl , to doubt the existence of Pro- 
 vidence ; for there are in life such ter- 
 rible , such unmerited evils , that even 
 the hope of the wise is sometimes 
 shaken. 
 
 In the meantime, Paid, who 
 began to recover his sensc- 
 
 " ^^^^^^"'^^^ 
 
 t^/.v 
 
 
 -^ -A 
 
166 PAIH. AXn VIRGINIA. 
 
 was taken to a house in the neighbourhood, 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 lialf covered with sand, and preserved tlie 
 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, when I saw it contained the picture of Paul, 
 whicli 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. 
 
 ^^'l)ile they were employed in this melancholy office. 
 
PAUL A.NU VIRGINIA. 167 
 
 we ascended the hill with trembling steps to the planta- 
 tion. 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 child?" My silence and my tears ap- 
 prised her of her misfortune. She was instantly seized 
 with a convulsive stopping of the breath and agonising 
 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. 
 
 ^\'e 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 nothing 
 but of succouring 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 1 
 became convinced that there was no sorrow like that of 
 a mother. 
 
 When she recovered her senses , she cast a fixed, 
 unconscious look towards heaven. In vain her friend 
 and myself pressed her hands in ours : in vain we called 
 upon her by the most tender names ; she appeared 
 wholly insensible to these 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 reason, 
 but was unable to utter a word. His interview with his 
 mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded. 
 
dfiS 
 
 PAUL A.ND VIUGliNlA. 
 
 produced a boiler effect than all my cares. A ray of con- 
 solation gleamed on the countenance of the two unfortu- 
 nate mothers. They pi'essed close 
 to liim, clasped him in their '^ * - 
 
 arms, and kissed him : their f^ ^ 
 tears, which excess of an- 
 
 guish 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 con- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 169 
 
 vulsive pangs lliey had sufTered, and afforded Ihem 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 I lie 
 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 
 solemnity, as if the isle had lost that which was nearest 
 and dearest to it. The vessels in the harbour had their 
 yards crossed, their flags half-mast, and fired guns at 
 long intervals. 
 
 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 
 colour. 
 
 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 com- 
 panion, which was covered with flowers. 
 
 They were followed by a chorus of children, chanting 
 hymns, and by the Governor, his field officers, all the 
 principal inhabitants of the island, and an immense crowd 
 of people. 
 
 This imposing funeral solemnity had been ordered by 
 the administration of the country, which was desirous of 
 doing honour to the virtues of Virginia. But when the 
 
170 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 
 anthems ceased, and the whole plain resounded with sighs 
 and lamentations. Numbers of young girls ran from the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 171 
 
 neighbouring 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. 
 
172 
 
 PAUL AND VlRCl.MA. 
 
 When the procession had reached the place of 
 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 Mala- 
 bar, brought 
 cages full of 
 small birds, 
 which they 
 M't at 
 
 upon her coffin. Thus deeply did the loss ot this amia- 
 ble being affect the natives of different countries , and 
 thus was the ritual of various religions performed over 
 the tomb of unfortunate virtue. 
 
 It became necessary to place guards round her grave, 
 
Till-: I'UNinjAi 
 
PAUL AMJ VlKGl.MA. 
 
 173 
 
 and to employ gentle force in removing some of the 
 daughters of the neighbouring villagers, who endeavoured 
 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 returning 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. 
 
174 PALL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 indignation 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 wished to insure your happiness, and that of your 
 family. My dear friend, you must go to France : I will 
 obtain a commission for you, and during your absence I 
 will take the same care of your mother as if she were my 
 own." He then offered him his hand; but Paul drew 
 away, and turned his head aside, unable to bear his 
 sight. 
 
 1 remained for some lime 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 pro- 
 portion as his body gathered strength. He was insensible 
 to everything ; 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 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Hli 
 
 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 
 possession of his mind, we must allow him to do whatever 
 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 absent himself 
 from the plantation. Being determined not to lose sight 
 of him, I set out immediately, and desired Domingo to take 
 some provisions and accompany us. 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 favourable symptom of the return 
 of his reason ; since this mark of confidence in the Su- 
 preme Being showed that his mind was beginning to 
 resume its natural functions. Domingo 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, 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 tho.^e 
 
I7G 
 
 PAUL AND Vinr.lMA. 
 
 bamboos . 
 lie an- 
 swered, 
 — " ^Ve 
 
 have been there so 
 often." 
 
 He continued his course 
 until we reached the borders 
 of the forest, when night came 
 on. I set him the example of 
 taking some nourishment, 
 prevailed on him to do 
 same ; and we slept upon 
 grass at the foot of a tree 
 The next day t 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 di- 
 rected his course towards the north. I guessed what was 
 his design, and I endeavoured, 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 
 
PAUF, AND VIRGINIA 
 
 17"; 
 
 IB 
 
 
 to the spot '^^ where the Saint-Geran 
 
 had been wrecked. At the sight of the Isle 
 of Amber, and i(s channel, then smooth as a 
 mirror, he exclaimed, — "Virginia! oh, my 
 dear Virginia!" and fell senseless. Domingo 
 and I carried him into the woods, where we had some 
 difficulty in recovering him. As soon as he regained 
 his senses, he wished to return to the sea-shore; but we 
 conjured him not to renew his own anguish and ours by 
 such cruel remembrances, and he took another direction. 
 During a whole week he sought every spot where he had 
 once wandered with the companion of his childhood. 
 He traced the path by which she had gone to intercede for 
 the slave of the Black River. He gazed again upon the 
 banks of the river of the Three Breasts, where she had 
 rested herself when unable to walk further, and upon that 
 
 23 
 
d78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 part of the wood where they had lost their way. All the 
 haunts, which recalled to his memory the anxieties, the 
 sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he loved, — the 
 river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighbour- 
 ing cascade, the papaw-tree she had planted, the grassy 
 fields in which she loved to run, the openings of the forest 
 where she used to sing, all in succession called forth his 
 tears ; and those very echoes which had so often resounded 
 with their mutual shouts of joy, now repeated only these 
 accents of despair, — "Virginia! oh, my dear Virginia! " 
 During this savage and wandering life his eyes became 
 sunk and hollow, his skin assumed a yellow tint, and his 
 health rapidly declined. Convinced that our present 
 sufferings are rendered more acute by the bitter recollec- 
 tion of bygone pleasures, and that the passions gather 
 strength in solitude, I resolved to remove my unfortunate 
 friend from those scenes which recalled the remembrance 
 of his loss, and to lead him to a more busy part of the 
 island. With this view, I conducted him to the inhabited 
 part of the elevated quarter of Williams, which he had 
 never visited, and where the busy pursuits of agriculture 
 and commerce ever occasioned much bustle and variety. 
 Numbers of carpenters were employed in hewing down 
 and squaring trees, while others were sawing them into 
 planks ; carriages were continually passing and repassing 
 on the roads; numerous herds of oxen and troops of horses 
 were feeding on those widespread meadows, and the whole 
 country was dotted with the dwellings of man. On some 
 spots the elevation of the soil permitted the culture of 
 many of the plants of Europe : the yellow ears of ripe corn 
 
PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 179 
 
 waved upon the plains ; strawberry plants grew in the 
 openings of liie woods, and the roads were bordered by 
 hedges of rose-trees. The freshness of the air, too, 
 giving tension to the nerves, was favourable 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 
 remembrance of Virginia could be discerned. Even the 
 mountains, which present various shapes on the side of 
 Port Louis, appear from hence hke a long promontory, 
 in a straight and perpendicidar line, from which arise 
 lofty pyramids of rock, whose summits are enveloped in 
 the clouds. 
 
 Conducting Paul to these scenes, 1 kept him continually 
 in action, walking ^\ith him in rain and sunshine, by 
 night and by day. I sometimes wandered with him into 
 
ISO PAUL AND VUIGINIA. 
 
 Llic depths ol' 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 oblivion over so many other remembrances, in 
 vain would tear that tender and sacred recollection from 
 the heart. The needle, when touched by the loadstone, 
 however it may have been moved from its position, is 
 no sooner left to repose, than it turns to the pole of its 
 attraction. So, when I inquired of Paul, as wc wandered 
 amidst the plains of ^Villiams, — "\Yhere 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 resource was 
 left but an attempt to combat his passion by the argu- 
 ments which reason suggested. I answered him, — "Yes, 
 there are the mountains where once dwelt your beloved 
 Virginia; and here is the picture you gave her, and which 
 she held, when dying, to her heart ; that heart, which 
 even in its last moments only beat for you." I then pre- 
 sented to Paul the little portrait which he had given to 
 Virginia on the borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. .Vt 
 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 emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears 
 which had no power to tlow. 
 
PAUL AMJ VIIICIMA. 
 
 181 
 
 " My son," said I, "listen to one who is your friend, 
 who was the friend of Virginia, and who, in the bloom of 
 your hopes, has often endeavoured to fortify your mind 
 against the unforeseen accidents of life. What do you 
 
 deplore with so much bitterness? 
 Is it your own misfortunes, or 
 those of Virginia, which affect 
 you so deeply? 
 
 "Your own misfor- 
 tunes 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 sacri- 
 ficed her own interests to 
 yours, who preferred you 
 to all that fortune could 
 bestow, and consi- 
 '1- dered you as the 
 only recompense 
 worthy of her vir- 
 tues. But might not 
 this very object, from whom you expected the purest hap- 
 piness, have proved to you a source of the most cruel 
 distress? She had returned poor and disinherited : all you 
 could henceforth have partaken with her was your labour. 
 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 
 
)82 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 favour? Had she been weak, you would have 
 been to be pitied; and if she had remained virtuous, you 
 would have continued poor ; forced even to consider 
 yourself fortunate if, on account of the beauty and virtue 
 of your wife, you had not to endure persecution from those 
 who had promised you protection. 
 
 "It would still have remained to you, you may say, to 
 have enjoyed a pleasure independent of fortune, — that of 
 protecting a beloved being, who, in proportion to her own 
 helplessness, had more attached herself to you. You may 
 fancy that your pains and sufferings would have served to 
 endear you to each other, and that your passion would 
 have gathered strength from your mutual misfortunes. 
 Undoubtedly 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 inconsol- 
 able affliction is bringing them both to the grave. Place 
 your happiness, as she did hers, in affording them sue- 
 
PAIL AND VIRGINIA. 183 
 
 COUP. My son ! beneficence is llie liappiness of tiie vir- 
 tuous ; tliere is no otlier greater or more certain enjoyment 
 on the eartli. Scliemcs 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! Voii were opposed to it, it is 
 true ; but who would not have thought that Virginia's 
 voyage would terminate in her happiness and your own? 
 An invitation from a rich and aged relation, the advice 
 of a wise Governor, the approbation of the whole colony, 
 and the well-advised authority of her confessor, decided 
 the lot of Virginia. Thus do we run to our ruin, deceived 
 even by the prudence of those who watch over 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 labours of 
 others, are liable to reverses : not one is secure from 
 losing, at some period, all that he most values, — great- 
 ness, wealth, wife, children, and friends. Most of these 
 would have their sorrow increased by the remembrance 
 of their own imprudence. But you have nothing with 
 which you can reproach yourself. You have been faithful 
 in your love. In the bloom of youth, by not departing 
 from the dictates of nature, you evinced the wisdom of a 
 sage. Your views were just, because they were pure, 
 simple, and disinterested. You had, besides, on Virginia, 
 sacred claims which nothing could countervail. You have 
 
IS'f PALL AND VIRGI.MA. 
 
 lost lier ; but it is neither your own imprudence, nor your 
 avarice, nor your false wisdom which lias occasioned this 
 misfortune, but the will of God, who has employed 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 our- 
 selves. 
 
 "Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to yourself, 
 ' I have not deserved them.' Is it then the calamity of 
 Virginia — her death, and her 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 A'ir- 
 ginia was born, she was condemned to die : happily for 
 herself, she is released from life before losing her mother, 
 or yours, or you; saved, thus, from undergoing ])angs 
 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 hfe. 
 
 "The diseases, the griefs, the vexations, and the fears, 
 which perpetually embitter our life as long as we 
 possess it, molest us no more in the sleep of death. 
 If you inquire into the history of those men who appear 
 to have been the happiest, you will find that they have 
 bought their apparent felicity very dear : public conside- 
 ration, perhaps, by domestic evils ; fortune, by the loss of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 i83 
 
 health ; the rare happiness of being beloved, by continual 
 sacrifices ; and often, at the expiration of a life devoted 
 to the good of others, they see themselves surrounded 
 only by false friends and ungrateful relations. But Vir- 
 ginia was happy to her very last moment. When with 
 us, she 
 
 was happy 
 in partak- 
 ing of the 
 gifts of na- 
 ture; when 
 far from us, 
 she found 
 enjoyment 
 in the prac- 
 tice of vir- 
 tue ; 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 mise- 
 rable by her expected loss, or on you, my son, who, with 
 so much intrepidity, were endeavouring to save her, 
 she must have seen how dear she was to all. Her mind 
 was fortified against the future by the remembrance of 
 her innocent life ; and at that moment she received the 
 reward which Heaven reserves for virtue, — a courage 
 
 2i 
 
186 PAUL AND VIUGIMA. 
 
 superior to danger. She met death with a serene coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " 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 exhibits 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 been exposed receive for ever, 
 from posterity, the tribute of their tears. This is the 
 immortal monument reserved for virtue in a world w here 
 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 can annihilate the smallest 
 particle of matter: can, then, that which has possessed 
 reason, sensibility, affection, virtue, and rehgion 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? 
 
PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 187 
 
 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, Ity 
 laws unknown to you, cannot prepare a still higher degree 
 of felicity for Virginia by other laws, of which you are 
 equally ignorant? Before we were born into this world, 
 could we, do you imagine, even if we were capable of 
 thinking at all, have formed any idea of our existence 
 here? And now that we are in the midst of this gloomy 
 and transitory life, can we foresee what is beyond the 
 tomb, or in what manner we shall be emancipated from 
 it? Does God, hke man, need this httle 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 innume- 
 rable glowing fires, — in those infinite fields of light which 
 surround them, and which neither storms nor darkness 
 can extinguish, is there nothing but empty space and an 
 eternal void? If we, weak and ignorant as we are, 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 
 for ever in danger from the power of tyranny ! 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 "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, — '0 Paul! 
 
 life is but a scene of trial. I have 
 
 Df 
 
 id 
 
 virtue. I crossed the seas to obey the will of my rela- 
 tions ; I sacrificed wealth in order to keep my faith ; and 
 I preferred the loss of life to disobeying the dictates 
 ot modesty. Heaven found that I had fulfilled my 
 duties, and has snatched me for over from all the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 189 
 
 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! 
 
 Paul ! 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 
 colours of the early dawn ; all smell, to taste a thousand 
 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, atthe source of the beauty 
 whence flows all that is delightful upon earth, my soul 
 intuitively sees, tastes, hears, touches what before she 
 could only be made sensible of through the medium of 
 our weak organs. Ah ! what language can describe these 
 shores of eternal bliss, which I inhabit for ever! All 
 that infinite power and heavenly goodness could create 
 to console the unhappy : all that the friendship of num- 
 berless beings exulting in the same fehcity can impart, 
 we enjoy in unmixed perfection. Support, then, the trial 
 which is now allotted to you, that you may heighten the 
 happiness of your Virginia by love which will know no 
 termination, — by a union which will be eternal. There 
 
 1 will calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. 
 
190 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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!" 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 conso- 
 lation I had offered only served to nourish his despair. 
 I was in the situation of a man who attempts to save a 
 friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and who obstinately 
 refuses to swim. Sorrow had completely overwhelmed 
 his soul. Alas! 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 httle effect, sink the soonest under great cala- 
 mities. 
 
 "0 my good friend," said Margaret, "I thought last 
 night I saw Virginia, dressed in white, in the midst of 
 groves and dehcious gardens. She said to me, '1 enjoy 
 the most perfect happiness;' and then approaching Paul 
 with a smiling air, she bore him away with her. While 
 I was struggling to retain my son , I felt that I myself too 
 was quitting the earth, and that I followed with inexpres- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 101 
 
 sible delight. I Iheii 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 bke 
 mine in every possible res- 
 pect." 
 
 "My dear friend," 
 I replied, "nothing, I 
 firmly believe, happens 
 
 in this world without the permission of God. Future 
 events, too, are sometimes revealed in dreams." 
 
 Madame de la Tour then related to me her dream, which 
 was exactly the same as Margaret's in every particular ; 
 and as I had never observed in either of these ladies any 
 
192 PAUL AND VIHGLNIA. 
 
 propensity to superstition, I was struck with the singular 
 coincidence of their dreams, and I felt convinced that they 
 would soon be realised. 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, Juhus C*sar, 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 more than once had good reason 
 to believe that superior intelligences, who interest them- 
 selves in our welfare, communicate with us in these visions 
 of the night. 
 
 Things which surpass the light of human reason 
 cannot be proved by arguments derived from that 
 reason; but still, if the mind of man is an image of that 
 of God, since man can make known his will to the ends of 
 the earth by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intel- 
 ligence which governs the universe employ similar means 
 to attain a like end? One friend consoles another by a 
 letter, which, after passing through many kingdoms, and 
 being in the hands of various individuals at enmity with 
 each other, brings at last joy and hope to the breast of a 
 single human being. May not in like manner the Sove- 
 reign 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 
 
PAUL AND VlllC.l.NlA. 
 
 193 
 
 His puipusu ill lliis, whose ways are liidden in all His 
 ordinary works? 
 
 \Miy should we doabL Ihe evidence of dreams? for 
 what is our life, occupied as it is with vain and fleeting 
 imaginations, other than a prolonged vision of the night? 
 
 ^^'hatever may be thought of this 
 in general, on the present 
 occasion the dreams of ■. ,,, », \ l'|}|j 
 
 my friends were soon realised. Paul expired two months 
 after the death of his Virginia, whose name dwelt on 
 his lips in his expiring moments. 
 
 About a week after the death of her son, Margaret 
 saw her last hour approach with that serenity which 
 virtue only can feel. She bade Madame de la Tour 
 
194 PALL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 a most tender farewell, "in the certain hope," she said, 
 "of a delightful and eternal re-union. Death is the 
 greatest of blessings to us," added she, "and we ought 
 to desire it. If life be a punishment, we should wish for 
 its termination; if it be a trial, we should be thankful that 
 it is short." 
 
 The Governor took cai-e of Domingo and Mary, who 
 were no longer able to labour, and who survived their 
 mistresses but a short time. 
 
 As for poor Fidele, he pined to death soon after he 
 had lost his master. 
 
 I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to .Madame de la 
 Tour, who bore up under her calamities with incredible 
 elevation of mind. She had endeavoured to console Paul 
 and Margaret till their last moments, as if she herself 
 had no misfortunes of her own to bear. When they 
 were no more, she used to talk to me every day of them 
 as of beloved friends, who were still living near her. She 
 survived them, however, but 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 
 inhumanity. 
 
 Conscience, that certain punishment of the guiltv, 
 visited with all its terrors the mind of this unnatural 
 relation. So great was her torment, that life and death 
 became equally insupportable to her. Sometimes she 
 reproached herself with the untimely fate of her lovely 
 niece, and with the death of her mother whicii had im- 
 
PALI, AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 i9o 
 
 mediately followed it. Al other times she congratulated 
 herself for having repulsed far from her two wretched 
 creatures, who, she said, had both dishonoured their 
 family by their grovelling inclinations. Sometimes, at 
 the sight of the many miserable objecls with which Paris 
 abounds, she would fly into a rage and exclaim, — " \\'liv 
 
 are not these idle people sent off to the colonies?" As 
 for the notions of humanity, virtue, and rehgion adopted 
 by all nations, she said, they were only the inventions ot 
 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 wealthy cccle- 
 siasfics who governed her, beseeching them to appease 
 
J96 PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 
 
 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 beheld fields of fire, with burning 
 
 "■b 
 
 b 
 
 mountains, wherein hideous spectres wandered about, 
 loudly calHng on her by name. She threw herself at her 
 confessor's feet, imagining every description of agony and 
 torture; for Heaven — just Heaven — always sends to the 
 cruel the most frightful views of religion and a future 
 state. 
 
 Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding both life 
 and death in equal horror, she lived on for several years. 
 But what completed the torments of her miserable exis- 
 tence, was that very object to which she had sacrificed 
 every natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at per- 
 ceiving that her fortune must go, at her deaths 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 107 
 
 about them lie the remains of their tender mothers and 
 their faithful servants. No marble marks the spot of their 
 humble graves, — no inscription records their virtues; but 
 their memory is engraven upon the hearts of those wliom 
 they have befriended, in indelible cha- 
 racters. Their spirits have no need of 
 ' , the pomp which they shunned during 
 
 Jji 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, inha- 
 bited by indus- 
 trious virtue , to 
 console poverty 
 discontented with 
 its lot, to cherisJi 
 in the liearts of 
 lovers the sacred 
 flame of fidelity, 
 and to inspire a 
 taste for the bless- 
 ings of nature, a 
 love of honest labour, 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 immortalise 
 the loss of Virginia. Near the Isle of Amber, in the 
 
198 
 
 PAUL AM) VIHGl.MA. 
 
 midst of sand-banks, is a spot called Tlio 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 Misfortune; 
 and before us, at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the 
 Tomb, where Virginia was found buried in the sand; as 
 if the waves had sought to restore her corpse 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 
 lenderly united! unfortunate mothers! beloved family! 
 
 these wood 
 which sheltered 
 you with their 
 foliage , — these 
 fountains which 
 flowed for you, 
 — these hill- 
 sides upon which 
 you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one has since 
 presumed to cultivate that desolate spot of land, or to 
 rebuild those humble cottages. Your goats are become 
 wild ; your orchards are destroyed ; your birds are all 
 fled, and nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrow- 
 haA\k, as it skims in cjuest of prey around this rocky 
 basin. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGIMA. 199 
 
 As for myself, since 1 have ceased to behold you, I 
 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 w<jr(ls, the good old man retired, 
 bathed in tears; and my own, too, had flowed more than 
 once during this melancholy recital. 
 
LIST OF ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD 
 
 Engraver 
 
 Vignette o.n Title page. Paul and Virginia under 
 the petticoat 
 
 Contributors. Birds and flowers 
 
 Head-piece, List of Page Engravings. Virginia tend- 
 
 J. HUYOT. 
 
 J. Huyot. 
 
 J. HOYOT. 
 
 Tail-piece, List of Page Engravings. Paul and Vir- 
 ginia playing with FidWe. . . 
 
 Head-piece to Preamble. Bas-relief with portraits 
 of characters in the book. . . 
 
 I.nitial Letter to Preamble. Fiilele. . 
 
 Tail-piece. Domingo and Marie. 
 
 Head-piece of Preface. Ornament. . . 
 
 Initial-cut. Books 
 
 Tail-piece. Portrait of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. 
 
 J. HUYOT. 
 
 .1. HuYOT. 
 J. HUYOT. 
 J. HUYOT. 
 
 J. Huyot. 
 J. Huyot. 
 
 Page 
 
 III 
 V 
 
 IX 
 
 IX 
 
 XXIII 
 
 XXV 
 
 XXV 
 
 L. Rousseau, xxvii 
 26 
 
202 PAUL AM) VIRGINIA. 
 
 Kngraver Page 
 
 « My son, these heaps of rubbish and thai untilled 
 land were twenty years ago the property of two 
 families who in it found happiness •• J. Huvor. 1 
 
 Cupid in mourning J. Huvor. 1 
 
 The River of Fan-Palms J. Huyot. 3 
 
 Mm" de la Tour sought some gorge of the moun- 
 tain, some secret asylum where she might live 
 alone and unknown J. Hlyot. 6 
 
 M"" de la Tour, followed by her negro-attendant, 
 
 found Margaret suckling her infant J. Huyot. 8 
 
 I built close by, upon M^^de la Tour's land, another 
 cottage. I myself cut the palisades on the moun- 
 tain J. HuYOT. II 
 
 Domingo had married the negress when Virginia 
 
 was born J. Huyot. 13 
 
 The two friends spun cotton from morning till 
 
 night J. Huyot. 14 
 
 Even night could not scparale them. They oflen 
 
 lay in the same cradle J. Huyot. 17 
 
 As for Paul, always active, he dug the garden 
 
 with Domingn J. Huyot. 18 
 
 If he saw any nice fruits, or a bird's nest, even at 
 
 the top of a tree, he would climb up and bring 
 
 them for his sister J. Huyot. 19 
 
 As soon as the crowing of the cock announced the 
 
 dawn Virginia rose, and hastened to draw water 
 
 from a neighbouring spring J. Huyot. 21 
 
 Maizp, wheat and millet J. Huyot. 22 
 
 Mi^^de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could 
 
 behold without sympathy and respect, was 
 
 coldly received by M. de la Bourdonnais ... J. Huyot. 24 
 
 Sobs choked her utterance, . . . and nothing was 
 
 heard in the cottage but cries of distress.. . . J. Huyot. 2o 
 
 Virginia, deeply moved, replied, " Take courage, 
 
 poor woman, eat, eat; " and she gave her the 
 
 breakfast she had prepared J. Huyot. 28 
 
 Coffee-plant J. Huyot. 30 
 
 They heard the noise of water falling from a rock 
 
 hard by, and ran towards it J. Huyot. 32 
 
LIST OF ENGRAVIN'CS ON WOO 
 
 E 
 
 Paul gathered dry grass and brandies of trees, 
 and made a fire at the foot of the palm-tree. . 
 
 Virginia gathered from the trunk of an old tree 
 some long leaves of the hart's-longue fern, in 
 which she wrapped hor feet 
 
 Paul, in the hope that some hunter would hear 
 him, shouted as loudly as he could, " Help, 
 help, for Virginia" 
 
 A moment afterwards Fidele was at their feet, 
 barking, howling, whimpering, and devouring 
 them with caresses 
 
 What a pardon ! He showed her to me cliained by 
 the feet to a log of wood 
 
 Four of the strongest negroes made a litter of 
 branches, and seated Paul and Virginia upon it. 
 
 They perceived their mothers and Marie coming 
 towards them with lighted torches in their hands. 
 " Unhappy children, " cried M"" de la Tour, 
 " where have you been? " 
 
 Date-palm . .... 
 
 Guavas. ... 
 
 Mangoes, cedrals. ... 
 
 Paul and Virginia in sport had planted a bamljoo 
 there, on the top of which they displayed a white 
 handkerchief 
 
 I will cut this other verse over the door of M"" de 
 la Tour's cottage, "At secura quies, et nescia 
 fallere vita" L 
 
 Banana J. 
 
 Virginia delighted to repose on the margin of this 
 spring. She often washed the family linen there. J. 
 
 Ananas; aguacate-tree J. 
 
 In the rainy season they spent the day all together 
 in the cottage, masters and servants making 
 grass mats and bamboo-baskels J. 
 
 From time to time M^^delaTour would read aloud 
 some touching portions of the Old and New Tes- 
 taments . . J. 
 
 Sugar-cane . . . J. 
 
 1). 
 
 20:i 
 
 Ingraver 
 
 rage 
 
 , Hl'VOT. 
 
 34 
 
 L. ROL'S.SKAL'. 
 
 J. HUVOT. 
 
 HuvuT. 
 
 HUYOT. 
 
 HUYOT. 
 HuYOT. 
 
 L. Rousseau. 
 
 HuYOT 
 
 HuYOT. 
 HUYOT. 
 
 30 
 
 37 
 
 IlUYOT. 
 
 M) 
 
 . BuLLENIiKn. 
 
 40 
 
 . Rousseau. 
 
 41 
 
 43 
 43 
 
 47 
 
 49 
 
 Rousseau. 
 
 .•v2 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 U 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 .'ij 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 .=i6 
 
 37 
 
 .■i9 
 60 
 
20i PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Engraver Page 
 
 I prepared dinner for them on the bank of the lit- 
 tle streamlet which runs near my cottage. On 
 these occasions I produced some botLles of old 
 ^vine J- HuvuT. CI 
 
 Paul would go out on the reefs to meet the waves, 
 and then at their approach he would fly before 
 the roaring, foaming breakers A. Rellexger. 6b 
 
 A married woman with two or three miserable 
 daughters arrived. Virginia served them with 
 refreshments .... L. Rousseau. 69 
 
 And with her little white handkerchief she wipod 
 his forehead and cheeks, and kissed him re- 
 peatedly A. Relle.^iger. 72 
 
 Virginia remembered that in her infancy her 
 mother and Margaret amused themselves bath- 
 ing with Paul in the same place A. Rellenger. 73 
 
 The brave Paul, followed by Domingo, went from 
 one cottage to the other, notwithstanding the 
 violence of the tempest, here sustaining a par- 
 tition with a buttress and there driving in a 
 stake J. IlrvoT. 77 
 
 " My brother, I will never part with this while Hive; 
 and I will never forget that you have given 
 me the only thing you possess in the world ". A. Rellenger. 80 
 
 A gentleman on horseback, followed by two slaves, 
 was advancing towards the plantation. He was 
 M. de la Rourdonnais A. Rellexger. 8b 
 
 We must obey the dictates of Providence ; we must 
 also obey our old relatives, even when they are 
 unjust. It is a sacrifice, but it is the will of 
 God J. HuYOT. 89 
 
 Merchants of all kinds were seen climbing up to- 
 wards these rocks. They displayed in those 
 humble cottages the richest stuflFs of India . . J. Huyot. 93 
 
 " Cruel girl, I do not speak of myself, but what 
 will become of me when I shall no longer see 
 you in the morning with us? " 
 
 Pieter Bott Mountain. .... 
 
 Tamarind ... 
 
 " May the ocean give you in the loss of your two 
 children an eternal source of regret" 
 
 A. 
 
 Rellenger. 
 
 96 
 
 J. 
 
 Huyot. 
 
 97 
 
 J. 
 
 Huyot. 
 
 100 
 
 J. 
 
 Huyot. 
 
 101 
 
LIST OF ENGHAVINGS ON WOOD. 
 
 ■>m 
 
 The first object Paul pei ceived as he ^\as returning 
 to the plantation was the negress Marie, who 
 mounledonarock was gazing over the open sea. 
 
 Virginia's fowls and pet-birds 
 
 Soon this young man, indifferent as a Creole to all 
 that was passing in the world, begged me to 
 teach him to read . . . 
 
 Letter from Virginia : " I have shed many tears 
 since our separation. My great auntquestioned 
 me as to my accomplishments, and I Lold her 
 I could neither read nor write " 
 
 " 1 have masters of all kinds, who inslruct me 
 amongst other things in history, geography, 
 grammar, mathematics and how to ride . . . 
 
 Avarice of Virginia's aunt. — "I applied myself 
 night anddayto learn reading and writing. — 
 This time I have had recourse to a boarder 
 here, who is a friend of mine ". . . . 
 
 " My great-aunt and an old nobleman, one of her 
 friends, are the only people permitted to see me 
 at the grating. Even my clothes belong to my 
 maids. I send you several pairs of stockings of 
 my own making" ... 
 
 " I also send in this parcel some nuts and pips of 
 various kinds of fruits. I have also enclosed 
 some flower seeds which I gathered in the 
 fields " . . . . 
 
 " The greatest disappointment which I experience 
 is that no one speaks to me of you. I commend 
 to your kindness Mary andDomingo : patFidele 
 for me — he found me in the wood " 
 
 Tobacco and rose-bush. . . 
 
 Cotton-plant. 
 
 Parrots . 
 
 Monkeys . 
 
 The waterfall. 
 
 Papaw-tree : . . . ... 
 
 It was at the foot of the papaw-tree that I was sure 
 to meet Paul. — One day I found him absorbed 
 in melancholy; and I hail some conversation 
 with him. 
 
 Engraver 
 
 i'age 
 
 A. Bellknger. 
 
 iO.j 
 
 J. HUYOT. 
 
 107 
 
 A. Bellrnceh. 
 
 109 
 
 J. HUYOT. 
 
 J. HuYOT. 
 
 J. HuYOT. 
 
 IIl'yi.it. 
 
 J. HuYOT. 
 
 HO 
 
 HI 
 
 112 
 
 113 
 
 114 
 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 li:i 
 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 117 
 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 120 
 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 121 
 
 
 HuYOT. 
 
 124 
 
 
 HuYOT . 
 
 127 
 
 
 Hl'vot. 
 
 128 
 
 L. Roi'SSEAU. 
 
 129 
 
206 
 
 PAUL AND VIRGLNIA. 
 
 Paul clasped the tree in his arms and kissed it with 
 fervour 
 
 Homer, who clothed it in such noble verse, begged 
 for alms all his life 
 
 " Virginia, return to these rocks, to the shelter of 
 this wood, and toour cottages! Alas, jouniay 
 be now unhappy! " Then he began to weep. 
 
 Agricultural labour is the most despised of all. 
 
 " The reports of her aretoowell founded. Her aunt 
 has married her to some great lord. The love 
 of riches has undone her! " 
 
 Literature is of Heavenly descenL Head, my son, a 
 good book is a good friend . . . ... 
 
 As soon as ever Paul perceived Uie family, who 
 were awaiting him on the Rock of Adieux, he 
 waved the letter in the air; he was unable to 
 speak 
 
 I was hardly dressed when Paul, beside himself, 
 and gasping for breath, clasped me round the 
 neck and cried out — " Virginia has arrived! " 
 
 There we rested until day-break, seated by the fire. 
 
 He drew up his soldiers on the shore, and or- 
 dered them to Are all together 
 
 A terrible blast dispersed the fog which covered 
 the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint- 
 Geran then became visible 
 
 The cables gave way, and as she was only held by 
 a single hawser she was dashed upon the 
 rocks 
 
 Domingo and I fastened a long rope round his 
 waist, and held one end of it. Paul then 
 advanced towards the Saint-Genin, sometimes by 
 swimming, sometiiijes scrambling over the 
 reefs 
 
 E 
 
 Qg-raver 
 
 1 'ai^'e 
 
 A. 
 
 Bellrnges. 
 
 i;i3 
 
 L. 
 
 Kous«E.\u. 
 
 L36 
 
 L. 
 
 RoL'ssmr. 
 
 lit 
 
 J. 
 
 Hl'vot. 
 
 t4i 
 
 J. 
 
 HUVOT. 
 
 I4B 
 
 J. 
 
 HuYiiT. 
 
 149 
 
 A. Bellk.nger. l.'il 
 
 L. Rousseau. 
 
 v;2 
 
 L. Rousseau. 
 
 i:;4 
 
 A. Belle.n'ger. 
 
 136 
 
 L. Rousseau. 
 
 I,. Rousseau. 
 
 The sailor approached Virginia respectfully : we 
 saw him throw himself upon his knees and 
 try to make her throw off her dress, but she 
 repulsed him with dignity, and turned her 
 head awav ... 
 
 i;;7 
 
 A. Bellexgeb. 160 
 
 161 
 
 L. Rousseau. 163 
 
LIST 01<' ENOHAVINGS ON WOOD. 207 
 
 Kngraver Page 
 
 Slip was half covered wilh sand, and in the same 
 attilude in wliich we had seen her perish. One 
 of her hands was resting on her dress, and 
 the other, which was clasped over her heart, 
 was lightly closed and stiff . . J. Huyot. 16j 
 
 A> soon as M°"= de la Tour perceived me sht' ciied : 
 " Where is my daughter, my darling, my child? " 
 And Margaret said, " Where is my son? I do nut 
 see him anywhere!" J. Hlyot. 168 
 
 The grenadiers led the procession : they carried 
 their arras reversed; their drums, shrouded in 
 crape, were muffled J. Huyot. 170 
 
 Eight young ladies of families of distinction on 
 the island, dressed in white, holding palms in 
 their hands, carried the body of their amiable 
 companion, covered with flowers J. Huyot. 171 
 
 They invoked her as a Saint L. Rousseau. l~i 
 
 At the same time M. de la Bourdnnnais extended 
 his hand lo Paul, but he withdrew his and 
 turned his head away . . A. Bklle.ni;er. 173 
 
 Paul went direct to the place where the earth had 
 been freshly turned : there he knelt down; 
 and, lifting up his eyes to Hi'aven, prayed 
 long and earnestly 
 
 Bamboos . 
 
 A number of carpenters were cutting and fashion- 
 ing trees and sawing planks : carriages were 
 passing and repassing along the roads. . . 
 
 Then I gave Paul the little portrait which he 
 had given to Virginia on the brink of the 
 spring A. Bellengeh. 181 
 
 Fortune and Fame accompanied by Misfortune. J. Huyot. 18o 
 
 Virginia is now happy A. Belle.vger. 188 
 
 " It seemed to me that I saw Virginia clothed in 
 white... she approached Paul smiling, and 
 carried him away with her." . . . . . L. Rousseau. 191 
 
 Paul expired two months after the death of 
 his loved Virginia, whose name he never ceased 
 to utter L. Rousseau. 193 
 
 J. Huyot. 
 
 176 
 
 J. Huyut. 
 
 177 
 
 L. Rousseau. 
 
 179 
 
208 
 
 PAUL A.ND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Engraver Page 
 
 She would distribute abundant alms to the 
 
 wealthy monls^s who governed her, begging 
 
 them to turn aside the wrath of God liy the 
 
 sacrifice of her fortune A. Bellengkr. 193 
 
 Her relatives, taking advantage of her attacks 
 
 of melancholv, caused her to be placed in an 
 
 asylum A. Bellengeu. IU7 
 
 Notbing is heard but the cry of the sparrow-hawk 
 
 as he skims around the rocks in quest of prey. J. Huvot. )98 
 
 As for me, I am as a friend friendless ; as a father 
 
 childless; like a traveller wandering alone on 
 
 the earth 
 
 Head-piece of the Table of Eni^ravlngs on Wuod. 
 
 The church of the Paniplemousses. 
 
 Tail-piece. — Port-Louis 
 
 Ornament. — Flowers. 
 
 J. 
 
 Hlyut. 
 
 1 110 
 
 J. 
 
 HUVIIT. 
 
 201 
 
 J. 
 
 HUYOT. 
 
 208 
 
 J-. 
 
 HUYOT. 
 
 209 
 
 
Printed by G. Chamerot. — aOG9B