PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 STale, 
 
 j. H. BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY ISAAC C. PRAY, JR. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIV. 
 
ENTERED according to act of Congress, in the year 1834, by Isaac C. 
 Pray, Jr. in the Clerk's Office of the district Court of Connecticut. 
 
 PRINTED AT THE PEARL OFFICE, 
 MAIN STREET, HARTFORD. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 THIS charming little romance has, indeed, conferred 
 immortality upon its author ; and, perhaps, there 
 can be bestowed upon it no greater commendation. 
 Although, at first, received with open coldness and dis- 
 respect by the literary circle to which it was read by 
 its author, yet a happy circumstance having caused its 
 publication, Time the true test of merit has decided 
 that it is worthy of the perusal of all, .and the finer feel- 
 ings of the human .heart give answer that its moral is 
 pure and perfect. 
 
 So numerous have been the translations of this very 
 popular work, and so often has it been negligently and 
 inelegantly rendered, that a more correct edition seemed 
 to be demanded. The publisher trusts that the present, 
 new edition will be found more worthy of perusal than 
 those by which it has been preceded. Considerable care 
 has been taken to divest the language of all coarseness, 
 and to expurgate those portions of the narration which 
 have been condemned by critics and scholars. It is now 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 presented to the public with full confidence, as it is be- 
 lieved to be free from all those faults which have, here- 
 tofore, had a tendency to tarnish its, otherwise, brilliant 
 reputation. 
 
 Should this edition of one of the choicest, standard 
 French classics, meet with that encouragement which it 
 is the desire and object of the publisher to gain, other 
 works of the kind may follow, and new tales of a simi- 
 lar character may be expected from two or more compe- 
 tent American authors. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 IN the Isle of France, on the eastern side of 
 the mountain which rises behind Port Louis, 
 upon a piece of land bearing marks of former 
 cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cot- 
 tages. Those ruins are situated near the cen- 
 tre of a valley encircled by -immense rocks open 
 only towards the north. On the left rises a 
 mountain called the Height of Discovery, from 
 which the eye can mark the distant sail when it 
 first touches the verge of the horizon, and on 
 whose top the signal is given, when a vessel 
 approaches the island. At the foot of this moun- 
 tain is the town of Port Louis. On the right is 
 the road which stretches from Port Louis to the 
 Shaddock Grove, where the church bearing 
 that name, lifts its top, surrounded by avenues 
 of bamboo, in the midst of a spacious plain; 
 and the prospect terminates in a forest extend- 
 ing to the farthest bounds of the island. The 
 
fi PAUL A^D VIRGINIA. 
 
 front view presents the bay, denominated the 
 Bay of the Tomb. A little on the right is the 
 Cape of Misfortune, arid beyond rolls the ex- 
 panded ocean, on the surface of which appear a 
 few uninhabited islands, and, among others, the 
 Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion 
 built upon the sea. 
 
 At the entrance of the valley, which presents 
 those various objects, the echoes of the moun- 
 tain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of 
 the winds that shake the neighboring forests, 
 and the tumultuous dashing of the waves which 
 break at a distance upon the cliffs. But near 
 the ruined cottages all is calm and still; and 
 the only objects which there meet the eye are 
 rude, steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding 
 rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their 
 base, on their rifte*d sides, and even on their 
 majestic tops, among the reposing clouds. The 
 showers, which their bold points attract, often 
 paint the vivid colors of the rainbow on their 
 green and brown declivities, and swell the sour- 
 ces of the little river of Fan Palms, which flows 
 at their feet. 
 
 Within this inclosure reigns the most pro- 
 found silence. The waters, the air, and all the 
 elements, are at peace. Scarcely does the 
 echo repeat the whispers of the palm trees? 
 spreading their broad leaves, the long points of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 7 
 
 which are gently balanced by the winds. A 
 soft light illuminates the bottom of this deep 
 valley, on which the sun only shines at noon. 
 But even at break of day, the rays of light are 
 thrown on the surrounding 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 place I loved to resort, that I might 
 enjoy at once the riches of the extensive land- 
 scape, and the charm of uninterrupted solitude. 
 One day when I was seated by the platform of 
 the cottages, while contemplating their ruins, a 
 man, advanced in years, passed near the spot. 
 He was dressed in the ancient garb of the isl- 
 and, his feet were bare, and he leaned upon a 
 staff of ebony. His hair was perfectly white, 
 and the expression of his countenance was dig- 
 nified, simple, 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 where 
 I was seated. Encouraged by this mark of 
 confidence, I thus addressed him: 
 
 ' Father, can you tell me to whom those cot- 
 tages once belonged? 5 ' My son, ' replied the 
 old man, 'those heaps of rubbish, and that un- 
 tilled land, were twenty years ago the property 
 of two families who then found happiness in 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 this solitude. Their history is affecting. But 
 what European, pursuing his way to the Indies, 
 will pause one moment to interest himself in 
 the fate of a few obscure individuals? What 
 European can picture happiness to his imagina- 
 tion amid poverty and neglect? The curiosity 
 of mankind is only attracted by the history of 
 the great, and yet from that knowledge little use 
 can be derived. ' ' Father, ' I rejoined, ' from your 
 manner and your observations, I perceive that 
 you have acquired much knowledge of human 
 nature. If you have leisure, relate to me, I be- 
 seech you, the history of the former 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, dur- 
 ing which he leaned his face upon his hands, 
 as if he were trying to recall the images of the 
 past, thus began his narration : 
 
 1 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 de- 
 termined 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. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 9 
 
 She belonged to a rich and ancient family of 
 the same province, but he had married her 
 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 nobility. Leav- 
 ing his wife at Port Louis, he embarked for Ma- 
 dagascar, in order to purchase a few slaves to 
 assist him in forming a plantation in this island. 
 He landed at that unhealthy season which com- 
 mences about the middle of October; and soon 
 after his arrival died of the pestilential fever, 
 which prevails in that country six months of the 
 year, and which will forever baffle the attempts 
 of the European nations to form establishments 
 on that fatal soil. 
 
 His effects were seized upon by the rapacity 
 of strangers ; and his wife found herself a wid- 
 ow in a country, where she had neither credit 
 nor recommendation, and no earthly possession, 
 or rather support, than one negro woman. Too 
 delicate to solicit protection or relief from any 
 other man after the death of him whom alone 
 she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, 
 and she resolved to cultivate with her slave a 
 little spot of ground, and procure for herself the 
 means of subsistence. 
 
 In an island almost a desert, and where the 
 ground was left to the choice of the settler, she 
 
10 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 avoided those spots which were most fertile and 
 most favorable to commerce; and seeking some 
 nook of the mountain, some secret asylum, 
 where she might live solitary and unknown, she 
 bent her way from the town towards those rocks, 
 where she wished to shelter herself as in a nest. 
 All suffering creatures, from a sort of common 
 instinct, fly for refuge amid their pains to 
 haunts the most wild and desolate; as if rocks 
 could form a rampart against misfortune, or, as 
 if the calm of nature could hush the tumults of 
 the soul. But Providence, which lends its sup- 
 port when we ask but the supply of our neces- 
 sary wants, had a blessing in reserve for Mad- 
 ame 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, a year, by a young 
 woman of a lively, good-natured and affection- 
 ate disposition. Margaret, for that was her 
 name, was born in Brittany, of a family of 
 peasants, by whom she was cherished and be- 
 loved, and with whom she might have passed 
 life in simple, rustic happiness, if, misled by the 
 weakness of a tender heart, she had not lis- 
 tened to the address of a gentleman in the 
 neighborhood, who promised her marriage. He 
 soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 11 
 
 seduction, refused to ensure a provision for her 
 child. Margaret then determined to leave for 
 ever her native village, and go, where her fault 
 might be concealed, to some colony distant from 
 that country where she had lost the only por- 
 tion of a poor peasant girl, her reputation. 
 With some borrowed money she purchased an 
 old negro slave, with whom she cultivated a 
 little spot of this district. Here Madame de la 
 Tour, followed by her negro woman, found 
 Margaret suckling her child. Soothed by the 
 sight of a person in a situation somewhat simi- 
 lar to her own, Madame de la Tour related, in 
 a few words, her past condition and her present 
 wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the 
 recital ; and, more anxious to excite confidence 
 than esteem, she confessed, without disguise, 
 the errors of which she had been guilty. ' As 
 for me,' said she, c I deserve my fate : but you, 
 madam you! at once virtuous and unfortu- 
 nate,' And, sobbing, she offered to the 
 
 stranger her hut and her friendship. Madame 
 de la Tour affected by this tender reception, 
 pressed her in her arms and exclaimed, ( Sure- 
 ly surely, Heaven will put an end to my 
 misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I 
 am a stranger, with more goodness towards me 
 than I have ever experienced from my own 
 relations I ' 
 
12 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 I knew Margaret: and, although my habita- 
 tion is a league and a half hence, in the woods, 
 behind that sloping mountain, I considered my- 
 self as her neighbor. In the cities of Europe, 
 a street, sometimes even a less distance, separ- 
 ates families whom nature has united ; but in 
 new colonies we consider those persons as 
 neighbors, from whom we are divided only by 
 woods and mountains. And, above all, at that 
 period when this island had little intercourse 
 with the Indies, neighborhood alone gave a 
 claim to friendship, and hospitality towards 
 strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. 
 No sooner was I informed that Margaret had 
 found a companion, than I hastened hither in 
 the hope of being useful to my neighbor and 
 her guest. 
 
 Madame de la Tour possessed all those mel- 
 ancholy graces which give beauty additional 
 power, by blending sympathy with admiration. 
 Her figure was interesting, and her counte- 
 nance expressed at once dignity and dejection. 
 I told them that for their future interests, and to 
 prevent the intrusion of any other settler, it was 
 necessary they should divide between them the 
 property of this wild, sequestered valley, which 
 is nearly twenty acres in extent. They con- 
 fided that task to me, and I marked out two 
 equal portions of land. One includes the higher 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 13 
 
 part of this inclosure, from the peak of that 
 rock buried in clouds, whence springs the rap- 
 id river of Fan Palms, to that wide cleft which 
 you see on the summit of the mountain, and 
 which is called the Cannon's mouth, from the 
 resemblance in its form. It is difficult to find a 
 path along this wild portion of the inclosure, the 
 soil of which is incumbered with fragments of 
 rock, or worn into channels formed by torrents; 
 yet it produces noble trees, and innumerable 
 fountains and rivulets. The other portion of 
 land is comprised in the plain extending along 
 the banks of the river of Fan-Palms, to the 
 opening where we are now seated, whence the 
 river takes its course between those two hills, 
 until it falls into the sea. You may still trace 
 the vestiges of some meadow-land, and this part 
 of the common is less rugged, but not more val- 
 uable than the other; since in the rainy season 
 it becomes marshy, and in dry weather is so 
 hard and unbending, that it will yield only to 
 the stroke of the hatchet. When I had thus 
 divided the property, I persuaded my neighbors 
 to draw lots for their separate possessions. The 
 higher portion of land became the property of 
 Madame de la Tour; the lower, of Margaret; 
 and each seemed satisfied with her respective 
 share. They intreated me to place their habi- 
 tations together, that they might at all times 
 
14 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 enjoy the soothing intercourse of friendship, and 
 consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's 
 cottage "was situated near the centre of the val- 
 ley, and just on the boundary of her own planta- 
 tion. Close to that spot I built another cottage 
 for the dwelling of Madame de la Tour; and 
 thus the two friends, while they possessed all 
 the advantages of neighborhood, lived on their 
 own property. I myself cut palisades from the 
 mountain, and brought leaves of Fan-Palms 
 from the sea shore, in order to construct those 
 two cottages, of which you can now discern 
 neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, alas! 
 there still remain but too many traces for my 
 remembrance ! Time which so rapidly destroys 
 the proud monuments of empires, seems in this 
 desert to spare those of friendship, as if to per- 
 petuate my regrets till the last hour of my ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Scarcely was her cottage finished, when Ma- 
 dame de la Tour gave birth to a child. I had 
 been the godfather of Margaret's child, who 
 was christened by the name of Paul. Madame 
 de la Tour desired me to perform the same 
 office for her child also, together with her friend* 
 who gave her the name of Virginia. * She 
 will be virtuous,' cried Margaret, * and she 
 will be happy. I knew misfortune only in ceas- 
 ing to be virtuous/ 
 
TAUL AND VIRGINIA. 15 
 
 At the time that Madame de la Tour recov- 
 ered, those two little territories had already 
 begun to yield some produce, perhaps in a small 
 degree owing to the care which I occasionally 
 bestowed on their improvement, but far more to 
 the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. Mar- 
 garet's slave, who was called Domingo, was 
 still healthy and robust, although advanced in 
 years; he possessed some knowledge, and a 
 good, natural understanding. He cultivated 
 indiscriminately, on both settlements, such 
 spots of ground as were most fertile, and sowed 
 whatever grain he thought most congenial to 
 each particular soil. Where the ground was 
 poor, he strewed maize; where it was most 
 fruitful he planted wheat. In marshy places he 
 sowed rice, and at the foot of the rocks were 
 raised gourds and cucumbers, which love to 
 -climb and decorate with their luxuriant foliage. 
 In dry places he cultivated the sweet potatoe ; 
 cotton-trees upon the heights, and sugar-canes 
 on clayey soil, He reared some plants of 
 coffee on the hills, where the grain, although 
 small, is excellent The plantain-trees, which 
 spread their grateful shade on the banks of the 
 river, and encircled the cottage, yielded fruit 
 throughout the whole year. And Domingo cul- 
 tivated, also a few plants of tobacco, to charm 
 away his own cares, Sometimes he was em- 
 
16 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ployed in cutting wood, for fuel, from the moun- 
 tain; sometimes in hewing pieces of rock with- 
 in the inclosure, in order to level the paths. He 
 was much attached to Margaret, and not less 
 so to Madame de la Tour, whose negro woman, 
 Mary, he had married at the time of Virginia's 
 birth; and of whom he was passionately fond. 
 Mary was born at Madagascar, whence she had 
 brought a few arts of industry ; she could 
 weave baskets, and a sort of stuff called pagnes, 
 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 to go sometimes to Port Louis, and 
 sell the superfluities, which were not very con- 
 siderable, of these two plantations. If you add 
 to the personages I have already mentioned, 
 two goats, which were brought up with the chil- 
 dren, and a great dog who kept watch at night, 
 you will have a complete idea of the household 
 as well as of the revenue of those two little 
 farms. 
 
 Madame de la Tour and her friend, were 
 employed from the morning till the evening in 
 spinning cotton for the use of their families. 
 Destitute of all those things which their own 
 industry could not supply, they walked about 
 their habitations with their feet bare, and shoes 
 were a convenience reserved for Sunday, when 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 17 
 
 at an early hour they attended mass at the 
 church of the Shaddock Grove, which you see 
 yonder. That church is far more distant than 
 Port Louis, yet they seldom visited the city, 
 lest they should be treated with contempt, be- 
 cause they were dressed in the coarse blue lin- 
 en of Bengal, which is usually worn by slaves. 
 But is public respectability half so valuable as 
 domestic felicity? If these ladies had something 
 io suffer from the world, it served but to en- 
 dear their humble home. No sooner did Mary 
 and Domingo perceive them from this elevated 
 spot, 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 that joy which their re- 
 turn inspired. They found in their retreat, 
 .neatness, independence, and all those blessings 
 which are the recompense of toil, and the zeal 
 and affection of servants. United by the tie 
 of similar wants, and the sympathy of similar 
 misfortunes, they gave, each other the tender 
 names of companion, friend, and sister, they 
 had but one will, one interest, one table. All 
 their possessions were in common. And if 
 sometimes a passion, more ardent than friend- 
 ship, awakened in their hearts the pang of un- 
 availing anguish, a pure religion, united with 
 chaste manners, drew their affections towards 
 
18 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 another life; as the trembling flame rises to- 
 wards heaven, when it no longer finds any ali- 
 ment on earth. 
 
 The tender and sacred duties which nature 
 imposed, became a source of additional happi- 
 ness to those affectionate mothers, whose mutu- 
 al friendship acquired new strength at the sight 
 of their children, alike offspring of unhappy 
 love. They delighted to place their infants to- 
 gether in the same bath, to nurse them in the 
 same cradle, and sometimes changed the mater- 
 nal bosom at which they received nourishment, 
 as if to blend with the ties of friendship that in- 
 stinctive affection which this act of friendship 
 produces. My friend, cried Madame de la 
 Tour, we shall each of us have two children, 
 and each of our children will have two mothers. 
 As two buds which remain on two trees of the 
 same kind, after the tempest has broken all their 
 branches, produce more delicious fruit, if each, 
 separated from the maternal stem, be grafted on 
 the neighboring tree ; so these two children, de- 
 prived of all other support, imbibed sentiments 
 more tender than those of son and daughter, 
 brother and sister, when exchanged at the 
 breast of those who had given them birth. 
 While they were yet in the cradle, their mothers 
 talked of their marriage; and this prospect of 
 conjugal felicity, with which they soothed their 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 19 
 
 own cares, often called forth the tears of bitter 
 regret. The misfortunes of one mother had 
 arisen from having neglected marriage, those of 
 the other from having submitted to its laws: one 
 had been made unhappy by attempting to raise 
 herself above her humble condition of life, the 
 other by descending from her rank. But they 
 found consolation in reflecting that their more 
 fortunate children, far from the cruel prejudices 
 of Europe, those prejudices which poison the 
 most precious sources of our happiness, would 
 enjoy at once the pleasures of love, and the 
 blessings of equality. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the attachment which 
 those infants already displayed for each other. 
 If Paul complained, his mother pointed to Vir- 
 ginia, and at that sight he smiled, and was ap- 
 peased. If any accident befel Virginia, the 
 cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster; and 
 then Virginia would suppress her complaints 
 when she found that Paul was unhappy. When 
 I came hither, I usually found them quite naked, 
 which is the custom of this country, tottering in 
 their walk, and holding each other by the hands 
 and under the arms, as we represent the con- 
 stellation of the twins. At night these infants 
 often refused to be separated, and were found 
 lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bo- 
 soms pressed close together, their hands thrown 
 
20 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 round each other's neck, and, sleeping, locked 
 in one another's arms. 
 
 When they began to speak, the first names 
 they learnt to give each other were those of 
 brother and sister, and childhood knows no 
 softer appellation. Their education served to 
 augment their early friendship, by directing it 
 to the supply of their reciprocal wants. In a 
 short time all that regarded the household econo- 
 my, the care of preparing their rural repasts, 
 became the talk of Virginia, whose labors were 
 always crowned with the praises and kisses of 
 her brother. As for Paul, always in motion, 
 he dug the garden with Domingo, or followed 
 him, with a little hatchet in his hand, into the 
 woods, where, if in his rambles he espied a 
 beautiful flower, fine fruit, or a nest of birds, 
 even at the top of a tree, he climbed up and 
 brought it home to his sister. 
 
 When you met with one of those children, 
 you might be sure the other was not far distant. 
 One day, coming down that mountain, I saw 
 Virginia at the end of the garden, running to- 
 wards the house, with her petticoat thrown over 
 her head, in order to screen herself from a 
 shower of rain. At a distance I thought she 
 was alone, but as I hastened towards her in or- 
 der to help her on, I perceived that she held 
 Paul by the arm, who was almost entirely en- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 21 
 
 veloped in the same canopy, and both were 
 laughing heartily at being sheltered together 
 under an umbrella of their own invention. 
 Those two charming faces, placed within the 
 petticoat, swelled by the wind, recalled 'to my 
 mind the children of Leda, enclosed within the 
 same shell. 
 
 Their sole study was how to please and assist 
 each other ; for of all other things they were 
 ignorant, and knew neither how to read or 
 write. They were never disturbed by research- 
 es into past times, nor did their curiosity extend 
 beyond the bounds of that mountain. They 
 believed the world ended at the shores of their 
 own island, and all their ideas and affections 
 were confined within its limits. Their mutual 
 tenderness, and that of their mothers, employed 
 all the activity of their souls. Their tears had 
 never been called forth by long application to 
 useless sciences. Their minds had never been 
 wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to 
 bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never 
 been taught that they must not steal, because 
 every thing with them was in common ; or be 
 intemperate, because their simple food was left 
 to their own discretion ; or false, because they 
 had no truth to conceal. Their young imagina- 
 tions had never been terrified by the idea that 
 God has punishments in store for ungrateful 
 
22 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 children, since with them filial affection arose 
 naturally from maternal fondness. All they had 
 been taught of religion was to love it, and if 
 they did not offer up long prayers in the church ; 
 wherever they were, in the house, in the fields, 
 in the woods, they raised towards heaven their 
 innocent hands, and their hearts purified by 
 virtuous affections. 
 
 Thus passed their early childhood, like a 
 beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. 
 Already they partook, with their mothers, the 
 cares of the household. As soon as the cry of 
 the wakeful cock announced the first beam of 
 the morning, Virginia arose, and hastened to 
 draw water from a neighboring spring ; then re- 
 turning to the house, she prepared the breakfast. 
 When the rising sun lighted up the points of 
 those rocks which overhang this inclosure, 
 Margaret and her child went to the dwelling of 
 Madame de la Tour; and they offered up to- 
 gether their morning prayers. This sacrifice 
 of thanksgiving always preceded their first re- 
 past, which they often partook before the door 
 of the cottage, seated upon the grass under a 
 canopy of plantain; and while the branches of 
 that delightful tree afforded a grateful shade, 
 its solid fruit furnished food ready prepared by 
 nature, and its long glossy leaves, spread upon 
 the table, supplied the want of linen. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 23 
 
 Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave 
 early growth and vigor to the persons of those 
 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 ruby lips 
 gave the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes 
 sparkled with vivacity when she spoke; but 
 when she was silent, her look had a cast up- 
 wards, which gave it an expression of extreme 
 sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. 
 Already the figure of Paul displayed the graces 
 of manly beauty. He was taller than Virginia, 
 his skin was of a darker tint, his nose more 
 aquiline, and his black eyes would have been 
 too piercing, if the long eye-lashes, by which 
 they were shaded, had not given them a look of 
 softness. He was constantly in motion, except 
 when his sister appeared, and then, placed at 
 her side, he became quiet. Their meals often 
 passed in silence ; and, from the grace of their 
 attitudes, the beautiful proportions of their 
 figures, and their naked feet, you might have 
 fancied you beheld an antique group of white 
 marble, representing some of the children of 
 Niobe; if those eyes which sought to meet, 
 those smiles which were answered by smiles of 
 the most tender softness, had not rather given 
 
24 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 you the idea of those happy celestial spirits, 
 whose nature is love, and who are not obliged 
 to have recourse to words for the expression of 
 that intuitive sentiment. In the mean time 
 Madame de la Tour, perceiving every day some 
 unfolding grace, some new beauty in her daugh- 
 ter, felt her maternal anxiety increase with her 
 tenderness. She often said to me, * If 1 should 
 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 
 great bigot. She had behaved towards her 
 niece with so much cruelty upon her marriage, 
 that Madame de la Tour had determined that 
 no distress or misfortune should ever compel 
 her to have recourse to her hard-hearted rela- 
 tion. But when she became a mother, the 
 pride of resentment was stifled in the stronger 
 feelings of maternal tenderness. She wrote to 
 her aunt, informing her of the sudden death of 
 her husband, the birth of her daughter, and the 
 difficulties in which she was involved at a dis- 
 tance from her own country, without support, 
 and burthened with a child. She received no 
 answer; but, notwithstanding that high spirit 
 which was natural to her character, she no lon- 
 ger feared exposing herself to mortification and 
 reproach; and, although she knew her relation 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 25 
 
 would never pardon her having married a man 
 of merit but not of noble birth, she continued to 
 write to her by every opportunity, in the hope 
 of awakening her compassion for Virginia. 
 Many years however passed, during which she 
 received not the smallest testimony of her re- 
 membrance. 
 
 At length, in 1738, three years after the ar- 
 rival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this 
 island, Madame de la Tour was informed that 
 the governor had a letter to give her. She flew 
 to Port Louis, indifferent on this occasion about 
 appearing in her homely garment. Maternal 
 hope and joy subdued all those little considera- 
 tions which are lost when the mind is absorbed 
 by any powerful sentiment. Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais delivered to her a letter from her 
 aunt, who informed her, that she deserved her 
 fate for having married an adventurer and a 
 libertine: that misplaced passions carried along 
 with them their own punishment, and that the 
 sudden death of her husband must be considered 
 as a visitation from heaven: that she had done 
 well in going to a distant island, rather than 
 dishonor her family by remaining in France; 
 and that, after all, in the colony where she had 
 taken refuge every person grew rich except the 
 idle. Having thus lavished sufficient censure 
 upon the conduct of her niece, she finished by 
 
26 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 
 
 an eulogium of herself. To avoid, she said, 
 the almost inevitable evils of marriage, she had 
 determined to remain in a single state. In 
 truth, being of a very ambitious temper, she 
 had resolved only to unite herself to a man of 
 high rank; and, 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. 
 
 She added in a postcript, that, after mature 
 deliberation, she had strongly recommended 
 her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. 
 This she had indeed done, but in a manner of 
 late too common, and which renders a patron 
 perhaps even more formidable than a declared 
 enemy; for, in order to justify herself, she had 
 cruelly slandered her niece, while she affected 
 to pity her misfortunes. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, who could not be seen 
 by the most indifferent person without sympathy 
 and respect, was received with the utmost cold- 
 ness by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais; and, 
 when she painted to him her situation, and that 
 of her child, he replied with indifference, ' We 
 will see what can be done there are so many 
 to relieve why did you offend such a respect- 
 able relation? You have been much to blame.' 
 
 Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 27 
 
 her bosom throbbing with all the bitterness of 
 disappointment. When she arrived, she threw 
 herself on a chair, and then flinging her aunt's 
 letter on the table, exclaimed to her friend, 
 * This is the recompense of eleven years of pa- 
 tient expectation!' As Madame de la Tour 
 was the only person in their little circle who 
 could read, she again took up the letter, which 
 she read aloud. Scarcely had she finished 
 when Margaret exclaimed, 'What have we to 
 do with your relations ? Has God then forsa- 
 ken us? He only is our father. Have we 
 not hitherto been happy? Why then this re- 
 gret ? You have no courage.' Seeing Mad- 
 ame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon 
 her neck, and pressing her in her arms, c My 
 dear friend!' cried she, 'My dear friend!' 
 But her emotion choaked her utterance. 
 
 At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and 
 pressed her mother's hand, and Margaret's, al- 
 ternately, to her lips, and to her heart; while 
 Paul, with his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, 
 clasped his hands together, and stamped with 
 his feet, not knowing whom to blame for this 
 scene of misery. The noise soon led Domingo 
 and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation 
 resounded with the cries of distress. 
 
 Such tender proofs of affection at length dis- 
 pelled Madame de la Tour's sorrow. She took 
 
28 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing 
 them, she cried, * You are the cause of my af- 
 fliction, and yet my only source of delight; 
 yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached 
 me from a distance, but surely I am surrounded 
 by happiness.' Paul and Virginia did not un- 
 derstand this reflection; but, when they saw 
 that she was calm, they smiled, and continued 
 to caress her. Thus tranquility was restored, 
 and what had passed proved but a transient 
 storm, which serves to give fresh verdure to a 
 beautiful spring. 
 
 The amiable dispositions of those children 
 unfolded itself daily. On a Sunday, their moth- 
 ers having gone at break of day to mass, at the 
 church of the Shaddock Grove, the children 
 perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains 
 which shaded their habitation. She was almost 
 wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment 
 than a shred of coarse cloth thrown around her. 
 She flung herself at Virginia's feet, who was 
 preparing the family breakfast, and cried, * My 
 good young lady, have pity on a poor 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 shewed her body marked by deep scars 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 29 
 
 from the lashes she had received. She added, 
 * I was going to drown myself, but hearing you 
 lived here, I said to myself, perhaps here are 
 still some good white people in this country, I 
 need not die yet. 
 
 Virginia answered with emotion, c Take 
 courage, unfortunate creature ! here is food;' 
 and she gave her the breakfast she had prepared ; 
 which the poor slave in a few minutes devoured. 
 When her hunger was appeased, Virginia said 
 to her i Unhappy woman ! will you let me go 
 and ask forgiveness for you of your master ? 
 Surely the sight of you will touch him with pity 
 will you show me the way ? ' Angel of 
 heaven!' answered the poor negro woman., ' I 
 will follow you where you please.' Virginia 
 called to her brother, and begged him to accom- 
 pany 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 they reached the 
 foot of a precipice upon the borders of the Black 
 River. There they perceived a well-built 
 house, surrounded by extensive plantations, 
 and a great number of slaves employed at their 
 various labors. Their master was walking 
 among them with a pipe in his mouth, and a 
 ratan in his hand. He was of a tall thin figure, 
 
30 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of a brown complexion, his eyes were sunk in 
 his head, and his dark eye-brows were joined 
 together. Virginia, holding Paul by the hand 
 drew near, and with much emotion begged him, 
 for the love of God, to pardon the poor slave, 
 who stood trembling a few paces behind. The 
 man 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 forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the 
 slave to approach her master, and instantly ran 
 away, while Paul followed. 
 
 They climbed up the precipice they had de- 
 scended; and, having gained the summit, seated 
 themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with 
 fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They had left their 
 cottage fasting, and had walked five leagues 
 since break of day. Paul said to Virginia, 
 ' My dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure 
 you are thirsty and hungry; we shall find no 
 dinner here; let us go down the mountain again, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 31 
 
 and ask the master of the poor slave for some 
 food.' * Oh, no,' answered Virginia, * he fright- 
 ens me too much: remembered what mamma 
 sometimes says, ' the bread of the wicked is 
 like gravel in the mouth.' ' What shall we do 
 then? said Paul; * these trees produce no fruit; 
 and I shall not be able to find even a tamarind 
 or a lemon to refresh you.' ' God will have 
 pity on us,' replied Virginia, ' he hears the 
 voices of the little birds which call to him fbr 
 food.' Scarcely had she pronounced these 
 words, when they heard the dashing of waters 
 which fell from a neighboring rock. They ran 
 thither, and having quenched their thirst at this 
 crystal spring, they gathered a few cresses 
 which grew on the border of the stream. While 
 they were wandering in the woods in search of 
 more solid nourishment, Virginia'spied a young 
 palm-tree. The kind of cabbage which is found 
 at the top of this tree, enfolded within its leaves, 
 forms an excellent sustenance; but, although 
 the stalk of the tree was not very thick, yet it 
 was above sixty feet in height. The wood of 
 this tree is composed of fine filaments; but the 
 bark is so hard that it turns the edge of the 
 hatchet; and Paul was not even furnished with 
 a knife. At length he thought of setting fire 
 to the palm-tree; but a new difficulty occurred, 
 he had no steel with which to strike fire ; and, 
 
32 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 although the whole island is covered with rocks. 
 I do not believe it is possible to find a flint. 
 Necessity, however, is fertile in expedients, 
 and the most useful inventions have arisen from 
 men placed in the most destitute situations. 
 Paul determined to kindle a fire in the manner 
 of the negroes. With the sharp end of a stone 
 he made a small hole in the branch of a tree 
 that was quite dry, which he held between his 
 feet; he then sharpened 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 points of contact. Paul then heaped to- 
 gether dried grass and branches, and set fire to 
 the palm-tree, which soon fell to the ground. 
 The fire was useful to him in stripping off the 
 long, thick, and pointed leaves, within which 
 the cabbage was enclosed. 
 
 Paul and Virginia ate part of the cabbage 
 raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which 
 they found equally palateable. 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 Jjy 
 the thoughts of that uneasiness which their long 
 absence would give their mothers. Virginia 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 33 
 
 often recurred to this subject; but Paul, who 
 felt his strength renewed by their meal, assured 
 her that it would not be long before they reach- 
 ed home. 
 
 After dinner they recollected that they had 
 no guide, and that they were ignorant of the 
 way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by 
 difficulties, said to Virginia, c The sun shines 
 full upon our hut at noon; we must pass, as we 
 did this morning, over that mountain with its 
 three points, which you see yonder. Come, 
 let us go.' This mountain is called the Three 
 Peaks. Paul and Virginia descended the pre- 
 cipice of the Black River, on the northern side; 
 and arrived, after an hour's walk, on the banks 
 of a large stream. 
 
 Great part of this island is so little known, 
 even now, that many of its rivers and moun- 
 tains have not yet received a name. The river, 
 on the banks of which our travellers stood, rolls 
 foaming over a bed of rocks. The noise of the 
 water frightened Virginia, and she durst not 
 attempt to ford the stream. Paul therefore took 
 her up in his arms, and went, thus loaded, over 
 the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of the 
 river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its 
 waters. ' Do not be afraid,' cried he to Vir- 
 ginia, ' I feel very strong with you. If the in- 
 habitant of the Black River had refused you 
 3 
 
34 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the pardon of his slave, I would have fought 
 with him.' ' What!' answered Virginia * with 
 that great wicked man? To what have I ex- 
 posed you, gracious Heaven! How difficult it 
 is to do good; and it is so easy to do wrong.' 
 
 When Paul had crossed the river, he wished 
 to continue his journey carrying his sister, and 
 believed he was able to climb in that way the 
 mountain of the Three Peaks, which was still 
 at the distance of half a league ; but his strength 
 soon failed, and he was obliged to [set down his 
 burden, and to rest himself by her side. Vir- 
 ginia 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 surprises us in this wood, 
 I will light a fire, and bring down another palm- 
 tree; you shall eat the cabbage; and I will 
 form a covering of the leaves to shelter you. 
 In the mean time, Virginia being a little rested, 
 pulled from the trunk of an old tree, which 
 hung over the bank of the river, some long 
 leaves of hart's tongue, which grew near its 
 root. Feeling her feet cooled by the freshness 
 of the leaves, she broke off a branch of bam- 
 boo, and continued her walk, leaning with one 
 hand on the staff, and with the other on Paul. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 35 
 
 They walked on slowly through the woods, 
 but, from the height of the trees and the thick- 
 ness of their foliage, they soon lost sight of the 
 mountain of the Three Peaks by which they 
 had directed their course, and even of the sun, 
 which was now setting. At length they wan- 
 dered, without perceiving it, from the beaten 
 path in which they had hitherto walked, and 
 found themselves in a labyrinth of trees, and 
 rocks, which appeared to have no opening. 
 Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran 
 backwards and forwards, half frantic, in search 
 of a path which might lead them out of this 
 thick wood; but all his researches were vain. 
 He climbed to the top of a tree, from whence 
 he hoped at least to discern the mountain of the 
 Three Peaks; but all he could perceive around 
 him were the tops of trees, some of which were 
 gilded by the last beams of the setting sun. 
 Already the shadows of the mountains were 
 spread over the forests in the valleys. The 
 wind ceased, as it usually does, at the evening 
 hour. The most profound silence reigned in 
 those awful solitudes, which was only interrupt- 
 ed by the cry of the stags, who came to repose 
 in that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope 
 that some hunter would hear his voice, called 
 out as loud as he was able, ' Come, come, to 
 the help of Virginia.' Eut the echoes of the 
 
36 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 forests alone answered his call, and repeated 
 again and again, ' Virginia Virginia.' 
 
 Paul at length descended from the tree, over- 
 come with fatigue and vexation, and reflected 
 how they might best contrive to pass the night 
 in that desert. But he could find neither a 
 fountain, a palm-tree, or even a branch of dry 
 wood to kindle a fire. He then felt, by expe- 
 rience, ^the sense of his own weakness, and 
 began to weep. Virginia said to him, c Do not 
 weep, my dear brother, or I shall die with grief. 
 I am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all 
 that our mothers suffer at this moment. I find 
 we ought to do nothing, not even good, without 
 consulting our parents. Oh, I have been very 
 imprudent!' and she began to shed tears. 
 She then said to Paul, ' Let us pray to God, 
 my dear brother, and he will hear us.' 
 
 Scarcely had they finished their prayer, when 
 they heard the barking of a dog. c It is the 
 dog of some hunter,' said Paul, c who comes 
 here at night to lay in wait for the stags.' 
 Soon after the dog barked again with more vio- 
 lence. ' Surely,' said Virginia, c it is Fidele, 
 our own dog ; yes, I know his voice are 
 we then so near home ? at the foot of our own 
 mountain?' A moment after Fidele was at 
 their feet, barking, howling, crying, and load- 
 ing them with his caresses. Before they had 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 37 
 
 recovered their surprise, they saw Domingo 
 running towards them. At the sight of this 
 good old negro, who wept with joy, they began 
 to weep too, without being able to utter one 
 word. When Domingo had recovered himself 
 a little, ' Oh, my dear children,' cried he, 
 ' how miserable have you made your mothers! 
 How much were they astonished when they re- 
 turned from mass, where I went with them, at 
 not finding you. Mary, who was at work at a 
 little distance, could not tell us where you were 
 gone. I ran backwards and forwards about the 
 plantation, not knowing where to look for you. 
 At last I took some of your old clothes, and 
 shewing them to Fidele, the poor animal, as if 
 he understood me, immediately began to scent 
 your path; and conducted me, continually wag- 
 ging his tail, to the Black River. It was there 
 a planter told me that you had brought back a 
 negro woman, his slave, and that he had grant- 
 ed you her pardon. But what pardon ! he 
 shewed her to me with her feet chained to a 
 block of wood, and an iron collar with three 
 hooks fastened round her neck! 
 
 From thence Fidele, still on the scent, led 
 me up the precipice of the Black River, where 
 he again stopped and barked with all his might. 
 This was on the brink of a spring, near a fallen 
 palm-tree, and close to a fire which was still 
 
38 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 smoking. At last he led me to this very spot. 
 We are at the foot of the mountain of the Three 
 Peaks, and still four leagues from home. 
 Come, eat and gather strength. He then pre- 
 sented them with cakes, fruits, and a large 
 gourd filled with a liquor composed of wine, 
 water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which 
 their mothers had prepared. Virginia sighed 
 at the recollection of the poor slave, and at the 
 uneasiness which they had given their mothers. 
 She repeated several times, ' Oh how difficult 
 it is to do good!' 
 
 While she and Paul were taking refreshment, 
 Domingo kindled a fire, and having sought 
 among the rocks for a particular kind of crook- 
 ed wood, which burns when quite green, throw- 
 ing out a great blaze, he made a torch, which 
 he lighted, it being already night. But when 
 they prepared to continue their journey, a new 
 difficulty occurred: Paul and Virginia could no 
 longer walk, their feet being violently swelled 
 and inflamed. Domingo knew not whether it 
 were best to leave them and go in search of 
 help, or remain and pass the night with them 
 on that spot. ' What is become of the time,' 
 said he, c when I used to carry you both to- 
 gether in my arms ? but now you are grown 
 big, and I am grown old.' While he was in 
 this perplexity a troop of Maron negroes ap- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 
 
 peared at the distance of twenty paces. The 
 chief of the band, approaching Paul arid Vir- 
 ginia, said to them, * Good little white people, 
 de 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 immedi- 
 ately formed a sort of litter with the branches 
 of trees and lianas, in which having seated Paul 
 and Virginia, they placed it upon their shoul- 
 ders. Domingo marched in front carrying his 
 lighted torch, and they proceeded amidst the 
 rejoicings of the whole troop, and overwhelmed 
 with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by 
 this scene, said to Paul with emotion, * Oh, my 
 dear brother! God never leaves a good action 
 without reward.' 
 
 It was midnight when they arrived at the foot 
 of the mountain, on the ridges of which several 
 fires were lighted. Scarcely had they begun 
 to ascend, when they heard voices crying out, 
 * Is it you, my children?' They answered, to- 
 gether with the negroes, 'Yes, it is us,' and 
 soon after perceiving their mothers and Mary 
 coming towards them with lighted sticks in their 
 hands. * Unhappy children,' cried Madame de 
 la Tour, * whence do you come ? what agonies 
 
40 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 have made us suffer P c We come,' said 
 Virginia, ' from the Black River, where we 
 went to ask pardon for a poor Maron slave, to 
 whom I gave our breakfast this morning, be- 
 cause she was dying of hunger, and these Ma- 
 ron negroes have brought us home.' Madame 
 de la Tour embraced her daughter without 
 being able to speak, and Virginia, who felt her 
 face wet with her mother's tears, exclaimed., 
 * You repay me for all the hardships I have 
 suffered.' Margaret, in a transport of delight, 
 pressed Paul in her arms, crying, ' And you 
 also, my dear child, you have done a good ac- 
 tion.' When they reached the hut with their 
 children they gave plenty of food to the negroes, 
 who returned to their woods, after praying that 
 the blessing of heaven might descend on those 
 good white people. 
 
 Every day was to those families a day of 
 tranquility and happiness. Neither ambition 
 nor envy, disturbed their repose. In this isl- 
 and, where, as in all the European colonies, 
 every malignant anecdote is circulated with 
 avidity, their virtues and even their names were 
 unknown. Only when a traveller on the road 
 of the Shaddock Grove inquired of any of the 
 inhabitants of the plain, c who lives in those 
 two cottages above?' he was always answered,, 
 even by those who did not know them, * They 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 
 
 are good people.' Thus the modest violets, 
 concealed beneath the thorny bushes, shed their 
 fragrance, though they remain unseen. 
 
 Doing good appeared to those amiable fami- 
 lies to be the chief purpose of life. Solitude, 
 far from having blunted their benevolent feel- 
 ings, or rendered their dipositions morose, had 
 left their hearts open to every tender affection. 
 The contemplation of nature filled their minds 
 with enthusiastic delight. They adored the 
 bounty of that Providence which had enabled 
 them to spread abundance and beauty amidst 
 those barren rocks, and to enjoy those pure and 
 simple pleasures which are ever grateful and 
 ever new. 
 
 Paul at twelve years of age was stronger and 
 more intelligent than Europeans generally are 
 at fifteen, and had embellished the plantations, 
 which Domingo had only cultivated. He had 
 gone with him to the neighboring woods and 
 rooted up young plants of lemon trees, oranges, 
 and tamarinds, the round heads of which are of 
 so fresh a green, together with date palm-trees, 
 producing fruit filled with a sweet cream which 
 has the fine perfume of the orange flower. 
 Those trees, which were already of a consider- 
 able size, he planted round this little inclosure. 
 He had also sown the seeds of many trees 
 which the second year bear flowers of fruit. 
 
42 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The agathis, encircled with long clusters of 
 white flowers, which hang upon it like the crys- 
 tal pendents of a lustre. The Persian lilac, 
 which lifts high in air its grey flax-colored 
 branches. The pappaw-tree, the trunk of 
 which, without branches, forms a column set 
 round with green melons, bearing on their 
 heads large leaves like those of the fig-tree. 
 
 The seeds and kernels of the gum-tree, ter- 
 minalia, mangoes, alligator-pears, the guava, 
 the bread-tree, and the narrow-leaved eugenia, 
 were planted with profusion; and the greater 
 number of those trees already afforded to their 
 young cultivator both shade and fruit. His in- 
 dustrious hands had diffused the riches of na- 
 ture even on the most barren parts of the plan- 
 tation. Several kinds of aloes, the common 
 India fig adorned with yellow flowers spotted 
 with red, and the thorny five-angled touch-this- 
 tle grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, 
 and seemed to aim at reaching the long lianas, 
 which, loaded with blue or crimson flowers, 
 hung scattered over the steepest parts of the 
 mountain. Those trees were disposed in such 
 a manner that you could enjoy the whole at one 
 view. He had placed in the middle of this hol- 
 low the plants of the lowest growth. Behind 
 grew the shrubs then trees of an ordinary 
 height; above which rose majestically the ven- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 43 
 
 erable lofty groves which border the circumfer- 
 ence. Thus, from its centre, this extensive in- 
 closure appeared like a verdant amphitheatre 
 spread with fruits and flowers, containing a va- 
 riety of vegetables, a chain of meadow-land r 
 and fields of rice and corn. In bending those 
 vegetable productions to his own taste, he fol- 
 lowed the designs of Nature. Guided by her 
 suggestions, he had thrown upon the rising 
 grounds such seeds as the winds might scatter 
 over the heights, and near the borders of the 
 springs such grains as float upon the waters : 
 every plant grew in its proper soil, and every 
 spot seemed decorated by her hands. The 
 streams which rushed from the summits of the 
 rocks formed in some parts of the valley limped 
 fountains, and in other parts were spread into 
 large clear mirrors, which reflected the bright 
 verdure, the trees in blossom, the overhanging" 
 rocks, and the azure heavens. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the 
 ground, most of these plantations were easy of 
 access. We had indeed all given him our ad- 
 vice and assistance, in order to accomplish this 
 end. He had formed a path which winded 
 round the valley, and of which various ramifica- 
 tions led from the circumference to the centre. 
 He had drawn some advantage from the most 
 rugged spots, and had blended in harmonious 
 
44 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 variety, smooth walks with the asperities of the 
 soil, and wild with domestic productions. With 
 that immense quantity of rolling stones which 
 now block up those paths, and which are scat- 
 tered over most of the ground of this island, he 
 formed here and there pyramids, and at their 
 base he laid earth, and planted the roots of rose 
 bushes, the Barbadoes flower fence, and other 
 shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a 
 short time those gloomy, shapeless pyramids 
 were covered with verdure, or with the glowing 
 tints of the most beautiful flowers. The hol- 
 low recesses of aged trees, which bent over the 
 borders of the stream, formed vaulted caves 
 impenetrable to the sun, where they retired for 
 colness during the heats of the day. That 
 path led to a clump of forest trees, in the cen- 
 tre of which grew a cultivated tree, loaded 
 with fruit: here was a field ripe with corn, there 
 an orchard: from the avenue you had a view of 
 the cottages, from this, of the inaccessible sum- 
 mit of the mountain. Beneath that tufted bow- 
 er of gum trees, interwoven with lianas, no ob- 
 ject could be discerned even at noon, while the 
 point of a neighboring rock, which projects from 
 the mountain, commanded a view of the whole 
 inclosure, and of distant ocean, where some- 
 times we spied a vessel coming from Europe, 
 or returning thither. On this rock the two fam- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 45 
 
 ilies assembled in the evening, and enjoyed in 
 silence the freshness of the air, the fragrance of 
 the flowers, and murmurs of the fountains, and 
 the last blended harmonies of light and shade. 
 
 Nothing could be more agreeable than the 
 names which were bestowed upon some of the 
 charming retreats of this labyrinth. That rock, 
 of which I was speaking, and from which my 
 approach was discerned at a considerable dis- 
 tance, was called The Discovery of Friendship. 
 Paul and Virginia amid their sports had planted 
 a bamboo on that spot, and, whenever they saw 
 me coming, they hoisted a little white handker- 
 chief by way of signal of my approach, as they 
 had seen a flag hoisted on the neighboring 
 mountain at the sight of a vessel at sea. The 
 idea struck me of engraving an inscription upon 
 the stalk of this reed. Whatever pleasure I 
 have felt during my travels at the sight of a stat- 
 ue or monument of antiquity, I have felt still 
 more in reading a well-written inscription. It 
 seems to me as if a human voice issued from 
 the stone, and, making itself heard through the 
 lapse of ages, addressed man in the midst of a 
 desert, and told him, that he is not alone; that 
 other men on that very spot have felt, and 
 thought, and suffered, like himself. If the in- 
 scription belongs to an ancient nation which no 
 longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite 
 
46 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 space, and inspires the feeling of its immortali- 
 ty, by shewing that a thought has survived the 
 ruins of an empire. 
 
 I inscribed then, on the little mast of Paul 
 and Virginians flag, those lines of Horace: 
 
 . . . . Pratres Helense, lucida sidera, 
 Ventorumqne regat pater, 
 Obstrictis aliis, praeter lapyga. 
 
 ' May the brothers of Helen, lucid stars like 
 you, and the Father of the winds, guide you, 
 and may you only feel the breath of the zephyr. 7 
 
 I engraved this line of Virgil upon the bark 
 of a gum tree, under the shade of which Paul 
 sometimes seated himself in order to contem- 
 plate the agitated ocean. 
 
 Fortunatus et ille Deos qui novit agrestes ! 
 
 ' Happy art thou, my son, to know only the 
 pastoral divinities.' 
 
 And above the door of Madame de la Tour's 
 cottage, where the families used to assemble, I 
 placed this line: 
 
 At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 
 
 1 Here is a calm conscience, and a life igno- 
 rant of deceit.' 
 
 But Virginia did not approve of my latin; she 
 said that what I had placed at the foot of her 
 weather-flag was too long and too learned. * I 
 
 o o 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 
 
 should have liked better,' added she, ' to have 
 seen inscribed, 'Always agitated, yet ever con- 
 stant.' 
 
 The sensibility of those happy families ex- 
 tended itself to every thing around them. They 
 had given names the most tender to objects ap- 
 parently the most indifferent. A border of or- 
 ange, plantain, and bread-trees, planted round 
 a green-sward where Virginia and Paul some- 
 times danced, was called 'Concord.' An old 
 tree, beneath the shade of which Madame de la 
 Tour and Margaret used to relate their misfor- 
 tunes, was called ' The tears wiped away.' 
 They gave the names of Brittany and Norman- 
 dy to little portions of ground, where they had 
 sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo 
 and Mary wishing, in imitation of their mistress- 
 es, to recall the places of their birth in Africa, 
 gave the names of Angola and Foullepointe to 
 the spots where that grass grew with which 
 they wove baskets, and where they had planted 
 a calbassia-tree or gourd. Thus, with the pro- 
 ductions of their respective climates, those ex- 
 iled families cherished the dear illusions which 
 bind us to our native country, and softened their 
 regrets in a foreign land. Alas! I have seen 
 animated by a thousand soothing appellations, 
 those trees, those fountains, those stones, which 
 are now overthrown, which now, like the plains 
 
48 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of Greece, present nothing but ruins and affect- 
 ing remembrances. 
 
 But perhaps the most charming spot of this 
 inclosure was that which was called the ' Repose 
 of Virginia.' At the foot of the rock, named 
 The Discovery of Friendship, is a nook whence 
 issues a fountain, forming near its source 
 a little spot of marshy soil in the midst of a field of 
 rich grass. At the time Margaret gave birth to 
 Paul, I made her a present of an Indian cocoa 
 which had been given me, and which she plant- 
 ed on the border of this fenny ground, in order 
 that the tree might one day serve to mark the 
 epocha of her son's birth. Madame de la Tour 
 planted another cocoa, with the same view, at 
 the birth of Virginia. Those fruits produced 
 two cocoa-trees, which formed all the records 
 of the two families; one was called the tree of 
 Paul, the other the tree of Virginia. They 
 grew, in the same proportion as the two young 
 persons, of an unequal height; but they rose 
 at the end of twelve years above the cottages. 
 Already their tender stalks were interwoven, 
 and their young branches of cocoas hung over 
 the bason of the fountain. 
 
 Except this little plantation, the nook of the 
 rock had been left as it was decorated by nature. 
 On its brown and humid sides large plants of 
 maidenhair glistened with their green and dark 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 
 
 Stars, and tufts of wave-leaved harts-tongue, 
 suspended like long ribbands of purpled green, 
 floated on the winds. Near this grew a chain 
 of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of 
 which resemble the red gilliflower; and the long 
 podded capsacum, the husks of which are of 
 the color of blood, and more glowing than coral. 
 The herb of balm, with its leaves within the 
 heart, and the sweet basil, which has the odor 
 of the gilliflower, exhaled the most delicious 
 perfumes. From the summit of the mountain 
 hung the graceful lianas, like a floating drapery, 
 forming magnificent canopies of verdure upon 
 the sides of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured 
 by the stillness of those retreats, resorted thith- 
 er to pass the night. At the hour of sun-set s 
 we perceived the curlew and the sea-lark skim- 
 ming along the sea-shore, the black frigate poi- 
 sed high in air, and the white bird of the tropic, 
 which abandons, with the star of day, the soli- 
 tudes of the Indian ocean. 
 
 Virginia loved to repose upon the border of 
 this fountain, decorated with wild and sublime 
 magnificence. She often seated herself beneath 
 the shade of the two cocoa trees, and there she 
 sometimes led her goats to graze. While she 
 prepared cheeses of their milk, she loved to see 
 them browse on the maidenhair which grew upon 
 the steep sides of the rock, and hang suspended 
 4 
 
-50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 upon one of its cornices as on a pedestal. Paul, 
 observing that Virginia was fond of this spot, 
 brought thither from the neighboring forest a 
 great variety of birds-nests. The old birds fol- 
 lowing their young, established themselves in 
 this new colony. Virginia at stated times distrib- 
 uted among them grains of rice, millet, and maize. 
 As soon as she appeared, the whistling black- 
 bird, the bengali, the note of which is so soft, 
 the black frigate bird, with its plumage the col- 
 or of flame, forsook their bushes; the paroquet, 
 green as an emerald, descended from the neigh- 
 boring fan-palms, the partridge ran along the 
 grass, all advanced promiscuously towards her, 
 like a brood of chickens: and she and Paul de- 
 lighted to observe their sports, their repasts, 
 and their loves. 
 
 Amiable children, thus passed your early 
 days in innocence and in the exercise of benev- 
 olence. How many times on this very spot 
 have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, 
 blessed Heaven for the consolations your un- 
 folding virtues prepared for their declining 
 years ; while already they enjoyed the satisfac- 
 tion of seeing you begin life under the most 
 happy auspices! How many times beneath the 
 shade of those rocks have I partaken with them 
 of your rural repasts, which cost no animal its 
 life! Gourds filled with milk, fresh eggs, cakes 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 
 
 of rice placed upon plantain leaves, baskets 
 loaded with mangoes, oranges, dates, pome- 
 grants, pine-apples, furnished at the same time 
 the most wholesome food, the most beautiful 
 colors, and the most delicious juices. 
 
 The conversation was gentle and innocent as 
 the repasts. Paul often talked of the labors of 
 the day, and of those of the morrow. He was 
 continually forming some plan of accomodation 
 for their little society. Here he discovered 
 that the paths were rough; there, that the fam- 
 ily circle was ill-seated: sometimes the young 
 arbours did not afford sufficient shade, and Vir- 
 ginia might be better placed elsewhere. 
 
 In the rainy seasons the two families assembled 
 together in the cottage, and employed them- 
 selves in weaving mats of grass, and baskets of 
 bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets were ran- 
 ged along the walls in the most perfect order, and 
 near those instruments of agriculture were placed 
 the productions which were the fruits of labor; 
 sacks of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of 
 the plantain fruit. Some degree of luxury is 
 usually united with plenty, and Virginia was 
 taught by her mother and Margaret to prepare 
 sherbet and cordials from the juice of the sugar- 
 cane, the orange, and the citron. 
 
 When night came, those families supped to- 
 gether by the light of a lamp : after which Mad- 
 
52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ame de la Tour or Margaret related histories of 
 travellers lost during the night in such of the for- 
 ests of Europe as are infested by banditti ; or told 
 a dismal tale of some ship-wrecked vessel thrown 
 by the tempest upon the rocks of a desert isl- 
 and. To these recitals their children listened 
 with eager sensibility, and earnestly begged 
 that Heaven would grant they might one day 
 have the joy of shewing their hospitality towards 
 such unfortunate persons. At length the two 
 families separated and retired to rest, impatient 
 to meet again the next morning. Sometimes 
 they were lulled to repose by the beating rains 
 which fell in torrents upon the roof of their cot- 
 tages; and sometimes by the hollow winds, 
 which brought to their ear the distant murmur 
 of the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
 blessed God for their personal safety, of which 
 their feeling became stronger from the idea of 
 remote danger. 
 
 Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud 
 some affecting history of the old or new testa- 
 ment. Her auditors reasoned but little upon 
 those sacred books, for their theology consisted 
 in sentiment, like that of nature; and their mo- 
 rality in action, like that of the gospel. Those 
 families had no particular days devoted to pleas- 
 ure and others to sadness. Every day was to 
 them a holiday, and all which surrounded them 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 53 
 
 one holy temple, where they for ever adored an 
 infinite intelligence, the friend of human kind. 
 A sentiment of confidence in his supreme power 
 filled their minds with consolation respecting 
 the past, with fortitude for the present, and with 
 hope for the future. Thus, compelled by mis- 
 fortune to return to a state of nature, those 
 women had unfolded in their own bosoms, and 
 in those of their children, the feelings which are 
 most natural to the human mind, and which are 
 our best support under evil. 
 
 But as clouds sometimes arise which cast 
 a gloom over the best regulated tempers, when- 
 ever melancholy took possession of any member 
 of this little society, the rest endeavored to ban- 
 ish painful thoughts rather by sentiment than by 
 arguments. Margaret exerted her gaiety. Ma- 
 dame de la Tour employed her mild theology. 
 Virginia, her tender caresses. Paul, his cor- 
 dial and engaging frankness. Even Mary and 
 Domingo hastened to offer their succor, and to 
 weep with those that wept. Thus weak plants 
 are interwoven in order to resist the tempests. 
 
 During the fine season, they went every 
 Sunday to the church of the Shaddock Grove, 
 the steeple of which you see yonder upon the 
 plain. After service the poor often came to re- 
 quire some kind office at their hands. Some- 
 times an unhappy creature sought their advice, 
 
54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 sometimes a child led them to its sick mother in 
 the neighborhood. They always took with them 
 remedies for the ordinary diseases of the coun- 
 try, which they administered in that soothing 
 manner which stamps so much value upon the 
 smallest favors. Above all, they succeeded in 
 banishing the disorders of the mind, which are 
 so intolerable in solitude, and under the infirmi- 
 ties of a weakened frame. Madame de la Tour 
 spoke with such sublime confidence of the Di- 
 vinity, that the sick, while listening to her, be- 
 lieved that he was present. Virginia often re- 
 turned home, with her eyes wet with tears, and 
 her heart overflowing with delight, having had 
 an opportunity of doing good. After those vis- 
 its of charity they sometimes prolonged their 
 way by the sloping mountain, till they reached 
 my dwelling, where I had prepared dinner for 
 them, upon the banks of the little river which 
 glides near my cottage. I produced on those 
 occasions some bottles of old wine, in order to 
 heighten the gaiety of our Indian repast by the 
 cordial productions of Europe. Sometimes we 
 met upon the sea-shore, at the mouth of little 
 rivers, which are here scarcely larger than 
 brooks. We brought from the plantation our 
 vegetable provisions, to which we added such 
 as the sea furnished in great variety. Seated 
 upon a rock beneath the shade of the velvet 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 55 
 
 sun-flower, we heard the mountain billows break 
 at our feet with a dashing noise, and sometimes 
 on that spot we listened to the plaintive strains 
 of the water curlew. 
 
 Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and 
 dances of the two young beings. Virginia sung 
 the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery of 
 those who were impelled by avarice to cross 
 the furious ocean rather than cultivate the earth 
 and enjoy its peaceful bounties. Sometimes 
 she performed a pantomime with Paul in the 
 manner of the negroes. The first language of 
 men is pantomime; it is known to all nations, 
 and is so natural and so expressive, that the 
 children of the European inhabitants catch it 
 with facility from the negroes. Virginia recall- 
 ing, among the histories which her mother had 
 read to her, those which had affected her most, 
 represented the principal events with beautiful 
 simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domin- 
 go's tamtam she appeared upon the green-sward, 
 bearing a pitcher upon her head, and advanced 
 with a timid step towards the source of a neigh- 
 boring fountain, to draw water. Domingo and 
 Mary, who personated the shepherds of Midian, 
 forbade her approach, and repulsed her sternly. 
 Upon which Paul flew to her succor, beat away 
 the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher, and 
 placing it upon her head, bound her brows at 
 
56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the same time with a wreath of the red flow- 
 ers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which ser- 
 ved to heighten the delicacy of her complex- 
 ion. Then joining their sports, I took upon 
 me the part of Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul 
 my daughter Zipporah in marriage. 
 
 Sometimes Virginia represented the unfortu- 
 nate Ruth, returning poor and widowed to her 
 own country, where, after so long an absence, 
 she found herself as in a foreign land. Domin- 
 go and Mary personated the reapers. Virginia 
 followed their steps, gleaning here and there a 
 few ears of corn. She was interrogated by 
 Paul with the gravity of 'a patriarch, and an- 
 swered, with a faltering voice, his questions. 
 Soon touched with compassiom, he granted an 
 asylum to innocence, and hospitality to misfor- 
 tune. He filled Virginia's lap with plenty, and, 
 leading her towards us as before the old men of 
 the city, declared his purpose to take her in 
 marriage. At this scene, Madame de la Tour, 
 recalling the desolate situation in which she had 
 been left by her relations, her widowhood, the 
 kind reception she had met with from Margaret, 
 succeeded by the soothing hope of a happy 
 union between their children could not forbear 
 weeping ; and the sensations which such recol- 
 lections excited, led the whole audience to pour 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 57 
 
 forth those luxurious tears which have their 
 mingled source in sorrow and in joy. 
 
 These dramas were performed with such an 
 air of reality, that you might have fancied your- 
 self transported to the plains of Syria, or of 
 Palestine. We were not unfurnished with 
 either decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suit- 
 able to the representation. The scene was gen- 
 erally placed in an opening of the forest, where 
 such parts of the wood as were penetrable 
 formed around us numerous arcades of foliage, 
 beneath which we were sheltered from the heat 
 during the whole day; but when the sun de- 
 scended towards the horizon, its rays broken 
 upon the trunks of the trees, diverged among 
 the shadows of the forest in long lines of light, 
 which produced the most sublime effect. Some- 
 times the whole of its broad disk appeared at 
 the end of an avenue, spreading one dazzling 
 mass of brightness. The foliage of the trees, 
 illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, 
 glowed with the lusture of the topaz and the 
 emerald. Their brown and mossy trunks ap- 
 peared transformed into columns of antique 
 bronze, and the birds, who had retired in silenee 
 to their leafy shades to pass the night, surprised 
 to see the radiance of a second morning, hailed 
 the star of day with innumerable carols. 
 
 Night soon overtook us during those rural 
 
68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 entertainments; but the purity of the air and 
 the mildness of the climate admitted of our 
 sleeping in the woods, secure from the injuries 
 of the weather, and no less secure from moles- 
 tation from robbers. At our return the follow- 
 ing day to our respective habitations, we found 
 them exactly in the same state in which they 
 had been left. In this island, which then had 
 no commerce, there was so much simplicity and 
 good faith, that the doors of several houses 
 were without a key, and a lock was an object 
 of curiosity to many of the natives. 
 
 Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor al- 
 manac, or books of chronology, history, or phi- 
 losophy. The periods of their lives were regu- 
 lated by those of nature. They knew the hours 
 of the day by the shadows of the trees, the sea- 
 sons 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, f the shad- 
 ows of the plaintain-trees are at their roots,' 
 or, i night approaches, the tamarinds close their 
 leaves.' c When will you come to see us?' in- 
 quired some of her companions in the neighbor- 
 hood. At the time of the sugar-canes,' an- 
 swered Virginia. ' Your visit will be then still 
 more delightful,' resumed her young acquaint- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 59 
 
 ances. When she was asked what was her 
 own age, and that of Paul; ' My brother, 5 said 
 she, ' is as old as the great cocoa-tree of the 
 fountain; and I am as old as the little cocoa- 
 tree the mangoes have borne fruit twelve 
 times, and the orange-trees have borne flowers 
 four and twenty times, since I was born.' 
 Their lives seemed linked to the trees like those 
 of fawns or dryads. They knew no other his- 
 torical epochs than the lives of their mothers, 
 no other chronology than that of their orchards, 
 and no other philosophy than that of doing 
 good, and resigning themselves to the will of 
 Heaven. 
 
 Thus grew those children of nature. No 
 care had troubled their peace, no intemperance 
 had corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion 
 had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, 
 and piety, possessed their souls, and those in- 
 tellectual graces unfolded themselves in their 
 features, their attitudes, and their motions. 
 Still in the morning of life, they had all its 
 blooming freshness; and surely such in the 
 garden of Eden appeared our first parents when, 
 coming from the hands of God, they first saw, 
 approached, and conversed together, like broth- 
 er and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, 
 and confiding as Eve; and Paul, like Adam 4 , 
 
60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 united the figure of manhood with the simplicity 
 of a child. 
 
 When alone with Virginia, he has a thousand 
 times told me he used to say to her at his re- 
 turn from labor, ' When I am wearied, the 
 sight of you refreshes me. If from the summit 
 of the mountain I perceive you below in the 
 valley, you appear to me in the midst of our or- 
 chard like a blushing rose bud. If you go to- 
 wards our mother's house, the partridge, when 
 it runs to meet its young, has a shape less beau- 
 tiful, and a step less light. When I lose sight 
 of you through the trees, I have no need to see 
 you in order to find you again. Something of 
 you, I know not how, remains for me in the air 
 where you have passed, in the grass where you 
 have been seated. When I come near you, 
 you delight all my senses. The azure of heaven 
 is less charming than the blue of your eyes, and 
 the song of the bengali less soft than the sound 
 of your voice. If I only touch you with my 
 finger, my whole frame trembles with pleasure. 
 Do you remember the day when we crossed 
 over the great stones of the river of the Three 
 Peaks ? I was very much tired before we 
 reached the bank, but as soon as I had taken 
 you in my arms, I seemed to have wings like a 
 bird. Tell me by what charm you have so en- 
 chanted me? Is it by your wisdom? Our mo- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 
 
 thers have more than either of us. Is it by 
 your caresses? They embrace me much oft- 
 ener than you. I think it must be by your 
 goodness. I shall never forget how you walk- 
 ed bare-footed to the Black River, to ask pardon 
 for the poor wandering slave. Here, my be- 
 loved! take this flowering orange-branch, which 
 I have culled in the forest; you will place it at 
 night near your bed. Eat this honey-comb 
 which I have taken for you from the top of a 
 rock. But first lean upon my bosom, and I 
 shall be refreshed.' 
 
 Virginia then answered, ' O, my dear broth- 
 er, the rays of the sun in the morning at the 
 top of the rocks, give me less joy than the sight 
 of you. I love my mother, I love yours ; but 
 when they call you their son, I love them a 
 thousand times more. When they caress you, 
 I feel it more sensibly than when I am caressed 
 myself. You ask me why you love you. Why ? 
 all creatures that are brought up together love 
 one another. Look at our birds reared up in 
 the same nests they love like us they are 
 always together like us. Hark ! how they call 
 and answer from one tree to another. So when 
 the echoes bring to my ear the airs which you 
 play upon your flute at the top of the mountain, 
 I repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. 
 Above all, you are dear to me since the day 
 
62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 when you wanted to fight the master of the 
 slave for me. Since that time how often I have 
 said to myself, ' Ah, my brother has a good 
 heart; but for him I should have died of terror.' 
 I pray to God every day for my mother and 
 yours ; for you, and for our poor servants : but 
 when I pronounce your name, my devotion 
 seems to increase. I ask so earnestly of God, 
 that no harm may befall you ! Why do you go 
 so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and 
 flowers for me ? How much you are fatigued!' 
 and with her little white handkerchief she 
 wiped the damps from his brow, and kissed it. 
 For some time past, however, Virginia had 
 felt her heart agitated by new sensations. Her 
 fine blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek its 
 freshness, and her frame was seized with uni- 
 versal languor. Serenity no longer sat upon 
 her brow, nor did smiles play upon her lips. 
 She become suddenly gay without joy, and mel- 
 ancholy without vexation. She fled her inno- 
 cent sports, her gentle labors, and the society 
 of her beloved family ; wandering along the 
 most unfrequented parts of the plantation, and 
 seeking every where that rest which she could 
 no where find. Sometimes at the sight of Paul 
 she advanced sportively towards him, and, w T hen 
 going to accost him, was seized with sudden 
 confusion ; her pale cheeks were overspread 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 
 
 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, every thing 
 around you is gay, and you only are unhappy.' 
 He endeavored to sooth her by his embraces, 
 but she turned away her head, and fled trem- 
 bling towards her mother. The caresses of her 
 brother excited too much emotion in her agita- 
 ted heart. Paul could not comprehend the 
 meaning of those new and strange caprices. 
 
 One of those summers, which sometimes deso- 
 late the countries situated between the tropics, 
 now spread its ravages over this island. It was 
 near the end of December, when the sun at 
 Capricorn darts over the Isle of France during 
 the space of three weeks, its vertical fires. 
 The south-wind, which prevails almost through- 
 out the whole year, no longer blew. Vast col- 
 umns of dust arose from the highways, and hung 
 suspended in the air ; the ground was every 
 where broken into clefts; the grass was burnt; 
 hot exhalations issued from the sides of the 
 mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, 
 became dry ; fiery vapors during the day as- 
 cended from the plains, and appeared at the 
 setting of the sun like a conflagration : night 
 brought no coolness to the heated atmosphere : 
 the orb of the moon seemed of blood, and, ris- 
 
64 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ing in a misty horizon, appeared of supernatural 
 magnitude. The drooping cattle on the sides 
 of the hills, stretching out their necks towards 
 heaven, and panting for air, made the valleys 
 re-echo with their melancholy lowings ; even 
 the caffre, by whom they were led, threw him- 
 self upon the earth in search of coolness, but 
 the scorching sun had every where penetrated, 
 and the stifling atmosphere sounded with the 
 buzzing noise of insects, who sought to allay 
 their thirst in the blood of men and animals. 
 
 On one of those sultry days, Virginia, rest- 
 less and unhappy, arose, then went again to 
 rest, but could find in no attitude either slumber 
 or repose. At length she bent her way by the 
 light of the moon towards her fountain, and ga- 
 zed at its spring, which, notwithstanding the 
 drought, still flowed like silver threads down the 
 brown sides of the rock. She flung herself into 
 the bason. Its coolness re-animated her spirits, 
 and a thousand soothing remembrances present- 
 ed themselves to her mind. She recollected 
 that in her infancy her mother and Margaret 
 amused themselves by bathing her with Paul in 
 this very spot. That Paul afterwards, reserv- 
 ing this bath for her use only, had dug its bed, 
 covered the bottom with sand, and sown aroma- 
 tic herbs round the borders. She saw, reflect- 
 ed through the water upon her naked arms and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 
 
 bosom, the two cocoa-trees which were planted 
 at her birth and that of her brother, and which 
 interwove above her head their green branches 
 and young fruit. She thought of Paul's friend- 
 ship sweeter than the odors, purer than the wa- 
 ters of the fountain, stronger than the intertwin- 
 ing palm-trees, and she sighed ! Reflecting 
 upon the hour of the night, and the profound 
 solitude, her imagination again grew disordered. 
 Suddenly she flew affrighted from those danger- 
 ous shades, and those waters which she fancied 
 hotter than the torrid sun-beam, and ran to her 
 mother in order to find a refuge from herself. 
 Often, wishing to unfold her sufferings, she 
 pressed her mother's hands within her own, of- 
 ten she was ready to pronounce the name of 
 Paul; but her oppressed heart left not her lips 
 the power of utterance; and, leaning her head 
 on her mother's bosom, she could only bathe it 
 with her tears. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, though she easily dis- 
 cerned the source of her daughter's uneasiness, 
 did not think proper to speak to her on that sub- 
 ject. * My dear child,' said she, ' address 
 yourself to God, who disposes at his will of 
 health and of life. He tries you now in order 
 to recompense you hereafter. Remember that 
 we are only placed upon earth for the exercise 
 of virtue.' 
 
 5 
 
66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The excessive heat drew vapors from the 
 ocean, which hung over the island like a vast 
 awning, and gathered round the summits of the 
 mountains, while long flakes of fire occasionally 
 issued from their misty peaks. Soon after the 
 most terrible thunder re-echoed through the 
 woods, the plains, and the valleys ; the rains fell 
 from the skies like cataracts ; foaming torrents 
 rolled down the sides of this mountain; the bot- 
 tom of the valley became a sea ; the plat of 
 ground on which the cottages were built, a little 
 island ; and the entrance of this valley a gulley, 
 along which rushed precipitately the moaning 
 waters, earth, trees, and rocks. 
 
 Meantime the trembling family addressed 
 their prayers to God in the cottage of Madame 
 de la Tour, the roof of which cracked horribly 
 from the struggling winds. So vivid and fre- 
 quent were the lightnings, that although the 
 doors^ and window-shutters were well fastened, 
 every object without was distinctly seen through 
 the jointed beams. Paul, followed by Domingo, 
 went with intrepidity from one cottage to an- 
 other, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest ; 
 here supporting a partition with a cross-beam, 
 there driving in a stake, and only returning to 
 the family to calm their fears by the hope that 
 the storm was passing away. Accordingly, in 
 the evening the rains ceased, the trade-wind of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 
 
 the south pursued its ordinary course, the tem- 
 pestuous clouds were driven towards the north- 
 east, and the setting sun appeared in the hor- 
 izon. 
 
 Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot cal- 
 led her Repose. Paul approached her with a 
 timid air, and offered her the assistance of his 
 arm, which she accepted, smiling, and they left 
 the cottage together. The air was fresh and 
 clear; white vapors arose from the ridges of the 
 mountains, furrowed here and there by the foam 
 of the torrents, which were now becoming dry. 
 The garden was altogether destroyed by the 
 hollows which the floods had worn, the roots of 
 the fruit-trees were for the most part laid bare, 
 and vast heaps of sand covered the chain of 
 meadows, and choaked up Virginia's bath. 
 The two cocoa-trees, however, were still erect, 
 and still retained their freshness, but they were 
 no longer surrounded by turf, or arbors, or 
 birds, except a few bengalies, who upon the 
 points of the neighboring rocks, lamented in 
 plaintive notes the loss of their young. 
 
 At the sight of this general desolation, Vir- 
 ginia exclaimed to Paul, ' You brought birds 
 hither, and the hurricane has killed them. 
 You planted this garden, and it is now destroy- 
 ed. Every thing then upon earth perishes, 
 and it is only heaven that is not subject to 
 
68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 change.' 'Why,' answered Paul, c why can- 
 not I give you something which belongs to 
 heaven ? But I am possessed of nothing even 
 upon earth.' Virginia blushing resumed, * You 
 have the portrait of St. Paul. ' Scarcely had she 
 pronounced the words, when he flew in search 
 of it to his mother's cottage. This picture was 
 a small miniature representing Paul the hermit, 
 and which Margaret, who was very pious, had 
 long worn hung at her neck, when she was a 
 girl, and which, since she became a mother, 
 she had placed round the neck of her child. 
 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, upon receiving this little picture from 
 the hands of Paul, said to him with emotion, 
 1 My dear brother, I will never part with this 
 while I live, nor will I ever forget that you 
 have ^iven me the only thing which you pos- 
 sess in the world.' At this tone of friendship, 
 this unhoped for return of familiarity and ten- 
 derness, Paul attempted to embrace her ; but 
 light as a bird she fled, and left him astonished, 
 and unable to account for a conduct so extraor- 
 dinary. 
 
 Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la 
 Tour, ' Why do we not unite our children by 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 
 
 marriage ? they have a tender attachment for 
 each other.' Madame de la Tour replied, ' They 
 are too young and too poor. What grief would 
 it occasion us to see Virginia with the cares of 
 a family which she would not, perhaps, have 
 strength to support. Your negro Domingo is 
 almost too old to labor ; Mary is infirm ; and 
 as for myself, my dear friend, in the space of 
 fifteen years, I find my health much impaired. 
 Age advances rapidly in hot climates, and, above 
 all, under the pressure of misfortune. Paul is 
 our only hope : let us wait till his constitution 
 is strengthened, and till he can support us by 
 his labor. At present, you well know that we 
 have only sufficient to supply the wants of the 
 day: but were we to send Paul for a short time 
 to the Indies, commerce would furnish him 
 with the means of purchasing some slaves. On 
 his return, we will unite him to Virginia; for I 
 am persuaded no one on earth can render her 
 so happy as your son. We will consult our 
 neighbor on this subject.' 
 
 They accordingly asked my advice, and I 
 was of their opinion. e The Indian seas,' I ob- 
 served to them, ' are calm, and, in choosing a 
 favorable season, the voyage is seldom longer 
 than six weeks. We will furnish Paul with a 
 little venture, for he is very much beloved by my 
 neighbors. If we were only to supply him with 
 
70 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 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 fuel, and 
 some rosin, which is found in our woods, all 
 those articles will sell advantageously in the 
 Indies, though to us they are useless.' 
 
 I engaged to obtain permission from Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais to undertake this voyage ; 
 but I determined previously to mention the af- 
 fair to Paul; and my surprise was great when 
 this young man said to me, with a degree of 
 good sense above his age, l And why do you 
 wish me to leave my family for this precarious 
 pursuit of fortune ? Is there any commerce 
 more advantageous than the culture of the 
 ground, which yields sometimes fifty or an hun- 
 dred fold? If we wish to engage in commerce, 
 we can 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 young, and gather strength 
 every day. If any accident should happen 
 during my absence, above all, to Virginia, who 
 already suffers. Oh, no, no ! I cannot resolve 
 to leave them. 
 
 This answer threw me into great perplexity; 
 for Madame de la Tour had not concealed from 
 me the situation of Virginia, and her desire of 
 separating those young people for a few years. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 71 
 
 These ideas I did not dare to suggest to Paul. 
 
 At this period a ship, which arrived from 
 France, brought Madame de la Tour a letter 
 from her aunt. Alarmed by the terrors of ap- 
 proaching death, which could alone penetrate a 
 heart so insensible, recovering from a danger- 
 ous disorder which had left her in a state of 
 weakness, rendered incurable by age, she de- 
 sired that her niece would return to France; or, 
 if her health forbade her to undertake so long a 
 voyage, she conjured her to send Virginia, on 
 whom she would bestow a good education, pro- 
 cure for her a splendid marriage, and leave her 
 the inheritance of her whole fortune. The pe- 
 rusal of this letter spread general consternation 
 through the family. Domingo and Mary began 
 to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, ap- 
 peared as if his heart was ready to burst with 
 indignation; while Virginia, fixing her eyes 
 upon her mother, had not power to utter a word. 
 
 ' And can you now leave us?' cried Margaret 
 to Madame de la Tour. ' No, my dear friend, 
 no, my beloved children,' replied Madame de 
 la Tour, ' I will not leave you I have lived 
 with you, and with you I will die I have 
 known no happiness but in your affection if 
 my health be deranged, my past fortunes are 
 the cause : my heart deeply wounded by the 
 Cruelty of a relation, and the loss of my hus- 
 
72 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 band, has found more consolation and felicity 
 with you beneath these humble huts, than all 
 the wealth of my family could now give me in 
 my own country.' 
 
 At this soothing language every eye overflow- 
 ed with tears of delight. Paul, pressing Mad- 
 ame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, ' Nei- 
 ther will I leave you! I will not go to the 
 Indies we will all labor for you, my dear 
 mother, and you shall never feel any wants with 
 us.' But of the whole society, the person who 
 displayed the least transport, and who probably 
 felt the most, was Virginia; and, during the 
 remainder of the day, that gentle gaiety which 
 flowed from her heart, and proved that her peace 
 was restored, completed the general satisfaction. 
 
 The next day at sun-rise, while they were 
 offering up as usual their morning sacrifice of 
 praise, which preceeded their breakfast, Domin- 
 go informed them that a gentleman on horseback, 
 followed by two slaves, was coming towards the 
 plantation. This person was Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais. He entered the cottage, where 
 he found the family at breakfast. Virginia had 
 prepared, according to the custom of the coun- 
 try, coffee, and rice boiled in water; to which 
 she added hot yams, and fresh cocoas. The 
 leaves of the plantain-tree supplied the want of 
 linen, and calbassia-shells, split in two, served 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 1& 
 
 for utensils. The governor expressed some? 
 surprise at the homeliness of the dwelling: then r 
 addressing himself to Madame de la Tour^ he 
 observed that, although public affairs drew Iner 
 attention too much from the concerns of individ*-" 
 uals, she had many claims to his good offices.* 
 c 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. 7 
 Madame de la Tour replied, that the state of 
 her health would not permit her to undertake so 
 long a voyage. c At least,' resumed Monsieur 
 de la Bourdonnais, c you cannot, without injus- 
 tice, deprive this amiable young lady, your 
 daughter, of so noble an inheritance. I will 
 not conceal from you, that your aunt has made 
 use of her influence to oblige you to return, 
 and that I have received official letters, in which 
 I am ordered to exert my authority, if necessa- 
 ry, to that effect. But, as I only wish to employ 
 my power for the purpose of rendering the in- 
 habitants of this colony happy, I expect from 
 your good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few 
 years, upon which depend your daughter's es- 
 tablishment in the world, and the welfare of 
 your whole life. Wherefore do we come to 
 these islands ? Is it not to acquire a fortune ? 
 
74 PAUL AND TIRGINIA. 
 
 And will it not be more agreeable to return and 
 find it in your own country? 
 
 He then placed a large bag of piasters, which 
 had been brought by one of his slaves, upon the 
 table. c This 7 added he, ' is allotted by your 
 aunt for the preparations necessary for the 
 young lady's voyage.' Gently reproaching 
 Madame de la Tour for not having had recourse 
 to himin her difficulties, he extolled at the same 
 time her noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said 
 to the governor, f My mother did address her- 
 self to you, Sir, and her reception was unkind.' 
 
 * Have you another child, Madam?' said Mon- 
 sieur de la Bourdonnais to Madam de la Tour. 
 
 * No, Sir,' she replied, this is the child of my 
 friend; but he and Virginia are equally dear to 
 us.' ' Young man,' saicS the governor to Paul, 
 1 when you have acquired a little experience of 
 the world, you will know that it is the misfortune 
 of people in office to be deceived, and thence 
 to bestow upon intriguing vice that which be- 
 longs to modest merit.' 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request 
 of Madame de la Tour, placed himself next her 
 at table, and breakfasted in the manner of the 
 Creoles, upon coffee mixed with rice, boiled in 
 water. He was delighted with the order and 
 neatness which prevailed in the little cottage, 
 the harmony of the two interesting families, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 75 
 
 the zeal of their old servants, c Here,' ex- 
 claimed he, 'I discern only wooden furniture, 
 but I find serene countenances, and hearts of 
 gold.' Paul, enchanted with the affability of 
 the governor, said to him, ' I wish to be your 
 friend; you are a good man.' Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais received with pleasure this insular 
 compliment, and, taking Paul by the hand, as- 
 sured him that he might rely upon his friend- 
 ship.' 
 
 After breakfast he took Madame de la Tour 
 aside, and informed her that an opportunity 
 presented itself of sending her daughter to 
 France in a ship which was going to sail in a 
 short time ; that he would recommend her to a 
 lady, a relation of his own, who would be a pas- 
 senger, and that she must not think of renoun- 
 cing an immense fortune, on account of being 
 separated from her daughter a few years. 
 ' 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. Every 
 person of good sense will be of my opinion.' 
 She answered, ' As I desire no other happiness 
 henceforth in the world than that of my daugh- 
 ter, the voyage to France shall be left entirely 
 to her own inclination.' 
 
 Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an. 
 
76 PAUL AICD TIRGINIA. 
 
 opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for 
 a short time, and providing by this means for 
 their mutual felicity at a future period. She 
 took her daughter aside, and said to her, ' My 
 dear child, our servants are now old Paul is 
 still very young Margaret is advanced in 
 years, and I am already infirm. If I should die, 
 what will become of you, without fortune, amid 
 these deserts ? you will then be left alone, with- 
 out any person who can afford you much succor, 
 and forced to labor incessantly, in order to sup- 
 port your wretched existence. This reflection 
 fills my soul with sorrow/ Virginia answered, 
 c God has appointed us to labor you have 
 taught me to labor, and to bless him every day. 
 He never has forsaken us, he never will for- 
 sake us. His providence peculiarly watches 
 over the unfortunate. You have told me this 
 so often, my dear mother ! I cannot resolve 
 to leave you.' Madame de la Tour replied 
 with much emotion, ' I have no other aim than 
 to render you happy, and to marry you one day 
 to Paul, who is not your brother : reflect at 
 present that his fortune depends upon you.' 
 
 A young girl who loves, believes that all the 
 world is ignorant of her passion. She spreads 
 over her eyes the veil which she wears over her 
 heart : but when it is lifted up by some cher- 
 ished hand, the secret inquietudes of passion 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 77 
 
 suddenly burst their bounds, and the soothing 
 overflowings of confidence succeed that reserve 
 and mystery, with which the oppressed heart 
 had enveloped its feelings. Virginia, deeply 
 affected by this new proof of her mother's ten- 
 derness, related to her how cruel had been 
 those struggles, which Heaven alone had wit- 
 nessed ; declared that she saw the consolation 
 of Providence in that of an affectionate mother, 
 who approved of her attachment, and would 
 guide her by her counsels ; that being now 
 strengthened by such support, every considera- 
 tion led her to remain with her mother, without 
 uneasiness for the present, and without anxiety 
 for the future. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this con- 
 fidential conversation had produced an effect al- 
 together different from that which she expected, 
 said, ' My dear child, I will not any more con- 
 strain your inclination; deliberate at leisure, 
 but conceal your feelings from Paul.' 
 
 Towards evening, when Madame de la Tour 
 and Virginia were again together, their confes- 
 sor, who was a missionary in the island, entered 
 the room, having been sent by the governor. 
 f My children,' he exclaimed as he entered, 
 'God be praised! you are now rich. You can 
 now listen to the kind suggestions of your 
 excellent hearts, and do good to the poor. 
 
78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 I know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has 
 said to you, and what you have answered. 
 Your health, dear madam, obliges you to re- 
 main here; but you, young lady, are without 
 excuse. We must obey the will of Providence, 
 and we must also obey our aged relations, even 
 when they are unjust. A sacrifice is required 
 of you ; but it is the order of God. He devo- 
 ted himself for you, and you, in imitation of his 
 example, must devote yourself for the welfare 
 of your family. Your voyage to France will 
 have a happy termination. You will surely 
 consent to go, my dear young lady? 3 
 
 Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered trem- 
 bling, ' If it be the command of God, I will not 
 presume to oppose it. Let the will of God be 
 done!' said she, and she wept grievously. 
 
 The missionary went away, and informed the 
 governor of the success of his mission. In the 
 mean time Madame de la Tour sent Domingo 
 to desire I would come hither, that she might 
 consult me upon Virginia's departure. I was 
 of opinion that she ought not to go. I consid- 
 er it as a fixed principle of happiness, that 
 we ought to prefer the advantages of nature 
 those of fortune, and never go in search of that 
 at a distance, which we may find within our own 
 bosom. But what could be expected from my 
 moderate counsels, opposed to the illusions of 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 
 
 a splendid fortune, and my simple reasoning, 
 contradicted by the prejudices of the world, and 
 an authority which Madame de la Tour held 
 sacred? This lady had only consulted me from 
 a sentiment of respect, and had in reality ceased 
 to deliberate, since she had heard the decision 
 of her confessor. Margaret herself, who, not- 
 withstanding the advantages she hoped for her 
 son, from the possession of Virginia's fortune, 
 had hitherto opposed her departure, made no 
 farther objections. As for Paul, ignorant of 
 what was decided, and alarmed at the secret 
 conversations which Madame de la Tour held 
 with her daughter, he abandoned himself to 
 deep melancholy. ' They are plotting something 
 against my peace,' cried he, t since they are so 
 careful of concealment.' 
 
 A report having in the mean time spread 
 over the island, that fortune had visited those 
 rocks, we beheld merchants of all kinds climbing 
 their steep ascent, and displaying in those hum- 
 ble huts the richest stuffs of India. The fine 
 dimity of Gondelore ; the handkerchiefs of Pel- 
 licate and Mussulapatun ; the plain, striped, and 
 embroidered muslins of Decca, clear as the day. 
 Those merchants unrolled the gorgeous silks of 
 China, white satin-damasks, others of grass- 
 green and bright red ; rose-colored taffetas, a 
 profusion of satins, pelongs, and gauze of Ton- 
 
80 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 quin, some plain, and some beautifully decora- 
 ted with flowers ; the soft pekins, downy like 
 cloth ; white and yellow nankeens, and the cal- 
 icoes of Madagascar. 
 
 Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to 
 purchase every thing she liked, and Virginia 
 made choice of whatever she believed would be 
 agreeable to her mother, Margaret, and her 
 son. ' This,' said she, { will serve for furniture, 
 and that will be useful to Mary and Domingo.' 
 In short the bag of piasters was emptied 
 before she had considered her own wants ; and 
 she was obliged to receive a share of the pres- 
 ents which she had distributed to the family 
 circle. 
 
 Paul, penetrated with sorrow at the sight of 
 those gifts of fortune, which he felt were the 
 presage of Virginia's departure, came a few 
 days after to my dwelling. With an air of des- 
 pondency he said to me, ' My sister is going : 
 they are 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 convin- 
 ced that my representations would be unavailing. 
 
 If Virginia had appeared to me charming, 
 when clad in the blue cloth of Bengal ; with a 
 i;ed handkerchief tied round her head, how much 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 81 
 
 was her beauty improved, when decorated with 
 the graceful ornaments worn by the ladies of 
 this country ! She was dressed in white muslin 
 lined with rose-colored taffeta. Her small and 
 elegant shape was displayed to advantage by her 
 corset, and the lavish profusion of her light tresses 
 were carelessly blended with her simple head- 
 dress. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an 
 expression of melancholy ; and the struggles of 
 passion, with which her heart was agitated, 
 flushed her cheek, and gave her voice a tone of 
 emotion. The contrast between her pensive 
 look and her gay habiliments, rendered her more 
 interesting than ever, nor was it possible to see 
 or hear her unmoved. Paul became more and 
 more melancholy ; and at length Margaret, dis- 
 tressed by the situation of her son, took him 
 aside, and said to him, ' Why, my dear son, 
 will you cherish vain hopes, which will only 
 render your disappointment more bitter ? It 
 is time that I should make known to you the 
 secret of your life and of mine. Mademoiselle 
 de la Tour belongs by her mother to a rich and 
 noble family, while you are but the son of a 
 poor peasant-girl, and, what is worse, you are 
 a natural child.' 
 
 Paul, who had never before heard this last 
 expression, inquired with eagerness its mean- 
 ing. His mother replied, You had no legiti- 
 6 
 
82 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mate father. When I was a girl, seduced by 
 love, I was guilty of a weakness of which you 
 are the offspring. My fault deprived you of 
 the protection of a father's family, and my flight 
 from home of that of a mother's family. Un- 
 fortunate 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 still more ! 
 But what a secret have you disclosed to me ! I 
 now see the reason why Mademoiselle de la 
 Tour has estranged herself from me these two 
 months past, and why she has determined to 
 go. Ah ! I perceive too well that she despises 
 me !' 
 
 The hour of supper being arrived, we placed 
 ourselves at table ; but the different sensations 
 with which we were all agitated left us little in- 
 clination to eat, and the meal passed in silence. 
 Virginia first went out, and seated herself on 
 the very spot where we are now placed. Paul 
 hastened after her, and seated himself by her 
 side. It was one of thos'e delicious nights, 
 which are so common between the tropics, and 
 the beauty of which no pencil can trace. The 
 moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, 
 curtained in clouds, which her beams gradually 
 dispelled. Her light insensibly spread itself 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 83 
 
 over the mountains of the island, and their peaks 
 glistened with a silvered green. The winds 
 were perfectly still : we heard along the woods, 
 at the bottom of the valleys, and on the sum- 
 mits of the rocks, the weak cry, and the soft 
 murmurs of the birds, exulting 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 trem- 
 bling and lucid images were reflected upon the 
 bosom of the ocean. Virginia's eyes wandered 
 over its vast and gloomy horizon, distinguishable 
 from the bay of the island by the red fires in the 
 fishing boats. She perceived at the entrance 
 of the harbor a light and a shadow : these were 
 the watch-light and the body of the vessel in 
 which she was to embark for Europe, and 
 which, ready to set sail, lay at anchor, waiting 
 for the wind. Affected at the sight, she turned 
 away her head, in order to hide her tears from 
 Paul. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and myself, 
 were seated at a distance beneath the plantain- 
 trees, and amid the stillness of the night we 
 distinctly heard their conversation, which I can 
 never forget. 
 
 Paul said to her, c You are going, they tell 
 me, in three days. You do not fear then to 
 encounter the dangers of the sea, at which you 
 
84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 are so much terrified?' < I must fulfil my duty,' 
 answered Virginia, 'by obeying my parents.' 
 1 You leave us,' resumed Paul, ' for a distant 
 relation whom you have never seen.' ' Alas!' 
 cried Virginia, * I would have remained my 
 whole life here, but my mother would not have 
 it so: my confessor has told me that it is the 
 will of God that I should go, and that life is a 
 trial!' 
 
 ' What!' exclaimed Paul,' ' you have found 
 so many reasons then for going, and not one 
 for remaining here! Ah! there is one reason 
 for your departure which you have not men- 
 tioned. Riches have great attractions. You 
 will soon find in the new world, to which you 
 are going, another, to whom you will give the 
 name of brother, which you will bestow on me 
 no more. You will choose that brother from 
 among persons who are worthy of you by their 
 birth, and by a fortune which I have not to offer. 
 But where will you go in order to be happier ? 
 On what shore will you land which will be dearer 
 to you than the spot which gave you birth? 
 Where will you find a society more interesting 
 to you than this by which you are so beloved? 
 How will you bear to live without your mother's 
 caresses, to which you are so accustomed? 
 What will become of her, already advanced in 
 years, when she will no longer see you at her 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 
 
 side at table, in the house, in the walks where 
 she used to lean upon you ? What will become 
 of my mother, who loves you with the same 
 affection? What shall I say to comfort them 
 when I see them weeping for your absence ? 
 Cruel girl! I speak not to you of myself, but 
 what will become of me when in the morning I 
 shall no more see you, when the evening will 
 come and will not re-unite us ! when I shall 
 gaze on the two palm-trees, planted at our 
 birth, and so long the witnesses of our v mutual 
 friendship ? Ah ! since a new destiny attracts 
 you, since you seek in a country, distant from 
 your own, other possessions than those which 
 were the fruits of my labor, let me accompany 
 you in the vessel in which you are going to env 
 bark. I will animate your courage in the midst 
 of those tempests at which you are so terrified 
 even on shore. I will lay your head on my 
 bosom. I will warm your heart up'on my own ; 
 and in France, where you go in search of for- 
 tune and grandeur, I will attend you as your 
 slave. Happy only in your happiness, you 
 will find me in those palaces where I shall see 
 you cherished and adored, at least sufficiently 
 noble to make for you the greatest of all sacri- 
 fices by dying at your feet.' 
 
 The violence o,f his emotion stifled his voice, 
 and we then heard that of Virginia, which, bro- 
 
86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ken by sobs, uttered these words: ' It is for 
 you I go: for you, whom I see every day bent 
 beneath the labor of sustaining two infirm fam- 
 ilies. If I have .accepted this opportunity of 
 becoming rich, it is only to return you a thou- 
 sand fold the good which you have done us. Is 
 there any fortune worthy of your friendship ? 
 Why do you talk to me of your birth? Ah! if it 
 was again possible to give me a brother, should 
 I make choice of any other than you ? Oh, Paul! 
 Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! 
 How much has it cost me to avoid you ! Help 
 me to tear myself from what I value more than 
 existence, till Heaven can bless our union. 
 But I will stay or go, I will live or die, dispose 
 of me as you will. Unhappy, that I am! I 
 could resist your caresses, but I am unable to 
 support your affliction.' 
 
 At those words Paul seized her in his arms, 
 and, holding her pressed fast to his bosom, cried 
 in a piercing tone, ' I will go with her, nothing 
 shall divide us.' We ran towards him, and 
 Madame de la Tour said to him ' My son, if 
 you go what will become of us?' 
 
 He trembling repeated the words, { My son 
 my son you my mother,' cried he; 'you, 
 who would separate the brother from the sister! 
 We have both been nourished at your bosom: 
 we have both been reared upon your knees: 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 87 
 
 we have learned of you to love each other; we 
 have said so a thousand times; and now you 
 would separate her from me! You send her to 
 Europe, that barbarous country which refused 
 you an asylum, and to relations by whom you 
 were abandoned. You will tell me that I have 
 no rights over her, and she is not my sister. 
 She is every thing to me, riches, birth, family, 
 my sole good! I know no other. We have had 
 but one roof, one cradle, and we will have but 
 one grave. If she goes I will follow her. The 
 governor will prevent me ? Will he prevent me 
 from flinging myself into the sea? Will he pre- 
 vent me from following her by swimming? The 
 sea cannot be more fatal to me than the land. 
 Since I cannot live with her, at least I will die 
 before her eyes; far from you, inhuman mother! 
 woman without compassion! May the ocean to 
 which you trust her restore her to you no more ! 
 may the waves, rolling back our bodies amid 
 the stones of the beach, give yoti, in the loss of 
 your two children, an eternal subject of re- 
 morse!' 
 
 At these words I seized him in my arms, for 
 despair had deprived him of reason. His eyes 
 flashed fire, big drops of sweat hung upon his 
 face, his knees trembled, and I felt his heart 
 beat violently against his burning bosom. 
 
 Virginia, affrighted, said to him, ' Oh, my 
 
8 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 friend! I call to witness the pleasures of our 
 early age, your sorrow and my own, and every 
 thing that can for ever bind two unfortunate be- 
 ings to each other, that if I remain, I will live 
 but for you, that if I go, I will one day return 
 to be yours. I call you all to witness, you who 
 have reared my infancy, who dispose of my 
 life, who see my tears. I swear by Heaven 
 which hears me, by the sea which I am going 
 to pass, by the air I breathe, and which I never 
 sullied by a falsehood.' 
 
 As the sun softens and disolves an icy rock 
 upon the summit of the Appenines, so the im- 
 petuous passions of the young man were sub- 
 dued by the voice of her he loved. He bent 
 his head, and a flood of tears fell from his eyes. 
 His mother, mingling her tears with his, held 
 him in her arms, but was unable to speak. 
 Madame de la Tour, half distracted, said to 
 me, c I can bear this no longer. My heart is 
 broken. This unfortunate voyage shall not 
 take place. Do take my son home with you. 
 It is eight days since any one of us has slept.' 
 
 I said to Paul, ' My dear friend, your sister 
 will remain. To-morrow we will speak to the 
 governor; leave your family to take some rest, 
 and come and pass the night with me.' 
 
 He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 
 
 and after a night of great agitation, he arose at 
 break of day and returned home. 
 
 But why should I continue any longer the 
 recital of this history? There is never but one 
 aspect in human life which we can contemplate 
 with pleasure. Like the globe upon which we 
 revolve, our fleeting course is but a day, and 
 one part of the day cannot be visited by light, 
 if the other is not thrown into darkness. 
 
 c Father,' I answered, ' finish, I conjure you, 
 the history which you have begun in a manner 
 so interesting. If the images of happiness are 
 most pleasing, those of misfortune are most in- 
 structive. Tell me what became of the unhap* 
 py young man.' 
 
 The first object which Paul beheld in his way 
 home, was Mary, who, mounted upon a rock, 
 was earnestly looking toward the sea. As 
 soon as he perceived her, he called to her from 
 a distance, e Where is Virginia?' Mary turned 
 her head toward her young master, and began 
 to weep. Paul, distracted, and treading back 
 his steps, ran to the harbor. He was there in- 
 formed, that Virginia had embarked at break of 
 day, that the vessel had immediately after set 
 sail, and could no longer be discerned. He in- 
 stantly returned to the plantation, which he 
 crossed without uttering a word. 
 
 Although the pile of rocks behind us appears, 
 
90 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 almost perpendicular, those green platforms 
 which separate their summits are so many sta- 
 ges, by means of which you may reach, through 
 some difficult paths, that cone of inaccessible 
 rocks, called the Thumb. At the foot of that 
 cone is a stretching slope of ground, covered 
 with lofty trees, and which is so high and steep, 
 that it appears like a forest in air, surrounded 
 by tremendous precipices. The clouds, which 
 are attracted round the summit of those rocks, 
 supply innumerable rivulets, which rush from 
 so immense a height into that deep valley situ- 
 ated behind the mountain, that from this eleva- 
 ted point we do riot hear the sound of the fall. 
 On that spot you can discern a considerable 
 part of the island with its precipices crowned 
 with majestic peaks; and, among others Piter- 
 both, and the Three-Peaks, with their valley 
 filled with woods; you also command an exten- 
 sive view of the ocean, and even perceive the 
 Isle of Bourbon forty degrees towards the west. 
 From the summit of that stupendous pile of 
 rocks, Paul gazed upon the vessel which had 
 borne 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 91 
 
 traces which clung to his imagination were lost 
 amid the gathering mist of the horizon, he seat- 
 ed himself on the wild point, for ever beaten by 
 the winds which never cease to agitate the tops 
 of the cabbage and gum-trees, and the hoarse 
 and moaning murmurs of which, similar to the 
 distant sounds of organs, inspire a deep melan- 
 choly. On that spot I found Paul, with his 
 head Feclined upon a rock, his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground. I had followed him since break of 
 day, and, after much importunity, I prevailed 
 with him to descend from the heights and return 
 to his family. I conducted him to the planta- 
 tion, where the first impulse of his mind, upon 
 seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach 
 her bitterly for having deceived him. Madame 
 de la Tour told us, that a favorable wind having 
 arose at three o'clock in the morning, and the 
 vessel being ready to set sail, the governor, at- 
 tended by his general officers and the missiona- 
 ry, had come with a palanquin in search of Vir- 
 ginia; and that, notwithstanding her objections, 
 her tears, and those of Margaret, all the while ex- 
 claiming that it was for the general welfare, they 
 had carried away Virginia, almost dying. ' At 
 least,' cried Paul, ' if I had bid her farewell, I 
 should now be more calm. I would have said 
 to her, ' Virginia, if, during the time we have 
 lived together, one word may have offended you. 
 
92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 con- 
 tented and happy!' 
 
 When he saw that his mother and Madame 
 de la Tour were weeping, ' You must now,' 
 said he, * seek some other than me to wipe away 
 your tears !' and then, rushing out of the house, 
 he wandered up and down the plantation. He 
 flew eagerly to those spots which had been most 
 dear to Virginia. He said to the goats and 
 their kids, who followed him bleating, l What 
 do you ask of me ? you will see her no more 
 who used to feed you with her own hand. 5 He 
 went to the bower called the Repose of Vir- 
 ginia ; and, as the birds flew around him, ex- 
 claimed, ' Poor little birds ! you will fly no more 
 to meet her who cherished you !' and, observ- 
 ing 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 
 he went and seated himself upon the rock where 
 he had conversed with her the preceding even- 
 ing, and at the view of the ocean, upon which 
 he had seen the vessel disappear, which bore 
 her away, he wept bitterly. 
 
 We continually watched his steps, appre- 
 hending some fatal consequence from the vio- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 93 
 
 lent agitation of his mind. His mother and 
 Madame de la Tour conjured him in the most 
 tender manner not to increase their affliction by 
 his despair. At length, Madame de la Tour 
 soothed his mind by lavishing upon him such 
 epithets as were best calculated to revive his 
 hopes. She called him her son, her dear son, 
 whom she destined for her daughter. She pre- 
 vailed with him to return to the house and re- 
 ceive a little nourishment. He seated himself 
 with her at table, next to the place which used 
 to be occupied by the companion of his child- 
 hood, and, as if she had still been present, he 
 spoke to her, and offered whatever he knew 
 was most agreeable to her taste, and then, 
 starting from this dream of fancy, he began to 
 weep. For some days he employed himself in 
 gathering together every thing which had be- 
 longed to Virginia ; the last nosegays she had 
 worn, the cocoa-shell from which she used to 
 drink, and after kissing a thousand times those 
 relics of his friend, to him the most precious 
 treasures which the world contained, he hid 
 them in his bosom. The spreading perfumes of 
 the amber are not so sweet as the objects which 
 have belonged to those we love. At length, 
 perceiving that his anguish increased that of his 
 mother and Madame de la Tour, and that the 
 wants of the family required continual labor ; 
 
94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 he began, with the assistance of Domingo, to 
 repair the garden. 
 
 Soon after, this young man, till now indiffer- 
 ent as a Creole with respect to what was pas- 
 sing in the world, desired I would teach him to 
 read and write, that he might carry on a cor- 
 respondence with Virginia. He then wished 
 to be instructed in geography, in order that he 
 might form a just idea of the country where she 
 had disembarked ; and in history, that he might 
 know the manners of the society in which she 
 was placed. The powerful sentiment of love, 
 which directed his present studies, had already 
 taught him the arts of agriculture, and the man- 
 ner of laying out the most irregular grounds 
 with advantage and beauty. It must be admit- 
 ted, that to the fond dreams of this resistless 
 and ardent passion, mankind are indebted for a 
 great number of arts and sciences, while its dis- 
 appointments have given birth to philosophy, 
 which teaches us to bear the evils of life with 
 resignation. Thus, nature having made love 
 the general link which binds all beings, has 
 rendered it the first spring of society, the first 
 incitement to knowledge as well as pleasure. 
 
 Paul found little satisfaction in the study of 
 geography, which instead of describing the na- 
 tural history of each country, only gave a view 
 of its political boundaries. History, and espe- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 
 
 cially modern history, interested him little more. 
 He there saw only general and periodical evils, 
 of which he did not discern the cause ; wars for 
 which there was no reason, and no object ; na- 
 tions without principle, and princes without hu- 
 manity. He preferred the reading of roman- 
 ces, which being filled with the particular feel- 
 ings and interests of men, represented situations 
 similar to his own. No book gave him so much 
 pleasure as Telemachus, from the pictures 
 it draws of pastoral life, and of those passions 
 which are natural to the human heart. He read 
 aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour 
 those parts which affected him most sensibly, 
 when, sometimes touched by the most tender 
 remembrances, his emotion checked his utter- 
 ance, and his eyes were bathed in tears. He 
 fancied he had found in Virginia the wisdom of 
 Antiope, with the misfortunes and tenderness of 
 Eucharis. With very different sensations he 
 perused our fashionable novels, filled with licen- 
 tious maxims and manners. And when he was 
 informed that those romances drew a just pic- 
 ture of European society, he trembled, not with- 
 out reason, lest Virginia should become corrupt- 
 ed and should forget him. 
 
 More than a year and a half had indeed pas- 
 sed away, before Madame de la Tour received 
 any tidings of her daughter. During that peri- 
 
96 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 od she had only accidentally heard that Vir- 
 ginia had arrived safely in France. At length, 
 a vessel, which stopped in its way to the Indies, 
 conveyed to Madame de la Tour a packet and 
 a letter written with her own hand. Although 
 this amiable young woman had written in a 
 guarded manner, in order to avoid wounding 
 the feelings of her mother, it was easy to dis- 
 cern that she was unhappy. Her letter pic- 
 tures so naturally her situation and her char- 
 acter, that I have retained it almost word for 
 word. 
 
 My dear and much beloved Mother, 
 
 I have already sent you several letters writ- 
 ten with my own hand, but, having received no 
 answer, I fear they have not reached you ; I 
 have better hopes for this, from the means I 
 have now taken of sending you tidings of my- 
 self, and of hearing from you. I have shed 
 many tears since our separation, I, who never 
 used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others! 
 My aunt was much astonished when, having 
 upon my arrival, inquired what accomplishments 
 I possessed, I told her that I could neither read 
 nor write. She asked me what I had learned since 
 I entered into the world; and, when I answered 
 her that I had been taught to take care of the 
 
 o 
 
 household affairs, and obey your will, she told 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 97 
 
 me, that I had received the education of a ser- 
 vant. The next day she placed me as a board- 
 er in a great abbey near Paris, where I have 
 masters of all kinds, who teach me, among other 
 things, history, geography, grammar, mathe- 
 matics, and riding. But I have so little capa- 
 city for all those sciences, that I make but small 
 progress with my masters. 
 
 ' My aunt's kindness, however, does not di- 
 minish. She gives me new dresses for each 
 season, and she has placed two waiting-women 
 with me, who are both dressed like fine ladies. 
 She has made me take the title of countess, but 
 has obliged me to renounce the name of La 
 Tour, which is as dear to me as it is to you, 
 from all you have told me of the sufferings my 
 father endured in order to marry you. She has 
 replaced your name by that of your family, 
 which is also dear to me, because it was your 
 name when a girl. Seeing myself in so splen- 
 did a situation, I implored her to let me send 
 you some assistance. Brit how shall I repeat 
 her answer? Yet you have dasirecS ma always 
 to tell you the truth. She told me then, that a 
 little would be of no use to you, and that a great 
 deal would only encumber you in the simple life 
 you led. 
 
 * I endeavored, upon my arrival, to send you 
 
 tidings of myself by another hand; but, finding 
 
 7 
 
98 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 no person here in whom I could place confi- 
 dence, I applied night and day to reading and 
 writing; and heaven, who saw my motive for 
 learning, no doubt assisted my endeavors; for I 
 acquired both in a short time. I entrusted my 
 first letters to some of the ladies here, who I 
 have reason to think carried them to my aunt. 
 This time I have had recourse to a boarder y 
 who is my friend. I send you her direction, by 
 means of which I shall receive your answer. 
 My aunt has forbid my holding any correspon- 
 dence whatever, which might, she says, become 
 an object to the great views she has for my ad- 
 vantage. No person is allowed to see me at 
 the grate but herself, and an old nobleman, one 
 of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased 
 with me. I am sure I am not at all so with 
 him, nor should I, even if it were possible to be 
 pleased with any one at present. 
 
 * I live in the midst of affluence, and have not 
 a livre at my disposal. They say I might make 
 an improper use of money. Even my clothes 
 belong to my waiting-women, who quarrel about 
 them before I have left them off. In the bo- 
 som of riches I am poorer than when I lived 
 with you; for I have nothing to give. When I 
 found that the great accomplishments they 
 taught me would not procure me the power of 
 doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 99 
 
 needle, of which happily you had learned me the 
 use. I send several pair of stockings of my 
 own making for you and my marnma Marga- 
 ret, a cap for Domingo, and one of my red 
 handkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this 
 packet some kernels, and seeds of various kinds 
 of fruit, which I gathered in the fields. There 
 are much more beautiful meadows in this coun- 
 try than in ours, but nobody cares for them. I 
 am sure that you and my mamma, Margaret, 
 will be better pleased with this bag of seeds, 
 than you were with the bag of piasters, which 
 was the cause of our separation, and of my many 
 tears. It will give me great delight if you 
 should one day see apple-trees growing at the 
 side of the plantain, and elms blending their 
 foliage with our cocoa-trees. You will fancy 
 yourself in Normandy, which you love so much. 
 c You desired me to relate to you my joys 
 and my griefs. I have no joys far from you. 
 As for my griefs, I endeavor to sooth them hy 
 reflecting that I am in the situation in which 
 you placed me by the will of God. But my 
 greatest aflliction is that no one here speaks to 
 me of you, and that I must speak of you to no 
 one. My waiting women, or rather those of my 
 aunt, for they belong more to her than to me, 
 told me the other day, when I wished to turn 
 the conversation upon the objects most dear to 
 
100 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 me, c Remember, madam, that you are a French 
 woman, and must forget that country of sava- 
 ges.' Ah ! sooner would I forget myself, than 
 forget the spot on which I was born, and which 
 you inhabit! It is this country which is to me a 
 land of savages, for I live alone, having no one 
 to whom I may impart those feelings of tender- 
 ness for you, which I shall bear with me to the 
 grave. I am, 
 
 My dearest and beloved mother, 
 Your affectionate and 
 
 dutiful daughter, 
 VIRGINIA DE LA TOUR. 
 
 ' I recommend to your goodness Mary and 
 Domingo, who took so much care of my infan- 
 cy. Caress Fidele for me, who found me in 
 the wood.' 
 
 Paul was astonished that Virginia had not 
 said one word of him. She, who had not forgot- 
 ten even the house-dog. But Paul was not 
 aware that, however long may be a woman's 
 letter, she always puts the sentiments most dear 
 to her at the end. 
 
 In a postscript, Virginia recommended par- 
 ticularly to Paul's care two kinds of grains; 
 those of the violet and scabious; she gave him 
 some instructions upon the nature of those 
 plants, and the spots most proper for their culti- 
 
PAUL ANil VIRGINIA Ityl" 
 
 vation. ' The first,' said she, ' produces a little 
 flower of a deep violet, which loves to hide it- 
 self beneath the bushes, but it is soon discover- 
 ed by its delightful perfume.' She desired 
 those seeds might be sown along the borders of 
 the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa-tree. 
 * The scabious, 5 she added, ' produces a beauti- 
 ful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground 
 spotted with white. You might fancy it was in 
 mourning; and for this reason it is called the 
 widow's flower. It delights in bleak spots beat- 
 en by the winds.' She begged this might be 
 sown upon the rock, where she had spoken to 
 him for the last time, and that for her sake he 
 would henceforth give it the name of the Fare- 
 well Rock. 
 
 She had put these seeds into a little purse, 
 the tissue of which was extremely simple; but 
 which appeared above all price to Paul, when 
 he perceived a P. and a V. interwoven togeth- 
 er, and knew that the beautiful hair of which it 
 was formed was that of Virginia. 
 
 The whole family listened with tears to the 
 letter of that amiable and virtuous young wo- 
 man. Her mother answered it in the name of 
 the little society, and desired her to remain or 
 return as she thought proper; assuring her that 
 happiness had fled from their dwelling since her 
 departure, and that as for herself she was in- 
 
- PAUL AND' VIRGINIA. 
 
 consolable. Paul also wrote for her a long let- 
 ter, in which he assured her he would arrange 
 the garden in a manner agreeable to her taste, 
 and blend the plants of Europe with those of 
 Africa. He sent her some fruit culled from the 
 cocoa-trees of the fountain, which were now ar- 
 rived at maturity: telling her that he would not 
 send any more of the other seeds of the island, 
 that the desire of seeing those productions again 
 might hasten her return. He conjured her to 
 comply without delay with the ardent wishes 
 of her family, and, above all, with his own, 
 since he was unable to endure the pain of their 
 separation. 
 
 With a careful hand Paul sewed the Europe- 
 an seeds, particularly the violet and the scabi- 
 ous, the flowers of which seemed to bear some 
 analogy to the character and situation of Vir- 
 ginia, by whom they had been recommended; 
 but whether they were injured by the voyage, 
 or whether the soil of that part of Africa was 
 unfavorable to their growth, a very small num- 
 ber of them sprouted and none came to per- 
 fection. 
 
 Meanwhile that envy, which pursues human 
 happiness, spread reports over the island which 
 gave great uneasiness to Paul. The persons 
 who had brought Virginia's letter, asserted that 
 she was upon the point of being married, and 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 
 
 named the nobleman of the court with whom 
 she was about to be united. Some even declar- 
 ed that she was already married, of which they 
 were witnesses. Paul at first despised these 
 reports, brought by one of those trading ships 
 which often spread erroneous intelligence in 
 their passage; but some illnatured persons, by 
 their insulting pity, led him to give some degree 
 of credit to this cruel intelligence. Besides, he 
 had seen in the novels which he'had lately read, 
 that perfidy was treated as a subject of pleas- 
 antry, and that knowing that those books were 
 faithful representions of European manners, he 
 feared that the heart of Virginia was corrupted, 
 and had forgotten its former engagements. 
 Thus his acquirements only served to render 
 him miserable; the arrival of several ships 
 from Europe, during the space of six months, 
 without bearing any tidings of Virginia, tended 
 to strengthen his apprehensions. 
 
 This unfortunate young man, with a heart 
 torn by the most cruel agitation, came often to 
 visit me, that I might confirm or banish his in- 
 quietude, by my experience of the world. 
 
 I live, as I have already told you, a league 
 and a half hence, upon the banks of a little river 
 which glides along the sloping mountain ; there I 
 lead a solitary life, without wife, children or slaves. 
 
 After having enjoyed, and lost the rare feli- 
 
104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 city of living with a congenial mind, the state 
 of life which appears the least wretched is that 
 of solitude. It is remarkable that all those na- 
 tions, which have been rendered unhappy by 
 their political opinions, their mariners, or their 
 forms of government, have produced more clas- 
 ses of citizens strictly devoted to solitude and 
 celibacy. Such were the Egyptians in their 
 decline, the Greeks of the lower empire; and 
 such, in our days, are the Indians, the Chinese, 
 the modern Greeks, the Italians, and most part 
 of the eastern and southern nations of Europe. 
 
 Thus I pass 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 tents in this 
 thinly peopled island, allured by its mild tempe- 
 rature and its solitude. A cottage which I 
 built in the woods, at the foot of a tree, a little 
 field which I cultivated with my own hands, a 
 river which glides before my door, suffice for 
 my wants and for my pleasures: I blend with 
 those enjoyments that of some chosen books, 
 which teach me to become better. They make 
 that world, which I have abandoned, still con- 
 tribute to my satisfaction. They place before 
 me pictures of those passions which render its 
 inhabitants so miserable; and the comparison 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 105 
 
 which I make between their destiny and my 
 own, leads me to feel a sort of negative happi- 
 ness. Like a man whom shipwreck has thrown 
 upon a rock, I contemplate, from my solitude, 
 the storms which roll over the rest of the world, 
 and my repose seems more profound from the dis- 
 tant sounds of the tempest. 
 
 I suffer myself to be led calmly down the 
 stream of time to the ocean of futurity, which 
 has no boundaries; while, in the contemplation 
 of the present harmony of nature, I raise my 
 soul towards its supreme author, and hope for 
 a more happy destiny in another state of ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Although you do not descry from my hermit- 
 age, which is situated in the midst of a forest, 
 that immense variety of objects which this ele*- 
 vated spot presents, the grounds are disposed 
 with particular beauty, at least to one who, like 
 me, loves rather the seclusion of a home-scene, 
 than great and extensive prospects. The river 
 which glides before my door passes in a straight 
 line across the woods, and appears like a long 
 canal shaded by trees of all kinds. There are 
 black, date plum-trees, which we here call the 
 narrow-leaved dodonea, olive-wood, gum-trees, 
 and the cinnamon-tree, while in some parts the 
 cabbage-trees raise their naked columns, more 
 than a hundred feet high, crowned at their sum- 
 
106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mils with clustering leaves, and towering above 
 the wood like one forest piled upon another. 
 Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining among 
 the woods, form arcades of flowers, and ver- 
 dant canopies: those trees for the most part 
 shed aromatic odors of a nature so powerful^ 
 that the garments of a traveller, who has passed 
 through the forest, retain for several hours the 
 delicious fragrance. In the season when those 
 trees produce their lavish blossoms, they appear 
 as if covered with snow. 
 
 TVvvards the end of summer various kinds of 
 foreign birds hasten, impelled by an inexplica- 
 ble instinct, from unknown regions, beyond the 
 immense oceans, to gather the profuse grains of 
 this island; and the brilliancy of their expanded 
 plumage forms a contrast to the trees, em- ' 
 browned by the sun. Such, among others, are 
 various kinds of paroquets, the blue pigeons, 
 called here the pigeons of Holland. 
 
 The domestic inhabitants of our forests, mon- 
 keys, sport upon the dark branches of the trees, 
 from which they are distinguished by their grey 
 and greenish skin, and their black visages. 
 Some hang suspended by the tail, and balance 
 themselves in air; others leap from branch to 
 branch, bearing their young in their arms. The 
 murderous gun has never affrighted those peace- 
 ful children of nature. You sometimes hear 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 107 
 
 the warblings of unknown birds from the southern 
 countries, repeated at a distance by the echoes 
 of the forest. The river, which runs in foaming 
 cataracts over a bed of rocks, reflects here and 
 there upon its limpid waters, venerable masses 
 of woody shade, together with the sports of its 
 happy inhabitants. About a thousand paces 
 hence, the river precipitates itself over several 
 piles of rocks, and forms in its fall a sheet of 
 water smooth as crystal, but which breaks at 
 the bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable 
 confused sounds issue from those tumultuous 
 waters, which, scattered by the winds of the 
 forest, sometimes sink, sometimes swell, and 
 send forth a hollow tone like the deep bells of 
 a cathedral. The air, for ever renewed by the 
 circulation of the waters, fans the banks of that 
 river with freshness, and leaves a degree of 
 verdure, notwithstanding the summer heats, 
 rarely found in this island, even upon the sum- 
 mits of the mountains. 
 
 At some distance is a rock placed far enough 
 from the cascade to prevent the ear from being- 
 deafened by the noise of its waters, and suffi- 
 ciently near for the enjoyment of their view, 
 their coolness, and their murmurs. Thither, 
 amid the heats of summer, Madame de la Tour, 
 Margaret, Virginia, Paul, and myself, some- 
 times repaired, and dined beneath the shadow 
 
103 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of the rock. Virginia, who always directed 
 her most ordinary actions to the good of others, 
 never eat of any fruit without planting the seed 
 or kernel in the ground. ' From this,' said she, 
 ' trees will spring, which will give their fruit to 
 some traveller, or at least to some bird. ' One 
 day, having eaten of the papaw-fruit, at the 
 foot of that rock she planted the seeds. Soon 
 after several papaws sprung up, among which 
 was one that yielded fruit. This tree had risen 
 but a little from the ground at the time of Vir- 
 ginia's departure; but, its growth being rapid, 
 in the space of two years it was twenty feet 
 high, and the upper part of the stem was encir- 
 cled with several layers of ripe fruit. Paul 
 having wandered to that spot, was delighted to 
 see that this lofty tree had arisen from the small 
 seed planted by his beloved friend; but that 
 emotion instantly gave place to deep melan- 
 choly, at this evidence of her long absence. 
 The objects which we see habitually do not re- 
 mind us of the rapidity of life; they decline in- 
 sensibly with ourselves; but those which we 
 behold again, after having for some years lost 
 sight of them, impress us powerfully with the idea 
 of that swiftness with which the tide of our days 
 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, 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 
 
 after a long absence from his own country, he 
 finds not his contemporaries, but their children 
 whom he left at the breast, and whom he sees 
 are become fathers of families. Paul sometimes 
 thought of hewing the tree which recalled 
 too sensibly the distracting image of that length 
 of time which had elapsed since the departure 
 of Virginia. Sometimes, contemplating it as a 
 monument of her benevolence, he kissed its 
 trunk, and apostrophized it in terms of the most 
 passionate regret: and indeed I have myself 
 gazed upon it with more emotion and more 
 veneration than upon the triumphal arches of 
 Rome. 
 
 At the foot of this papaw I was always sure 
 fo meet with Paul when he came into our neigh- 
 borhood. One day, when I found him absorb- 
 ed in melancholy, we had a conversation which 
 I will relate to you, if I do not weary you by 
 my long digressions, perhaps pardonable to my 
 age and my last friendships. 
 
 Paul said to me, ' I am very unhappy; 
 Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been gone 
 two years and two months, and we have heard 
 no tidings of her for eight months and two 
 weeks. She is 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, 
 make a fortune, and then Madamoiselle de la 
 
110 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 Tour's aunt will bestow her niece upon me, 
 when I shall became a great lord.' 
 
 1 But, my dear friend,' I answered, 'have 
 you not told me that you are not of noble birth?' 
 
 ' My mother has told me so,' said Paul; ' as 
 for myself, I know not what noble birth means. 
 
 * Obscure birth,' I replied, 'in France shuts 
 out all access to great employments, nor can 
 you even be received among any distinguished 
 body of men.' 
 
 ( How unfortunate I am!' resumed Paul; 
 ' every thing repulses me I am condemned to 
 waste my wretched life in labor, far from Vir- 
 ginia' and he heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 * Her relation, ' he added, ' will only give her 
 in marriage to some one with a great name. 
 By the aid of study we become wise and cele- 
 brated. I will fly then to study; I will acquire 
 knowledge; I will serve my country usefully 
 by my attainments ; I shall be independent; I 
 shall become renowned; and my glory will 
 belong only to myself.' 
 
 * My son! talents are still more rare than 
 birth or riches, and are undoubtedly an inesti- 
 mable good, of which nothing can deprive us, 
 and which every where conciliate public es- 
 teem. Buyhey cost dear; they are generally 
 allied to exquisite sensibility, which renders 
 their possessor miserable. But you tell me that 
 
PAUL AXD VIRGINIA. Ill 
 
 you would serve mankind. He who, from the 
 soil which he cultivates, draws forth one addi- 
 tional sheaf of corn, serves mankind more than 
 he who presents them with a book.' 
 
 ' Oh! she then,' exclaimed Paul, 'who plant- 
 ed this papaw-tree, made a present to the in- 
 habitants of the forest more dear and more use- 
 ful than if she had given them a library.' And, 
 seizing the tree in his arms, he kissed it with 
 transport. 
 
 ' Ah! I desire glory only,' he resumed, 'to 
 confer it upon Virginia, and render her dear to 
 the whole universe. But you, who know so 
 much, tell me if we shall ever be married. I 
 wish I was at least learned enough to look into 
 futurity. Virginia must come back. What 
 need has she of a rich relation? She was so 
 happy in those huts, so beautiful and so well- 
 dressed, with a red handkerchief or flowers 
 round her head! Return, Virginia! leave your 
 palaces, your splendor! return to these rocks, 
 to the shade of our woods and our cocoa-trees! 
 Alas! you are, perhaps, unhappy!' and he 
 began to weep. ' My father! conceal nothing 
 from me if you cannot tell me whether I shall 
 marry Virginia or not, tell me, at least, if she 
 still loves me amid those great lords who speak 
 to the king, and go to see her.' 
 
 'Oh! my dear friend,' I answered, 'I am 
 
112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 sure that she loves you for several reasons, but 
 above all, because she is all goodness.' At 
 those words he threw himself upon my neck in 
 a transport of joy. 
 
 * But what,' said he, * do you understand by 
 goodness?' 
 
 * My son! to you who support your family by 
 your labor, it need not be defined. Goodness 
 is that which causes the effort which we make 
 for the welfare of others, with the intention of 
 pleasing God.' 
 
 * Oh! what goodness then,' cried he, ' has 
 Virginia! Goodness made her seek for riches, 
 that she might practice benevolence. Goodness 
 led her to forsake this island, and it will bring 
 her back.' The idea of her return fired his 
 imagination, and his inquietudes suddenly van- 
 ished. Virginia, he was persuaded, had not 
 written because she would soon arrive. It took 
 so little time to come from Europe with a fair 
 wind! Then he enumerated the vessels which 
 had made a passage of four thousand five hun- 
 dred leagues in less than three months, and 
 perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had em- 
 barked might not be longer than two. Ship- 
 builders were now so ingenious, and sailors so 
 expert! He then told me of the arrangements 
 he would make for her reception, of the new 
 habitation he would build for her, of the pleas- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 113 
 
 ures and surprises which each day should bring 
 along with it when she was his wife his wife ! 
 - that hope was ecstacy. ' At least, my dear 
 father,' said he, 'you shall then do nothing more 
 than you please. Virginia being rich, we shall 
 have a number of negroes who shall labor for 
 you; you shall always live with us, and have 
 no other care than to amuse and rejoice your- 
 self:' and, his heart throbbing with delight, 
 he flew to communicate those exquisite sensa- 
 tions to his family. 
 
 In a short time, however, the most cruel ap- 
 prehensions succeeded those enchanting hopes. 
 Violent passions ever throw the soul into oppo- 
 site extremes. Paul returned to my dwelling 
 absorbed in melancholy, and said to me, * I 
 hear nothing from Virginia; had she left Eu- 
 rope she would have informed me of her de- 
 parture. Ah! the reports which I have heard 
 concerning her are but too well founded. Her 
 aunt has married her to some great lord. She, 
 like others, has been undone by the love of 
 riches. In those books which paint women so 
 well, virtue is but a subject of romance. Had 
 Virginia been virtuous, she would not have for- 
 saken her mother and me, and, while I pass life 
 in thinking of her, forget me. While I am 
 wretched, she is happy. Ah! that thought dis- 
 tracts me; labor becomes painful, and society 
 8 
 
114 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 irksome. Would to heaven that war were de^- 
 clared in India, I would go there and die.' 
 
 4 My son,' I answered, ' that courage which 
 prompts us to court death, is but the courage of 
 a moment, and is often excited by the vain 
 hopes of posthumous fame. There is a species 
 of courage more necessary and more rare, which 
 makes us support without witness, and without 
 applause, the various vexations of life, and that 
 is patience. Leaning not upon the opinions of 
 others, but upon the will of God. Patience is 
 the courage of virtue.' 
 
 'Ah!' cried he, c I am then without virtue! 
 everything overwhelms and distracts me.' 
 'Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,' I re- 
 plied, ' belong not to man. In the midst of so 
 many passions, by which we are agitated, our 
 reason is disordered and obscured; but there is 
 an ever-burning lamp at which we can rekindle 
 its flame, and that is literature. Literature, 
 my dear son, is the gift of heaven. A ray of 
 that wisdom which governs the universe, and 
 which man, inspired by celestial intelligence, 
 has drawn down to earth: like the sun it en- 
 lightens, it rejoices, it warms with a divine 
 flame, and seems in some sort like the element 
 of fire, to bend all nature to our use. By the 
 aid of literature, we bring around us all things, 
 all places, men and times. By its aid we calm 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 the passions, suppress vice, and excite virtue. 
 Literature is the daughter of heaven, who has 
 descended upon earth to soften and charm all 
 human evils. Have recourse to your books then, 
 my son. The sages who have written before 
 our days, are travellers who have preceded us 
 in the paths of misfortune ; who stretched out a 
 friendly hand toward us, and invite us to join 
 their society, when every thing else abandons 
 us. A good book is a good friend.' 
 
 o o 
 
 'Ah!' cried Paul, *1 stood in no need of 
 books when Virginia was here, and she had 
 studied as little as me ; but when she looked at 
 .me, and called me her friend, it was impossible 
 for me to be unkappy.' 
 
 6 Undoubtedly,' said I, c there is no friend so 
 agreeable as a mistress by whom we are belov- 
 ed. Thejre is in the gay graces of woman a 
 charm that dispels the dark phantoms of reflec- 
 tion. Upon her face sits soft attraction, and 
 tender confidence. AVhat joy is not heightened 
 in which she shares? What brow is not unbent 
 by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? 
 Virginia will return with more philosophy 
 than you, and will be surprised not to find the 
 garden finished ; she who thought of its env 
 beilishments amid the persecutions of her aunt, 
 
 far from her mother and from you.' 
 The idea of Virginia's speedy return re-ani- 
 
116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mated her lover's courage, and he resumed his 
 pastoral occupations. Happy amid his toils, in 
 the reflection that they would find a termination 
 so dear to the wishes of his heart. 
 
 The 24th of December, 1752, at break of 
 day, Paul, when he arose, perceived a white 
 flag hoisted upon the mountain of Discovery, 
 which was the signal of a vessel descried at sea. 
 He flew to the town in order to learn if this 
 vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and 
 waited till the return of the pilot, who had gone 
 as usual to visit the ship. The pilot brought 
 the governor information that the vessel was the 
 Saint-Gerand of seven hundred tons, comman- 
 ded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that 
 the ship was now four leagues out at sea, and 
 would anchor at Port Louis the following after- 
 noon if the wind was favorable; at present 
 there was a calm. The pilot then remitted to the 
 governor a number of letters from France, 
 among which was one addressed to Madame de 
 la Tour, in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul 
 seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, 
 placed it in his bosom, and flew to the plantation. 
 No sooner did he perceive from a distance the 
 family, who were waiting his return upon the 
 Farewell Rock, than he waved the letter in the 
 air, without having the power to speak, and in- 
 itantly the whole family crowded round Mad- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 
 
 ame de la Tour to hear it read. Virginia in- 
 formed her mother that she had suffered much 
 ill-treatment from her aunt, who, after having 
 in vain urged her to marry against her inclina- 
 tion, had disinherited her, and at length sent her 
 back at such a season of the year, that she 
 must probably reach the Isle of France at the 
 very period of the hurricanes. In vain, she 
 added, she had endeavored to soften her aunt, 
 by representing how much she owed to her 
 mother, and to the habits of her early years; 
 she had been treated as a romantic girl, whose 
 head was turned by novels. At present she 
 said she could think of nothing but the trans- 
 port of again seeing and embracing her beloved 
 family; and that she would have satisfied this 
 dearest wish of her heart that very day, if the 
 captain would have permitted her to embark in 
 the pilot's boat; but that he had opposed her 
 going, on account of the distance from the 
 shore, and of a swell in the ocean, notwith- 
 standing it was a calm. 
 
 Scarcely was the letter finished when the 
 whole family, transported with joy, repeated, 
 * Virginia is arrived!' and mistresses and ser- 
 vants embraced each other. Madame de la 
 Tour said to Paul, c My son go and inform our 
 neighbor of Virginia's arrival. ' Domingo im- 
 
H& PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mediately lighted a torch; and he and Pan! 
 bent their way toward my plantation. 
 
 It was about ten at night, and I was going to 
 extinguish my lamp and retire to rest, when I 
 perceived through the palisades of my hut a 
 tight in the woods. I arose, and had just dres- 
 sed myself, when Paul, half wild, and pantirg 
 for breath, sprung 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.' 
 
 We instantly set off. As we were traversing 
 the woods of the sloping mountain, and were- 
 already on the road which leads from the Shad- 
 dock Grove to the Port, I heard some one 
 walking behind us. When this person, who 
 was a negro, and who advanced with hasty 
 steps, had reached us, I inquired whence he 
 came, and whether he was going with such 
 haste. He answered e I come from that part of 
 the island called Golden Dust, and am sent to 
 the Port, to inform the governor, that a ship 
 from France has anchored upon the island of 
 Amber, and fires guns of distress, for the sea is 
 very stormy.' Having said this, the man left 
 us and persued his journey. 
 
 * Let us go, y said I to Paul, ' toward that 
 part of the island, and meet Virginia. It is 
 only three leagues from this. ' Accordingly wts 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 119 
 
 Vent our course thither. The heat was suffoca- 
 ting. The moon had risen, and was encompas- 
 sed by three large black circles. A dismal 
 darkness shrouded the sky, but the frequent 
 flashes of lightning discovered long chains of 
 thick clouds, gloomy, low hung and heaped to- 
 gether over the middle of the island, after hav- 
 ing rolled with great rapidity from the ocean, 
 although we felt not a breath of wind upon the 
 land. As we walked along we thought we 
 heard peals of thunder; but, after listening more 
 attentively, we found they were the sound of 
 distant cannon repeated by the echoes. Those 
 sounds, joined to the tempestuous aspect of the 
 heavens, made me shudder. I had little doubt 
 that they were signals of distress from a ship in 
 danger. In half an hour the firing ceased, and 
 I felt the silence more appalling than the dis- 
 mal sounds which had preceeded. 
 
 We hastened on without uttering a word, or 
 daring to communicate our apprehensions. At 
 midnight we arrived on the sea-shore at that 
 part of the island. The billows broke against 
 the beach with a horrible noise, covering the 
 rocks and the strand with their foam of a daz- 
 zling whiteness, and blended with sparks of fire. 
 By their phosphoric gleams we distinguished, not- 
 withstanding the darkness, the canoes of the fish- 
 ermen, which they had drawn far upon the sand. 
 
120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Near the shore, at the entrance of a wood, 
 we saw a fire, round which several of the in- 
 habitants were assembled. Thither we repair- 
 ed, in order to repose ourselves till morning. 
 One of the circle related, that in the afternoon 
 he had seen a vessel driven toward the island 
 by the currents; that the night had hid it from 
 his view, and that two hours after sun-set he 
 had heard the firing of guns in distress; but 
 that the sea was so tempestuous, that no boat 
 could venture out; that a short time after, he 
 thought he perceived the glimmering of the 
 watch-lights on board the vessel, which he fear- 
 
 o ' 
 
 ed, by its having approached so near the coast, 
 had steered between the main land and the little 
 island of Amber, mistaking it for the Point of 
 Endeavor, near which the vessels pass in order 
 to gain Port Louis. If this was the case, which 
 however he could not affirm, the ship he appre- 
 hended was in great danger. Another islander 
 then informed us, that he had frequently crossed 
 the channel which separates the isle of Amber 
 from the coast, and which he had sounded; that 
 the anchorage was good, and that the ship 
 would there be in as great security as if it were 
 in harbor. A third islander declared it was im- 
 possible for the ship to enter that channel, which 
 was scarcely navigable fora boat; he asserted 
 that he had seen a vessel at anchor beyond the 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 
 
 isle of Amber, so that if the wind arose in the 
 morning, it could either put to sea, or gain the 
 harbor. Different opinions were stated upon 
 this subject, which while those indolent Creoles 
 calmly discussed, Paul and I observed a pro- 
 found silence. We remained on this spot till 
 break of day, when the weather was too hazy 
 to admit of our distinguishing any object at sea, 
 which was covered with fog. All we could 
 descry was a dark cloud, which they told us 
 was the isle of Amber, at the distance of a 
 quarter of a league from the coast. We could 
 only discern on this gloomy day the point of the 
 beach where we stood, and the peaks of some 
 mountains in the interior part of the island, 
 rising occasionally amid the clouds which hung 
 around them. 
 
 At seven in the morning we heard the beat 
 of drums in the woods, and soon after the gov- 
 ernor, Moniseur de la Bourdonnais, arrived on 
 horseback, followed by a detachment of sol- 
 diers armed with muskets, and a great number 
 of islanders and blacks. He ranged his sol- 
 diers upon the beach, and ordered them to make 
 a general discharge, which was no sooner done, 
 than we perceived a glimmering light upon the 
 water, which was instantly succeeded by the 
 sound of a gun. We judged that the ship was 
 at no great distance, and ran toward that part 
 
122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 where we had seen the light. We now discern- 
 ed through the fog the hulk and tackling of a 
 large vessel; and, notwithstanding the noise of 
 the waves, we were near enough to hear the 
 whistle of the boatswain at the helm, and the 
 shouts of the mariners. As soon as the Saint- 
 Gerand perceived that we were near enough to 
 give her succor, she continued to fire guns reg- 
 ularly at the interval 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 that neighborhood, 
 in search of provisions, planks, cable, and emp- 
 ty barrels. A crowd of people soon arrived, 
 accompanied by their negroes loaded with pro- 
 visions and rigging. One of the most aged of 
 the planters approaching the governor, said to 
 him, ' We have heard all night hoarse noises 
 in the mountain, and in the forests; 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 those signs announce a hur- 
 ricane. ' 'Well, my friends,' answered the 
 governor, ' we are prepared for it; and no doubt 
 the vessel is also. ' 
 
 Every thing, indeed, presaged the near ap- 
 proach of the hurricane. The center of the 
 clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, 
 while their skirts were fringed with copper hue. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 123 
 
 The air resounded with the cries of the frigate- 
 bird, the cur-water, and a multitude of other 
 sea-birds, who, notwithstanding the obscurity 
 of the atmosphere, hastened from all points of 
 the horizon to seek shelter in the island. 
 
 Towards nine in the morning we heard on 
 the side of the ocean the most terrific noises, 
 as if torrents of water, mingled with thunder, 
 were rolling down the steeps of the mountains. 
 A general cry was heard, ( There is the hur- 
 ricane ! ' and in one moment a frightful whirl- 
 wind scattered the fog which had covered the 
 isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint-Ger- 
 and then presented itself to our view, her gal- 
 lery crowded with people, her yards and main- 
 top-mast laid upon the deck, her flag shivered, 
 with four cables at her head, and one by which 
 she was held at the stern. She had anchored 
 between the isle of Amber and the main land, 
 within that chain of breakers which encircles 
 the island, and which bar she had passed over 
 in a place where no vessel had ever gone before. 
 She presented her head to the waves which 
 rolled from the open sea, and as each billow 
 rushed into the straits, the ship heaved, so that 
 her keel was in air, and at the same moment her 
 stern, plunging into the water, disappeared al- 
 together, as if it were swallowed up by the sur- 
 ges. In this position, driven by the winds and 
 
124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 waves toward the shore, it was equally impossi- 
 ble for her to return by the passage through 
 which she had made her way, or by cutting her 
 cables to throw herself upon the beach from 
 which she was separated by sand banks mingled 
 with breakers. Every billow which broke upon 
 the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of the 
 bay, and threw planks 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 dismal noise. The sea swelled by 
 the violence of the wind, rose higher every mo- 
 ment, and the channel, between this island and 
 the isle of Amber, was but one vast sheet of 
 white foam, with yawning pits of black deep 
 billows. The foam boiling in the gulph was 
 more than six feet high, and the winds which 
 swept its surface bore it over the steep coast 
 more than half a league upon the land. Those 
 innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally 
 as far as the foot of the mountain, appeared 
 like snow issuing from the ocean, which was 
 now confounded with the sky. Thick clouds 
 of a horrible form swept along the zenith with 
 the swiftness of birds, while others appeared 
 motionless as rocks. No spot of azure could 
 be discerned in the firmament, only a pale yel- 
 low gleam displayed the objects of earth, sea, 
 and skies. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 125 
 
 From the violent efforts of the ship, what we 
 dreaded happened. The cables at the head of 
 the vessel were torn away, it was then held by 
 one anchor only, and was instantly dashed upon 
 the rocks at the distance of half a cable's length 
 from the shore. A general cry of horror issued 
 from the spectators. Paul rushed toward the 
 sea, when, seizing him by the arm, I exclaim- 
 ed ' Would you perish? ' Let me go to save 
 her,' cried he, * or die!' Seeing that despair 
 had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, 
 in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord 
 round his waist, and seized hold of each end. 
 Paul then precipitated himself toward the ship, 
 now swimming, and now walking upon the 
 breakers. Sometimes he had the hope of reach- 
 ing the vessel, which the sea in its irregular 
 movements had left almost dry, so that you 
 could have made its circuit on foot, but sudden- 
 ly the waves, advancing with new fury, shroud- 
 ed it beneath mountains of water, which then 
 lifted it upright upon its keel; the billows at the 
 same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far 
 upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his 
 bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The 
 moment he had recovered his senses, he arose, 
 and returned with new ardor toward the vessel, 
 the parts of which now yawned asunder from 
 the violent strokes of the billows. The crew 
 
126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 then, desparing of their safety, threw themselves 
 in crowds into the sea, upon yards, planks, bird- 
 cages, tables, and barrels. At this moment we 
 beheld an object fitted to excite eternal sympa- 
 thy ; a young lady in the gallery of the stern of 
 the Saint-Gerand stretching out her arms toward 
 him who made so many efforts to join her. It 
 was Virginia. She had discovered her lover 
 by his iijlrepidity. The sight of this amiable 
 young woman, exposed to such horrible danger, 
 filled us with unutterable despair. As for Vir- 
 ginia, with a firm and dignified mien, she waved 
 her hand as if bidding us an eternal farewell. 
 All the sailors had Hung themselves into the 
 sea, except one who still remained upon the 
 deck, and who w r as naked and strong as Her- 
 cules. This man approached Virginia with 
 respect, and kneeling at her feet, attempted to 
 force her to throw off her clothes, but she re- 
 pulsed him with modesty, and turned away her 
 head. Then was heard redoubled cries from 
 the spectators, { Save her! save her! do not 
 leave her!' but at that moment a mountain bil- 
 low of enormous magnitude ingulphed itself 
 between the isle of Amber and the coast, and 
 menanced the shattered vessel toward which it 
 rolled bellowing, with its black sides and foam- 
 ing head. At this terrible sight the sailor flung 
 iiimself into the sea, and Virginia seeing death 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 
 
 inevitable, placed one hand upon her clothes, 
 the other on her heart, and lifting up her lovely 
 eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her 
 flight to heaven. 
 
 Oh, day of horror! Alas! everything was 
 swallowed up by the relentless billows. The 
 surge threw some of the spectators far upon the 
 beach, whom an impulse of humanity prompted 
 to advance toward Virginia, and also the sailor 
 who had endeavored 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 willingly for that poor young 
 woman!' 
 
 Domingo and myself drew Paul senseless to 
 the shore, the blood flowing from his mouth and 
 ears. The governor put him into the hands of 
 a surgeon, while we sought along the beach for 
 the corpse of Virginia; but the wind having 
 suddenly changed, which frequently happens 
 during hurricanes, our search was vain, and 
 we lamented that w r e could not even pay this 
 unfortunate young woman the last sad sepulchral 
 duties. 
 
 We retired from the spot, overwhelmed with 
 dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by one 
 cruel loss, although numbers had perished in 
 he wreck. Some of the spectators seemed 
 
128 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtuous 
 young woman, to doubt the existence of Provi- 
 dence. Alas! there are in life such terrible, 
 such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the 
 wise is sometimes shaken. 
 
 In the mean time Paul, who began to recover 
 his senses, was taken to a house in the neigh- 
 borhood, till he was able to be removed to his 
 own habitation. Thither I bent my way with 
 Domingo, and undertook the sad task of pre- 
 paring Virginia's mother and her friend for the 
 melancholy event which had happened. When 
 we reached the entrance of the valley of the 
 river of Fan Palms, some negroes informed us 
 that the sea had thrown many pieces of the 
 wreck into the opposite bay: we descended to- 
 ward it; and one of the first objects which 
 struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse 
 of Virginia. The body was half covered with 
 sand, and in the attitude in which we had seen 
 her perish. Her features were not changed, 
 her eyes were closed, her countenance was 
 still serene; but the pale violets 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 
 mall box. How great was my emotion, when 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 
 
 I saw it contained the picture of Paul, which 
 she had promised him never to part with while 
 she lived! At the sight of this last mark of 
 fidelity and tenderness of that unfortunate girl, 
 I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his 
 breast, and pierced the air with his cries. We 
 carried the body of Virginia to a fisher's hut, 
 and gave it in charge of some poor Malabar 
 women, who carefully washed away the sand. 
 
 While they were employed in this melan- 
 choly office, we ascended with trembling steps 
 to the plantation. We found Madame de la 
 Tour and Margaret at prayer, while waiting 
 for tidings from the ship. As soon as Madame 
 de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, 
 1 Where is my child, my dear child?' My si- 
 lence and my tears apprized her of her mis- 
 fortunes. She was seized with convulsive sti- 
 flings, with agonizing pains, and her voice was 
 only heard in groans. Margaret cried, ' Where 
 is my son? I do not see my son! ' and fainted. 
 We ran to her assistance; in a short time she 
 recovered, and being assured that her son was 
 safe and under the care of the governor, she 
 only thought of succoring her friend, who had 
 long, successive faintings. Madame de la Tour 
 passed the night in sufferings so exquisite, that 
 I became convinced there was no sorrow like a 
 mother's sorrow. When she recovered her 
 9 
 
130 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 senses, she cast her languid and stedfast looks 
 on heaven. In vain her friend and myself pres- 
 sed her hands in ours, in vain we called upon 
 her by the most tender names. She appeared 
 wholly insensible, and her oppressed bosom 
 heaved deep and hollow moans. 
 
 In the morning Paul was brought home in a 
 palanquin. He was now restored to reason, 
 but unable to utter a word. His interview 
 with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which 
 I had dreaded, produced a better effect than all 
 my cares. A ray of consolation gleamed upon 
 the countenances of those unfortunate mothers. 
 They flew to meet him, clasped him in their 
 arms, and bathed him with tears, which excess 
 of anguish had till tiow forbidden to flow. Paul 
 mixed his tears with theirs; and, nature having 
 thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the 
 convulsive pangs they had suffered, and gave 
 them a lethargic repose like that of death. 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprize 
 me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had 
 been borne to the town by his order, whence it 
 was to be transferred to the church of the Shad- 
 dock Grove. I hastened to Port Louis, and 
 found a multitude assembled from all parts, in 
 order to be present at the funeral solemnity, as 
 if the whole island had lost its fairest ornament. 
 The vessels in the harbor had their yards cross- 
 ed, their flags hoisted, and fired guns at inter- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 vals. The grenadiers led the funeral proces- 
 sion, with their muskets reversed, their drums 
 muffled, and sending forth slow dismal sounds. 
 Eight young ladies of the most considerable 
 families of the island, dressed in white, and 
 bearing palms in their hands, supported the 
 pall of their amiable companion, which was 
 strewed with flowers. They were followed by 
 a band of children chanting hymns, and by the 
 governor, his field officers, all the principal in- 
 habitants of the island, and an immense crowd 
 of people. 
 
 This funeral solemnity had been ordered by 
 the administration of the country, who were de- 
 sirous of rendering honors to the virtue of Vir- 
 ginia. But when the procession arrived at the 
 foot of this mountain, at the sight of those cot- 
 tages, of which she had so long been the orna- 
 ment and happiness, and which her loss now 
 filled with despair, the funeral pomp was inter- 
 rupted, the hymns and anthems ceased, and the 
 plain resounded with sighs and lamentations. 
 Companies of young girls ran from the neigh- 
 boring plantations to touch the coffin of Virgin- 
 ia with their scarfs, chaplets, and crowns of 
 flowers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers 
 asked of Heaven a child like Virginia ; lovers, 
 a heart as faithful ; the poor, as tender a friend ; 
 and the slaves, as kind a mistress. 
 
 When the procession had reached the place 
 
132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of interment, the negresses of Madagascar, and 
 the caffres of Mozambique, placed baskets of 
 fruit around the corpse, and hung pieces of stuff 
 upon the neighboring trees, according to the 
 custom of their country. The Indians of Ben- 
 gal, and of the coast of Malabar, brought cages 
 filled with birds, which they set at liberty upon 
 her coffin. Thus did the loss of this amiable 
 object affect the natives of different countries, 
 and thus was the ritual of various religions 
 breathed over the tomb of unfortunate virtue. 
 
 She was interred near the church of the 
 Shaddock Grove, upon the western side, at the 
 foot of a copso of bamboos, where, in coming 
 from mass with her mother and Margaret, she 
 loved to repose herself, seated by him whom 
 she called her brother. 
 
 On his return from the funeral solemnity, 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came hither fol- 
 lowed by part of his numerous train. He 
 offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all 
 the assistance which it was in his power to be- 
 stow. After expressing his indignation at the 
 conduct of her unnatural aunt, he advanced to 
 Paul, and said every thing which he thought 
 most likely to sooth and console him. * Heaven 
 is my witness, ' said he, ' that I wished to en- 
 sure 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 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 
 
 absence 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, unable to bear his sight. 
 
 I remained at the plantation of my unfortu- 
 nate friends, that I might render to them find 
 Paul those offices of friendship which soften, 
 though they cannot cure, calamity. At the end 
 of three weeks Paul was able to walk, yet his 
 mind seemed to droop in proportion as his frame 
 gathered strength. He was insensible to every 
 thing, his look was vacant, and when spoken 
 to, he made no reply. Madame de la Tour, 
 who was dying, said to him often, f My son, 
 while I look at you I think I see Virginia. y 
 At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and 
 hastened from her, notwithstanding the entrea- 
 tries of his mother, who called him back to her 
 friend. He used to wander into the garden, 
 and seat himself at the foot of Virginia's cocoa- 
 tree, with his eyes fixed upon the fountain. 
 The surgeon of the governor, who had shewn 
 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, as the only 
 means of conquering his inflexible silence. 
 
 I resolved to follow this advice. The first 
 use which Paul made of his returning strength 
 
134 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 was to absent himself from the plantation. Be- 
 ing determined not to loose sight of him, I set 
 out immediately, and desired Domingo to take 
 some provisions and accompany us. Paul's 
 strength and spirits seemed renewed as he des- 
 cervded the mountain. He took the road of the 
 Shaddock Grove; and when he was near the 
 church in the alley of Bamboes, he walked 
 directly to the spot where he saw some new- 
 laid earth, and there kneeling down, and raising 
 his eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer, 
 which appeared to me a symptom of returning 
 reason; since this mark of confidence in the 
 Supreme Being shewed that his mind began 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, 
 toward the northern part of the island. As we 
 knew that he was not only ignorant of the spot 
 where the body of Virginia was laid, but even 
 whether it had been snatched from the waves, 
 I asked him why he had offered up his prayer 
 at the foot of those bamboes. He answered, 
 ' We have been there so often ! ' He contin- 
 ued his course until we reached the borders of 
 the forest, when night came on. I prevailed 
 with him to take some nourishment; and we 
 slept upon the grass at the foot of a tree: the 
 next day I thought he seemed disposed to trace 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 
 
 back his steps; for, after having gazed a consid- 
 erable time upon the church of the Shaddock 
 Grove, with its avenues of bamboes stretching 
 along the plain, he made a motion as if he 
 would return; but, suddenly plunging into the 
 forest, he directed his course to the north,. I 
 judged what was his design, from which I 
 endeavered to dissuade him, but in vain. At 
 noon we arrived at that part of the island called 
 the Gold-Dust. He rushed to the sea-shore, 
 opposite to the spot where the Saint-Geran 
 perished. At the sight of the isle of Amber, 
 and its channel then smooth as a mirror, he 
 cried, 'Virginia! oh, my dear Virginia!' and 
 fell senseless. Domingo and myself carried 
 him into the woods, where he recovered with 
 some difficulty. He ma.de an effort to return to 
 the sea-shore, but, having conjured him not to 
 renew his own anguish and ours by those cruel 
 remembrances, he took another direction. Du- 
 ring eight days, 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 
 Three Peaks, where she had reposed herself 
 when unable to walk farther, and upon that part 
 of the wood where they lost their way. All 
 those haunts which recalled the inquietudes, 
 the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her 
 
136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 he loved, the river of the sloping mountain, my 
 house, the neighboring cascade, the papaw-tree 
 she planted, the mossy downs where she loved 
 to run, the openings of the forest where she 
 used to sing, called forth successively the tears 
 of hopeless passion; and those very echoes 
 which had so often resounded their mutual 
 shouts of joy, now only repeated those accents 
 of despair, ' Virginia! Oh, my dear Virginia!' 
 While he led this savage and wandering life, 
 his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin 
 assumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly 
 decayed. Convinced that present sufferings 
 are rendered more acute by the bitter recollec- 
 tion of past pleasures, and that the passions 
 gather strength in solitude, I resolved to tear 
 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 
 heights of Williams, which he had never visited, 
 and where agriculture and commerce ever 
 occasioned much bustle and variety. A crowd 
 of carpenters were employed in hewing down 
 the trees, while others were sawing planks. 
 Carriages were passing and repassing on the 
 roads. Numerous herds of oxen and troops of 
 horses were feeding on those ample meadows, 
 over which a number of habitations were scat- 
 tered. On many spots the elevation of the soil 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 137 
 
 was favorable to the culture of European trees: 
 ripe corn waved its yellow sheaves upon the 
 plains; strawberry plants flourished in the 
 openings of the woods, and hedges of rose- 
 bushes along the roads. The freshness of the 
 air, by giving a tension to the nerves, was 
 favorable to the Europeans. From those 
 heights, situated near the middle of the island, 
 and surrounded by extensive forests, you could 
 neither discern Port-Louis, the church of the 
 Shaddock-Grove, or any other object which 
 could recall to Paul the remembrance of Virgin- 
 ia. Even the mountains, which appear of vari- 
 ous shapes on the side of Port-Louis, present 
 nothing to the eye from those plains, but a long 
 promontory stretching itself in a strait and per- 
 pendicular line, whence arise lofty pyramids of 
 rocks, on the summits of which the clouds 
 repose. 
 
 To those scenes I conducted Paul, and kept 
 him continually in action, walking with him iri 
 rain and sunshine, night and day, and contriving 
 that he should lose himself in the depth of for- 
 ests, leading him over untilled grounds, and 
 endeavoring, by violent fatigue, to divert his 
 mind from its gloomy meditations, and change 
 the course of his reflections, by his ignorance 
 of the paths where we wandered: but the soul 
 of a lover finds every where the traces of the 
 object beloved. The night and the day, the 
 
138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 calm of solitude, and the tumult of crowds, 
 time itself, while it casts the shade of oblivion 
 over so many other remembrances, in vain 
 would tear that tender and sacred recollection 
 from the heart; which, like the needle when 
 touched by the loadstone, however it may have 
 been forced into agitation, is no sooner left to 
 repose than it turns to the pole by which it was 
 attracted. When I enquired of Paul, while 
 we wandered amid the plains of Williams, 
 'Where are we now going?' He pointed to 
 the north, and said, c Yonder are our mountains, 
 let us return.' 
 
 Upon the whole, I found that every means I 
 took to divert his melancholy was fruitless, and 
 that no resource was left but an attempt to com- 
 bat his passion by the arguments w r hich reason 
 suggested. I answered him, ' Yes, there are the 
 mountains where once dwelt your beloved Vir- 
 ginia; and this is the picture you gave her, and 
 which she held when dying to her heart, that 
 heart w r hich even in her last moments only beat 
 for you.' I then gave Paul the little picture 
 which he had given Virginia at the borders of 
 the cocoa-tree fountain. At this sight a gloomy 
 joy overspread his looks. He eagerly seized 
 the picture with his feeble hands, and held it to 
 his lips; his oppressed bosom seemed ready to 
 burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled 
 with tears which had no power to flow. 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 4 My son,' said I, c listen to him who is your 
 friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and 
 who, in the bloom of your hopes, endeavored 
 to fortify your mind against the unforeseen acci- 
 dents of life. What do you deplore with so 
 much bitterness? Your own misfortunes, or 
 those of Virginia? Your own misfortunes are 
 indeed severe. You have lost the most amia- 
 ble of women, she who sacrificed her own inter- 
 ests to yours, who preferred you to all that for- 
 tune could bestow, and considerd you as the 
 only recompense worthy of her virtues. But 
 might not this very object, from whom you 
 expected the purest happiness, have proved to 
 you a source of the most cruel distress ? She 
 had returned poor, disinherited, and all you 
 could henceforth have partaken with her was 
 your labors; while rendered more delicate by 
 her education, and more courageous by her 
 misfortunes, you would have beheld her every 
 day sinking beneath her efforts to share and 
 soften your fatigues. Had she been joined to 
 you, it would only have served to increase her 
 inquietudes and your own, from the difficulty of 
 sustaining your aged parents and an infant fam- 
 ily. You will tell me there would have been 
 reserved for you an happiness independent of 
 fortune, that of protecting a - beloved object, 
 which attaches itself to us in proportion to its 
 helplessness; that your pains and sufferings 
 
140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 would have served to endear you to each other, 
 and that your passion would have gathered 
 strength from your mutual misfortunes. 
 
 Undoubtedly, virtuous love can shed a charm 
 over pleasures which are thus mingled with bit- 
 terness. But Virginia is no more, yet thos^ 
 persons still live, whom, next to yourself, she 
 held most dear, her mother, and your own, whom 
 your inconsolable affliction is bending with sor- 
 row to the grave. Place your happiness, as 
 she did hers, in affording them succor, and why 
 deplore the fate of Virginia? Virginia still exists. 
 There is, be assured, a region in which virtue 
 receives its reward. Virginia now is happy.' 
 
 My own emotion choaked my utterance. 
 Paul, looking at me stedfastly, cried c She is no 
 more! she is no moref and a long fainting fit 
 succeeded that melancholy exclamation. When 
 restored to himself, he said, ' Since death is a 
 blessing, and since Virginia is happy, I would 
 die too, and be united to Virginia.' Thus the 
 motives of consolation I had offered, only served 
 to nourish his despair. I was like a man who 
 attempts to save a friend sinking in the midst of 
 a flood, and refusing to swim. Sorrow had 
 overwhelmed his soul. Alas! the misfortunes 
 of early years prepare man for the struggles of 
 life; but Paul had never known adversity. 
 
 I led him back to his own dwelling, where I 
 found his mother and Madame de la Tour in a 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 
 
 state of increased languor, but Margaret 
 drooped most. Those lively characters upon 
 which light afflictions make a small impression, 
 are least capable of resisting gfeat calamities. 
 
 ' Oh, my good friend,' said Margaret, ' me- 
 thought last night I saw Virginia dressed in 
 white, amid delicious bowers and gardens. 
 She said to me, I enjoy the most perfect happi- 
 ness; and then approaching Paul with a smiling 
 air, she bore him away. While I struggled to 
 retain my son, I felt that I myself was quitting 
 the earth, and that I followed him with inex- 
 pressible delight. I then wished to bid my 
 friend farewell, when I saw she was hastening 
 after me with Mary and Domingo. But what 
 seems most strange is, that Madame de la Tour 
 has this very night had a dream attended with 
 the same circumstances.' 
 
 * My dear friend,' I replied, l nothing I be- 
 lieve happens in this world without the permission 
 of God. Dreams sometimes foretell the truth.' 
 
 Madame de la Tour related to me her dream, 
 which was exactly similar; and, as I had never 
 observed in either of those ladies any propensi- 
 ty to superstition, I was struck with the singular 
 coincidence of their dreams, which I had little 
 doubt would be soon realized. 
 
 What I expected, took place. Paul died two 
 months after the death of his Virginia, whose 
 name dwelt upon his lips even in his expiring 
 
142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 moments. Eight days after the death of her 
 son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with 
 that serenity which only virtue can feel. She 
 bade Madame cfe la Tour the most tender fare-* 
 well, ' in the hope,' she said, c of a sweet and 
 eternal Fe-union.' ' Death is the most precious 
 blessing,' added she, ' and we ought to desire 
 it. If life be a punishment, we should wish for 
 its termination; if it be a trial, we should be 
 thankful that it is short.' 
 
 The governor took care of Domingo and 
 Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
 who survived their mistresses but a short time. 
 As for poor Fidele, he pined to death at the peri- 
 od he lost his master. 
 
 I conducted Madame de la Tour to my dwell- 
 ing, and she bore her calamities with elevated 
 fortitude. She had endeavored to comfort Paul 
 and Margaret till their last moments, as if she 
 herself had had no agonies to bear. When they 
 were no more, she used to talk of them as of 
 beloved friends from whom she was not distant. 
 She survived them but one month. Far from 
 reproaching her aunt for those afflictions she 
 had caused, her benign spirit prayed to God to 
 pardon her, and to appease that remorse which 
 the consequences of her cruelty would probably 
 awaken in her breast. 
 
 I heard, by successive vessels which arrived 
 from Europe, that this unnatural relation, haunt- 
 
PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 
 
 ed by a troubled conscience, accused herself 
 continually of the untimely fate of her lovely 
 niece, and the death of her mother, and became 
 at intervals bereft of her reason. 
 
 The body of Paul was placed by the side of 
 his Virginia, at the foot of the same shrubs, and 
 on the hallowed spot, the remains of their tender 
 mothers and their faithful servants were laid. 
 No marble covers the turf, no inscription records 
 their virtues, but their memory is engraven upon 
 our hearts in characters which are indelible: 
 and surely if those pure spirits still take an 
 interest in what passes upon earth, they love to 
 wander beneath the roofs of these dwellings 
 which are inhabited by industrious virtue, to con- 
 sole the poor who complain of their destiny, to 
 cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred flame of 
 fidelity, to inspire a taste for the blessings of na- 
 ture, the love of labor, and the dread of riches. 
 
 The voice of the people, which is ften silent 
 with regard to those monuments reared to flatter 
 the pride of kings, has given to some parts of 
 this island names which will immortalize the 
 loss of Virginia. Near the isle of Amber, in 
 the midst of sand banks, is a spot called the Pass 
 of Saint-Geran, from the name of the vessel 
 which there perished. The extremity of that 
 point 'of land, which is three leagues distant, 
 and half covered by the waves, and which the 
 Saint-Geran could not double on the night pre- 
 
144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ceding the hurricane, is called the Cape of Mis- 
 fortune ; 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 of 
 which her innocence had been the ornament. 
 
 Ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly uni- 
 ted! unfortunate mothers! beloved family! 
 those woods which sheltered you with their foli- 
 age, those fountains which flowed for you, those 
 hillocks upon which you reposed, still deplore 
 your loss! No one has since presumed to cul- 
 tivate that desolated ground, or repair those 
 fallen huts. Your goats are become wild, your 
 orchards are destroyed, your birds are fled, and 
 nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrow- 
 hawk, who skims around the valley of rocks. 
 As for myself, since I behold you no more, I 
 am like a father bereft of his children, like a 
 traveller who wanders over the earth, desolate 
 and alone.' 
 
 In saying these words, the good old man 
 retired shedding tears, and mine had often flowed 
 during this melancholy narration. 
 

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