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. z LU Z.Q OZi i c It wO co CN uj UJ id YA U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES M184323 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY